Phan. I never thought my wooing poetry,
Now I begin to think it may have been.
Mirza. Oh, sir, I love the Princess. Pause before
You sacrifice her earthly happiness
For sordid ends of selfish policy.
The Prince is rich. What then? The girl is poor.
But what is wealth of gold to wealth of love?
What famine’s so deplorable as his
Who hungers for a love he can not find?
What luxury so wearisome as hers