You speak as men speak of a worn-out love.
You only know one kind of love, you men!
My love for Zeolide is otherwise,
Unselfish, generous, a sister’s love.
Yet I have stolen from her gentle heart
That which in all the world she loved the best!
Phil. You are too sensitive. Say, rather, she
Hath freely given that she prizes least.
Mirza. Oh, Philamir, indeed you do her wrong,
And may perchance wrong me, as you wronged her.