Take thou thy form, whate’er that form may be!
Mous. But stay—
Thou hast a serving man—a crumpled wretch—
One-eyed and lame—but passing honest—say
That I am such a twisted thing as he?
What then?
Hil. (tenderly). Oh, Spirit of the Well, fear not,
My love is not a thing of yesterday;
Nor does it spring from thought of face and form.
I love thee for thy boundless charity,