And play the truant at his own free will?
Thou askest more than womankind can grant.
Mous. (trembling with excitement).
Oh, lady, lady, give me but thy love,
And in that gift will lie the surest proof
That I will not misuse my Talisman!
Hil. It may be so—but Time’s an alchymist,
Who changes gold to dross. Some day, may be,
This love of thine will sicken, wane, and die.
How could I bear this widowhood of soul,