_Zeo._ (_astonished_). I’m glad they did!
_Phil._ With kisses, ere I could Repeat the sentence; and it hurt me much That you, who are comparatively plain, Should give me so much trouble, Zeolide.
_Zeo._ (_aside_). What can he mean? (_Aloud._) Oh, you are mocking me--
_Phil._ Mocking you, Zeolide? You do me wrong! (_With enthusiasm_) Oh, place the fullest value on my words, And you’ll not overvalue them! I swear, As I’m a Christian knight, I speak the truth!
_Zeo._ Why, Philamir, you’ve often told me that You never loved a woman till we met!
_Phil._ (_with all the appearance of rapture_). I always say that. I have said the same To all the women that I ever woo’d!
_Phil._ Certainly they did. They always do! Whatever else they doubt, They don’t doubt that! (_He tries to embrace her._)
_Zeo._ (_horror-struck_). Away, and touch me not!
_Phil._ What? Has my earnestness offended you, Or do you fear that my impassioned speech Is over-colored? Trust me, Zeolide, If it be over-charged with clumsy love, Or teem with ill-selected metaphor, It is because my soul is not content To waste its time in seeking precious stones, When paste will answer every end as well!
_Zeo._ Why, Philamir, dare you say this to me?
_Phil._ All this, and more than this, I dare to say. I dare to tell you that I like you much, For you are amiable, refined, and good-- Saving a little girlish diffidence I have no serious fault to find with you!
_Phil._ Indeed, I think I am, But let that pass. In truth I like you much. At first I loved you in an off-hand way!
_Phil._ Until the novelty wore off, And then, receiving but a cold response To all the seeming fury of my love, My pride was nettled, and I persevered Until I made you tell me of your love, In words that bore comparison with mine. I’ve done that, and I’m amply satisfied.
_Zeo._ (_in blank astonishment_). And this is Philamir, who used to breathe Such words of passion and such songs of love! Those words that fiercely burnt with such false fire, Those songs that sung so lovingly of lies, Bore unsuspected fruit--I gathered it And garnered it away. Oh, Philamir, As misers store up gold, I stored my love In all the inmost corners of my heart, Dreading to speak or look at Philamir, Lest some unguarded word or tell-tale glance Should give a clew to all the wealth within! I laughed within myself, as misers laugh, To find my hoard increasing day by day, And now--the coin I hoarded up is base-- The flowers that decked my life are worthless weeds-- The fruit I plucked is withered at the core-- And all my wealth has faded into air!