Must be one of proud disdain.
So I pray you, cavalier,
Leave me in this lonely wood,
Leave me in the solitude
I enjoyed ere you came here.

CHRYSANTHUS.
Sweetly, but with tone severe,
Thus my error you reprove--
That of asking in this grove
What your name is: you 're so fair,
That, whatever name you bear,
I must tell you of my love.

DARIA.
Love! a word to me unknown,
Sounds so strangely in my ears,
That my heart nor feels nor hears
Aught of it when it has flown.

CHRYSANTHUS.
Then there is no rashness shown
In repeating it once more,
Since to hear or to ignore
Suits alike your stoic coldness.

DARIA.
Yes, the speech, but not the boldness
Of the speaker I pass o'er,
For this word, whate'er it be,