MERTOUN. I thank you--less
For the expressed commendings which your seal,
And only that, authenticates--forbids
My putting from me... to my heart I take
Your praise... but praise less claims my gratitude,
Than the indulgent insight it implies
Of what must needs be uppermost with one
Who comes, like me, with the bare leave to ask,
In weighed and measured unimpassioned words,
A gift, which, if as calmly 'tis denied,
He must withdraw, content upon his cheek,
Despair within his soul. That I dare ask
Firmly, near boldly, near with confidence
That gift, I have to thank you. Yes, Lord Tresham,
I love your sister--as you'd have one love
That lady... oh more, more I love her! Wealth,
Rank, all the world thinks me, they're yours, you know,
To hold or part with, at your choice--but grant
My true self, me without a rood of land,
A piece of gold, a name of yesterday,
Grant me that lady, and you... Death or life?

GUENDOLEN. [apart to AUSTIN]. Why, this is loving,
Austin!

AUSTIN. He's so young!

GUENDOLEN. Young? Old enough, I think, to half surmise
He never had obtained an entrance here,
Were all this fear and trembling needed.