MERTOUN. When? to-morrow!
Get done with it!

MILDRED. Oh, Henry, not to-morrow!
Next day! I never shall prepare my words
And looks and gestures sooner.--How you must
Despise me!

MERTOUN. Mildred, break it if you choose,
A heart the love of you uplifted--still
Uplifts, thro' this protracted agony,
To heaven! but Mildred, answer me,--first pace
The chamber with me--once again--now, say
Calmly the part, the... what it is of me
You see contempt (for you did say contempt)
--Contempt for you in! I would pluck it off
And cast it from me!--but no--no, you'll not
Repeat that?--will you, Mildred, repeat that?

MILDRED. Dear Henry!

MERTOUN. I was scarce a boy--e'en now
What am I more? And you were infantine
When first I met you; why, your hair fell loose
On either side! My fool's-cheek reddens now
Only in the recalling how it burned
That morn to see the shape of many a dream
--You know we boys are prodigal of charms
To her we dream of--I had heard of one,