GUENDOLEN.

Nay--rather seems Locrine
Thy sire than I thy mother.

MADAN.

Wherefore?

GUENDOLEN.

Boy,
Because of all our sires who fought for Troy
Most like thy father and my lord Locrine,
I think, was Paris.

MADAN.

How may man divine
Thy meaning? Blunt am I, thou knowest, of wit;
And scarce yet man--men tell me.

GUENDOLEN.

Ask not it.
I meant not thou shouldst understand--I spake
As one that sighs, to ease her heart of ache,
And would not clothe in words her cause for sighs -
Her naked cause of sorrow.