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The Love-chase by James Sheridan Knowles
page 26 of 110 (23%)
Wild. [Snappishly.] No.

True. No! Why, where have been your eyes?

Wild. In my head!
But I begin to doubt if open yet. [Aside.]

True. Yet that's a trifle to the dance; down which
She floats as though she were a form of air;
The ground feels not her foot, or tells not on't;
Her movements are the painting of the strain,
Its swell, its fall, its mirth, its tenderness!
Then is she fifty Constances!--each moment
Another one, and each, except its fellow,
Without a peer! You have danced with her!

Wild. I hate
To dance! I can't endure to dance!--Of course
You have danced with her?

True. I have.

Wild. You have?

True. I have.

Wild. I do abominate to dance!--could carve
Fiddlers and company! A dancing man
To me was ever like a dancing dog!
Save less to be endured.--Ne'er saw I one
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