'Tis done. I win my forfeit at the last.

[_He tries to embrace her. She escapes; he chases her round the stage; she
eludes him._]

THE LADY
Thou art not quick enough. Who hopes to catch
A moon-beam, must use twice as much despatch.

PIERROT[_Sitting down sulkily._]
I grow aweary, and my heart is sore,
Thou dost not love me; I will play no more.
[_He buries his face in his hands: the lady stands over him._]

THE LADY
What is this petulance?

PIERROT
'Tis quick to tell--
Thou hast but mocked me.

THE LADY
Nay, I love thee well!

PIERROT
Repeat those words, for still within my breast
A whisper warns me they are said in jest.

THE LADY
I jested not: at daybreak I must go,