DARIA. If, before you spoke to me, You desired my name to know, I in your case act not so, Since I speak, whoe'er you be, Forced, but most unwillingly (As to listening heaven is plain) To reply:--a bootless task Were it in me, indeed, to ask, Since, whoe'er you be, my strain Must be one of proud disdain. So I pray you, cavalier, Leave me in this lonely wood, Leave me in the solitude I enjoyed ere you came here. CHRYSANTHUS. Sweetly, but with tone severe, Thus my error you reprove-- That of asking in this grove What your name is: you 're so fair, That, whatever name you bear, I must tell you of my love. DARIA. Love! a word to me unknown, Sounds so strangely in my ears, That my heart nor feels nor hears Aught of it when it has flown. CHRYSANTHUS. Then there is no rashness shown In repeating it once more, Since to hear or to ignore Suits alike your stoic coldness. DARIA. Yes, the speech, but not the boldness Of the speaker I pass o'er, For this word, whate'er it be, When it breaks upon my ear, Quick 't is gone, although I hear. CHRYSANTHUS. You forget it? DARIA. Instantly. CHRYSANTHUS. What! love's sweetest word! ah, me! Canst forget the mightiest ray Death can dart, or heaven display? DARIA. Yes, for lightning, entering where Naught resists, is lost in air. CHRYSANTHUS. How? what way? DARIA. Well, in this way: If two doors in one straight line Open lie, and lightning falls, Then the bolt between the walls Passes through, and leaves no sign. So 't is with this word of thine; Though love be, which I do n't doubt, Like heaven's bolt that darts about, Still two opposite doors I 've here, And what enters by one ear By the other ear goes out. CHRYSANTHUS. If this lightning then darts through Where no door lies open wide To let it pass at the other side, Must not fire and flame ensue? This being so, 't is also true That the fire of love that flies Into my heart, in flames must rise, Since without its feast of fire The fatal flash cannot retire, That has entered by the eyes. DARIA. If to what I said but now You had listened, I believe You would have preferred to leave Still unspoken love's vain vow. This you would yourself allow. CHRYSANTHUS. What then was it? DARIA. I do n't know: Something 't was that typified My presumption and my pride. CHRYSANTHUS. Let me know it even so. DARIA. That in me no love could grow Save for one who first would die For my love. CHRYSANTHUS. And death being past, Would he win your love at last?-- DARIA. Yes, on that he might rely. CHRYSANTHUS. Then I plight my troth that I Will to that reward aspire,-- A poor offering at the fire By those beauteous eyes supplied. DARIA. But as you have not yet died, Pray do n't follow me, but retire. [Exit.