ESCARPIN. Yes, sir, and what 's worse, Daria Was another, thus the torment That we both endure is equal, If my case be not the stronger, Since to love her would be almost Less an injury than to scorn her. CLAUDIUS. Well, I will not quarrel with you On the point (for it were nonsense) Whether one should feel more keenly Love or hate, disdain or fondness Shown to one we love; enough 'T is to me to know, that prompted Or by vanity or by interest, She came hither to hold converse With him, 't is enough to make me Lose the love I once felt for her. ESCARPIN. Sir, two men, one bald, one squint-eyed, Met one day . . . CLAUDIUS. What, on your hobby? A new story? ESCARPIN. To tell stories, Sir, is not my 'forte', 'pon honour:-- Though who would n't make a hazard When the ball is over the pocket?-- CLAUDIUS. Well, I do not care to hear it. ESCARPIN. Ah, you know it then: Another Let me try: A friar once . . . Stay though, I have quite forgotten There are no friars yet in Rome: Well, once more: a fool . . . CLAUDIUS. A blockhead Like yourself, say: cease. ESCARPIN. Ah, sir, My poor tale do n't cruelly shorten. While the sacristan was blowing . . . CLAUDIUS. Why, by heaven! I 'll kill you, donkey. ESCARPIN. Hear me first, and kill me after. CLAUDIUS. Was there ever known such folly As to think 'mid cares so grave I could listen to such nonsense? (exit. [Enter Chrysanthus and Daria, at opposite sides.] DARIA (to herself). O ye gods, since my intention Was in empty air to scatter All these prodigies and wonders Worked in favour of Chrysanthus By the Christians' sorcery, why, Having you for my copartners, Do I not achieve a victory Which my beauty might make facile? CHRYSANTHUS. O ye heavens, since my ambition Was to melt Daria's hardness, And to bring her to the knowledge Of one God who works these marvels, Why, so pure is my intention, Why, so zealous and so sanguine, Does not easy victory follow, Due even to my natural talent? DARIA (aside). He is here, and though already Even to see him, to have parley With him, lights a living fire In my breast, which burns yet glads me, Yet he must confess my gods, Ere I own that I am vanquished. CHRYSANTHUS (aside). She comes hither, and though I By her beauty am distracted, Still she must become a Christian Ere a wife's dear name I grant her. DARIA (aside). Venus, to my beauty give Power to make of him my vassal. CHRYSANTHUS (aside). Grant, O Lord, unto my tongue Words that may dispel her darkness. DARIA (aside). To come near him makes me tremble.