SHE: I pray thee talk to me.
HE: Whereof, lady?
SHE: Thyself.
HE: I am a Fool--
SHE: And why sit so mumchance?
HE: I think.
SHE: Of what?
HE: Folly.
SHE: And why dost sigh so deep and oft?
HE: I grieve for thee.
SHE: For me! And wherefore?
HE: Being lost with a Fool thou'rt desolate, sad and woeful.
SHE: Am I, Joconde? And how dost know all this?
HE: 'Tis so I do think, lady.
SHE: Then are thy thoughts folly indeed. If thou must sigh, sigh for
thyself.
HE: Why so I do, lady, and therewith grieve for myself and thyself, myself
being Fool and thyself a dame of high degree, thus, betwixt whiles, I do
fear thee also.
SHE: Thou fear! Thou fear me forsooth! And wherefore fear a helpless maid?
HE: There is the reason--she is helpless!
SHE: Ah, there doth Fool speak like chivalrous knight.
HE: Or very fool--a fool that fain would win fair Dian from high heaven.
Alas, poor Fool, that, being fool, must needs look and sigh and sigh and
look and leave her to the winning of some young Endymion!
SHE (_dreamily_): Endymion was but lowly shepherd, yet was he loved!
HE: Endymion was fair youth comely of feature, lady.
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