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Updated: May 9, 2025
It is and is not 'tis the thing I sought for, Have kneel'd for, pray'd for, risk'd my fame and life for, And yet it is not no more than the shadow Upon the hard, cold, flat, and polished mirror, Is the warm, graceful, rounded, living substance Which it presents in form and lineament.
Unhand me, or I'll call out. I assure you, this is not the way to gain me. Sir Tim. I know there is a way to gain all mortal Womankind; but how to hit the critical Minute of the Berjere Phil. It is past your Politicks at this time, Sir. Sir Tim. All the soft things I've said Phil. That a Knight of your Parts ought to say. Sir Tim. Then I have kneel'd and cry'd, and swore and Phil.
Once at Jerusalem, where the pilgrims kneel'd, I strewèd powder on the marble stones, And therewithal their knees would rankle so, That I have laugh'd a-good to see the cripples Go limping home to Christendom on stilts." "Why, this is something."
Art thou my Rival? the blessed Youth, to whom She has given her Vows? Live, and enjoy, Diana! Yes, yes, thou art my Rival, and I'll kill thee. Cel. Do, whilst I meet thy Sword. Bel, Dull dull Adorer! Not to know my Saint. Oh, how I have profan'd! To what strange Idol Was that I kneel'd, Mistaking it for a Divinity? Cel. To your fair Wife Diana. Bel. Oh cruel Maid!
But for thy faithless Hope, I 'ad murder'd him, Even when the holy Priest was marrying them, And offer'd up the reeking Sacrifice To th'Gods he kneel'd to, when he took my price; By all their Purity I would have don't.
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