Anitra.
[Horrified.]
Liken thee, O earth's great treasure,
To a horrible old cat!
Peer.
Child, from passion's standpoint viewed,
May a tom-cat and a prophet
Come to very much the same.
Anitra.
Master, jest like honey floweth
From thy lips.
Peer.
My little friend,
You, like other maidens, judge
Great men by their outsides only.
I am full of jest at bottom,
Most of all when we're alone.
I am forced by my position
To assume a solemn mask.
Duties of the day constrain me;
All the reckonings and worry
That I have with one and all,
Make me oft a cross-grained prophet;
But it's only from the tongue out.—
Fudge, avaunt! En tête-à-tête
I'm Peer—well, the man I am.
Hei, away now with the prophet;
Me, myself, you have me here!
[Seats himself under a tree, and draws her
to him.
Come, Anitra, we will rest us
Underneath the palm's green fan-shade!
I'll lie whispering, you'll lie smiling;
Afterwards our rôles exchange we;
