THE RAGGED CLOAK
—Release my arm, O insolent, and give me back that rose thou hast dared to steal!
—I love thee.
—Thou lovest?—beggar! Then look not at me whose love is worth a mina at the least. Away, tattered chlamys, seek thy kind!
—I love thee.
—Ho, friends! Who wants a beggar for a lover? Here is one ready—almost anxious. Look at his faded cloak! Behold this rent through which I thrust my hand! . . . Ah! . . . Ah! . . . Off with thy rags, deceiver! How wicked of thee to cheat me so! What! What sayest thou?
—I scorn thee.
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