Page:Victor Hugo's Works (Guernsey Edition) v14.djvu/48



Hark, there 's the quarter. You must hence, fair signor.

But a few moments more of your sweet presence!

Saint Ursula, she knows, 't is not my will

That drives you hence; but if my master found

That I received a man into the house,

'T were pity of my place, if not my life.

Your master is a churl, that would condemn

These maiden blooms to wither on the tree.

Churl you may call him! Why, he'd have the house

A prison. If you heard the coil he keeps