That stern, cold look, which thou canst sometimes wear,
When I have chafed thee with an idle speech.
Giovanni.
Thou shalt mould all my features to thy wish:
I will not arch my brow the breadth of one
Of those bright hairs clust'ring around thy neck:
My pliant lip, guiltless of irony
Shall curl as thou desirest, dearest girl,
I'll press it on thy soft, white hand. Now ease
Thy burthened heart of all these heavy griefs.
If I should smile, thou can'st not see it, love.
Helena.
When first we dwelt upon the Arno's bank,
(Leaving the city to its gloomy pride)
Like a young bird just scap'd from his gilt cell,
I ranged abroad, soaring on untried wing,
Fearless and free. But now a narrow space
Confines my flights, my garden's boundary,
I dare not pass its jasmine fence alone;
And though the dainty butter-cup looks fresh,
