Yes.

EDGAR.

And when the man, The child of evolution, flings aside His swaddling-bands, the morals of the tribe, He, following his own instincts as his G.o.d, Will enter on the larger golden age; No pleasure then taboo'd: for when the tide Of full democracy has overwhelm'd This Old world, from that flood will rise the New, Like the Love-G.o.ddess, with no bridal veil, Ring, trinket of the Church, but naked Nature In all her loveliness.

EVA.

What are you saying?

EDGAR.

That, if we did not strain to make ourselves Better and higher than Nature, we might be As happy as the bees there at their honey In these sweet blossoms.

EVA.

Yes; how sweet they smell!

EDGAR.

There! let me break some off for you.

[_Breaking branch off_.

EVA.

My thanks.

But, look, how wasteful of the blossom you are!

One, two, three, four, five, six--you have robb'd poor father Of ten good apples. Oh, I forgot to tell you He wishes you to dine along with us, And speak for him after--you that are so clever!

EDGAR.

I grieve I cannot; but, indeed--

EVA.

What is it?

EDGAR.

Well, business. I must leave you, love, to-day.

EVA.

Leave me, to-day! And when will you return?

EDGAR.

I cannot tell precisely; but--

EVA.

But what?

EDGAR.

I trust, my dear, we shall be always friends.

EVA.

After all that has gone between us--friends!

What, only friends? [_Drops branch_.

EDGAR.

All that has gone between us Should surely make us friends.

EVA.

But keep us lovers.

EDGAR.

Child, do you love me now?

EVA.

Yes, now and ever.

EDGAR.

Then you should wish us both to love for ever.

But, if you _will_ bind love to one for ever, Altho' at first he take his bonds for flowers, As years go on, he feels them press upon him, Begins to flutter in them, and at last Breaks thro' them, and so flies away for ever; While, had you left him free use of his wings, Who knows that he had ever dream'd of flying?

EVA.

But all that sounds so wicked and so strange; 'Till death us part'--those are the only words, The true ones--nay, and those not true enough, For they that love do not believe that death Will part them. Why do you jest with me, and try To fright me? Tho' you are a gentleman, I but a farmer's daughter--

EDGAR.

Tut! you talk Old feudalism. When the great Democracy Makes a new world--

EVA.

And if you be not jesting, Neither the old world, nor the new, nor father, Sister, nor you, shall ever see me more.

EDGAR (_moved_).

Then--(_aside_) Shall I say it?--(_aloud_) fly with me to-day.

EVA.

No! Philip, Philip, if you do not marry me, I shall go mad for utter shame and die.

EDGAR.

Then, if we needs must be conventional, When shall your parish-parson bawl our banns Before your gaping clowns?

EVA.

Not in our church-- I think I scarce could hold my head up there.

Is there no other way?

EDGAR.

Yes, if you cared To fee an over-opulent superst.i.tion, Then they would grant you what they call a licence To marry. Do you wish it?

EVA.

_Do_ I wish it?

EDGAR.

In London.

EVA.

You will write to me?

EDGAR.

I will.