24 WHY JESUS WEPT. All is a whirl ; β€” (Let me recapture This lock ; ’tis unfixed.) Ay, little girl, Bury my head In the scent of your hair ! Would I were dead In your arms ever fair, Buried and folded For aye on your breast : β€” That were delight, Eternity moulded In form of your kiss ! That were the rest I have sought for, the bliss I have ached to obtain : β€” Ah ! it was pain ! MOLLY. Ay ! sir, but can you love me ? Me, poor girl ! SIR PERCY. Love you ? Ah, Christ ! I love you so ! Say you love me, love me ! Say so ! Again ! Again ! Aloud ! I must hear, or I shall die. MOLLY. I love you. Oh, you hurt me, you do indeed.