WHY JESUS WEPT 
31 
I am happy—let me see ! 
I guess some verse inspired 
By all her soul desired, 
Purity, love, well-being — ay !  and me ! 
[He opens the note, and reads : — 
“ To love you, Love, is all my happiness ! 
To kill you with my kisses ; to devour 
Your whole ripe beauty in the perfect hour 
That mingles us in one supreme caress —” 
Why, here is love articulate, vital !  I thought that only 
poets, not lovers, could so speak.  And that poets, poor 
devils, speaking, could never know. 
“ So Percy to his Angela’s distress —” 
Then it is not my Molly that writes this — who is this 
Percy ? — not me, at all events, for there is no Angela that 
loves me.  (A sound of sobbing in the trees.) 
Whom have we here ?  (Advances.) 
’Fore God, the most beautiful woman in the world, except 
my Molly !  And her scent !  O she is like some intimate tro-
pical plant, luring and deadly ! — I am afraid.  (He discovers Angela.) 
Madam, can I aid you ? 
 
ANGELA. 
 
Leave me !  Leave me !  I am the wretchedest girl on the wide 
earth. 
 
SIR PERCY. 
 
The comeliest, mademoiselle. 
(Aside.) O see this is a woman of the world.  To her with 
speeches fit for such then.