Come Galatea--till my wife returns,
My sister shall provide thee with a home;
Her house is close at hand.
GAL. Send me not hence
Pygmalion; let me stay.
PYG. It may not be.
Come, Galatea, we shall meet again.
GAL. Do with me as thou wilt, Pygmalion!
But we shall meet again?--and very soon?
PYG. Yes, very soon.
GAL. And when thy wife returns,
She'll let me stay with thee?
PYG. I do not know.
[_Aside_]. Why should I hide the truth from her [_aloud_] alas!
I may not see thee then.
GAL. Pygmalion!
What fearful words are these?
PYG. The bitter truth.
I may not love thee; I must send thee hence.
GAL. Recall those words, Pygmalion, my love!
Was it for this that heaven gave me life?
Pygmalion, have mercy on me; see,
I am thy work, thou hast created me;
The gods have sent me to thee. I am thine!
Thine! only, and unalterably thine!
This is the thought with which my soul is charged.
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