Rene: Here we are Poet and there is your beloved. Your eyes may be blind to one but there are many flowers in this field; I will sit here a while and feast my eyes upon their playfulness and in due time we shall join their course.
Poet: Sweet Rene, the apple of my eyes. Since our eternal youth you have been such a boy, a boy who loved many colours and your paintings were to distracting to gaze upon. But as for me, if my eyes are blind to her superb beauty, then a happy boy I am indeed.
Rene: What if she delights in another colour, a colour not your own. What if she has a desire for another fragrance? What then shall be your life?
Poet: To think of such days will only bring misery upon my loving soul. But now look how my arms and legs swing and move with ease; do you see the twinkling in my eye, it is all the production of her eloquence. I am yet to speak to her and look how she excites me from afar. What then will happen if she should touch me; the sensation would be unbearable and the passion unquenchable. I could sit here dear Rene and gaze upon her beauty, I would be satisfied if this alone was my portion.
Rene: Adorable Poet, the very sweetness of my tongue. I do pray for you that your fancy lead you not into a most severe melancholy- but you are indeed handsome and your hair softer than the sheep's wool. (He stroke Poet's hair and tickled him till both were filled with laughter).