Bran resisted the urge to scowl at Ella's grin, instead silently repeating the words so he would get the lines right. He wasn't sure if anything would happen if he got them wrong, but he didn't want to risk any sort of delay. "Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon who is already sick and pale with grief. That thou her maid art far more fair than she." He paused, momentarily distracted by the fact that she had a photographic memory for words. Interesting. His own memory wasn't half bad, although it was quite sharp when it came to music - he could remember any tune, any melody; any piece he'd ever heard, no matter how long ago it was.
"Be not her maid, since she is envious." He'd resigned himself to the fact that he didn't know the lines, and there was nothing he could do about it.