Bid then the dawn sleep, and the world lie chill.
ESTRILD.
This nest is warm for one small wood-dove’s sake.
SABRINA.
And warm the world that feels the sundawn break.
ESTRILD.
But hath my fledgeling cushat here slept ill?
SABRINA.
No plaint is this, but pleading, that I make.
ESTRILD.