Die? and is death no less an ill than dread?
I had liefer die than be nor quick nor dead.
I think there is no death but fear of death.
LOCRINE.
Of death or life or anything but love
What knowest thou?
SABRINA.
Less than these, my mother saith—
Less than the flowers that seeing all heaven above
Fade and wax hoar or darken, lose their trust
And leave their joy and let their glories rust
And die for fear ere winter wound them: we
Live no less glad of snowtime than of spring:
It cannot change my father’s face for me
Nor turn from mine away my mother’s. King
They call thee: hath thy kingship made thee less
In height of heart than we are?
LOCRINE.
No, and yes.
Here sits my heart at height of hers and thine,
Laughing for love: here not the quiring birds
Sing higher than sings my spirit: I am here Locrine,
Whom no sound vexes here of swords or words,
No cloud of thought or thunder: were my life
Crowned but as lord and sire of child and wife,
Throned but as prince of woodland, bank and bower,
My joys were then imperial, and my state
Firm as a star, that now is as a flower.
SABRINA.
Thou shouldst not then—if joy grow here so great—
Part from us.
LOCRINE.