"If we shadows have offended
Think but this, and all is mended.
That you have but slumber'd here
While these visions did appear."
The Christmas play is over, but not over the Christmas fun. Lords and ladies are but human, and have devised a "stately dance," in which they themselves participate until nearly sunrise, the Queen herself joining at times, and never so happy as when assured of her "wondrous majesty and grace."
Did they--did any one--at this Christmas play of three hundred years ago feel the full charm and glory of this immortal creation of the poet? Did its lines ring in their ears the next day, and the next, and the next? Did they foresee how its rhythm would dance down the ages and abide in these present days, and in this present speech of ours?
But this is something that I, your truthful reporter, cannot answer.
A Dance of the Sixteenth Century
"A fortnight hold we this solemnity.