And stepping with the bee from flower to flower;
But here!
Wer.'Tis chill; the tapestry lets through
The wind to which it waves: my blood is frozen.
Jos. Ah, no!
Wer. (smiling). Why! wouldst thou have it so?
Jos.I would
Have it a healthful current.
Wer.Let it flow10
Until 'tis spilt or checked—how soon, I care not.