DAVID
Then gracious be, and question here no more.
Where words are futile for an utterance.
But of the king—the king?
AHINOAM
He’s driven still.
And hither comes, and soon, and must be calmed.
Thy harp take, winds of beauty from it bring,
And consolation—as of valley-eves
When there is ebb of sorrow and of toil,