David. Why, my lord,
I do not mock. Only the birds have wings.
Yet on the vales behind me I have left
Haste and a swirl, a wonderment of air,
And in the torrent's troubled vein amaze,
So swift I hurried hither at your urgence
Out of the fields and folding the far sheep!
Saul. You have not; you have dallied. (Motions rest out.) You have dallied.
(Comes down indeterminately.)
And now——
David. And now the king with darkness foams,
With sheeted passions like to lightning gusts.
(All have gone.)
Shall I not play to him?
Saul. You shall not, no.
(Slowly draws a dagger.)
I'll not be lulled.