Which glideth out to music sweet and low.”
Again and again in Shakspeare is the remedial agency of music resorted to by afflicted royalty. At one time it is Queen Katharine, fading and heartsore, who bids one of her women cease working, and sing—
“Take thy lute, wench; my soul grows sad with troubles;
Sing, and disperse them if thou canst.”
And the singer’s theme is how “in sweet music is such art, killing care and grief at heart.” At another time it is dying Harry IV., who prays his attendants, as they bear him to an inner room—
“Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends!
Unless some dull[8] and favourable hand
Will whisper music to my weary spirit.”
And once more, we have Lear’s physician prescribing music for the safer awakening of the distraught old man from that long sleep which was only not his last.
