The spinsters and the knitters in the sun,
And the free maids, that weave their thread with bones,
Do use to chaunt it."
(They, the unconscious Fates, weaving the fair vanity of life with death); and the burden of it is—
"My part of Death, no one so true
Did share it."
Therefore she says, in the great first scene, "Was not this love indeed?" and in the less heeded closing one, her heart then happy with the knitters in the sun,
"And all those sayings will I over-swear,
And all those swearings keep as true in soul
As doth that orbed continent the Fire