3rd Woman.
Thou dost, Queen.
Thou sittest with hands folded in thy robe,
And in the midst of delicacies wilt fast.
1st Woman.
We see thine eyes upon them as they were
Wickedness.
2nd Woman. 'Tis rare bounty that we women Halve with the King his festival.
3rd Woman. And thou, It seems, scarce findest it thankworthy.
Vashti.
Again,
Your pardon: but ye need not gaze on me.—
And yet, why am I sorrowful? In truth,
Is it a sorrow that so leans upon me?
I know not. But my soul knoweth right well
That I am watched.
3rd Woman. Then in thy conscience, Queen, Thou feelest the King requiring thanks of thee.
Vashti.
Be careful of thy tongue,—and of the wine.—
Who watches me? Eyes are fixt on my soul,
Eyes of desire. I think some great event
Hath pusht its spirit forward of its time,
To stand here quietly waiting, into my mind
Inflicting its strange want of me, and ready
To fetch my heart, and ready to take my hand
And lead me away shrinking: is it Death?
It is some marvellous thing: for I know surely
Behind it crowd out of their discipline
The coming hours to watch me seized, and stare
With questioning brows on me, and lift lean hands
From under gowns of shadow to point me out
One to another, saying: "This is she:
How will she bear it, think ye?"—Is it not cold?
Was there not wind just then?—The flames are steady.
1st Woman. No wind at all: the air's like one closed room.
2nd Woman.
There is no talk like this at the King's feast,
I warrant. Were we not best be merry,
And thank the King so for these wines and sweets?
Vashti.
Yes, let us not forget our thankfulness;
For is not, sisters, everything we have
Mere gift?