GLADSTONE (after a meditative pause begins to recite).
"Come, thou who art the wine and wit
Of all I've writ:
The grace, the glory, and the best
Piece of the rest,
Thou art, of what I did intend,
The all and end;
And what was made, was made to meet
Thee, thee, my sheet!"
Herrick, to his shroud, my dear! A poet who has the rare gift of being both light and spiritual in the same breath. Read Herrick at his gravest, when you need cheering; you will always find him helpful.
MRS. G. Then—will you read him to me to-night, William?
GLADSTONE. Why, certainly, my love, if you wish.
(He stoops and kisses her.)
MRS. G. (speaking very gently). I was waiting for that.
GLADSTONE. And I was waiting—for what you have to say.
MRS. G. I can say nothing.
GLADSTONE. Why, nothing?