Murmuring sorrow, I will play to thee.
Didymus. I thank thee, boy, for I may fall asleep.
The Child. Rather shalt wake, and from thy doubt be born!
Lean so, against my knee.
[The Child plays, a long time.
O Didymus,
With thy shut eyes, thy youth undedicate,
Tell me the name of this new pastoral.
Didymus (asleep). He said: “My yoke is sweet, My burden light.”
O light, O sweet, perchance, as it was said!