Xim. Mother! what is this!
Alas! your eye is wandering, and your cheek
Flush’d, as with fever! To your woes the night
Hath brought no rest.
Elm. Rest!—who should rest?—not he
That holds one earthly blessing to his heart
Nearer than life! No! if this world have aught
Of bright or precious, let not him, who calls
Such things his own, take rest!—Dark spirits keep watch;
And they to whom fair honour, chivalrous fame,