Her. You've come, dear Señor! Was it savagery
To wrest the hour from you?
LeV. Too kindly done
For such a name,—though I was deep in bond
To sober thoughts, your Highness.
Her. Be so still.
We would not force our humor on your heart,
But share your own.
LeV. [Smiling] Can you be sad?
Her. As rains
That drench October. As the gray
That fringes twilight on the dark of moons.
As seas that sob above a swallowed ship,
Repenting storm. [Leads to seat, right]
Come, sir,—and I'll be sad
In what degree you choose, though I could wish it
Nearer a smile than rheum, and not so heavy
But that its sigh may float upon a song,
A gentle song that might be sorrow's garland
When moan wears down. Wilt hear one now, my lord?
I have a music-maker yon whose lute
Was nectared in a poet's tears the hour
He lost his dream. Say you will hear him! Nay,
That courtier "yes" can not o'ertake the "no"
Sped from your eyes. We'll have no music. Yet
The soul must love it ere one can be sad
To th' very sweet of sadness. O, I know!
LeV. I love it, but not here.
Her. What here forbids?
My bower! The eye translates its tenderness
To fairy sound, nor need of pipe or strings.
LeV. I can not hear the bells of fairydom
When life is making thunder's music 'gainst
This bauble house of play——
Her. [Rising] Sir, you forget——
LeV. Nay, I remember!