Nightingale to nightingale
Answering a bough beyond.
Just. These serenaders—singing their old songs
Under one’s window—
Luc. Ay, and if nature must decay or cease
Without it; what of nature’s masterpiece?
Not in her outward lustre only, but
Ev’n in the soul within the jewel shut;
What but a fruitless blossom; or a lute
Without the hand to touch it music-mute: