Out of the country shade where both have grown,
Urged me to draw the blossom of their youth
Where it might ripen in its proper day.
Otañ. Indeed, indeed, sir. Oh that my dear lady
Were but alive to see this happy hour!
Alon. Nay, good Otañez, mar it not recalling
What, ever sleeping in the memory,
Needs but a word to waken into tears.
God have her in his keeping! He best knows
How I have suffered since the king, my master,