Too costly a flower were this, I see it now,
To pluck and set upon my barren helm
To wither—any garish plume will do.
I 'll not insult you and refuse your Duchy—
You can so well afford to yield it me,
And I were left, without it, sadly lorn.
As it is—for me—if that will flatter you,
A somewhat wearier life seems to remain
Than I thought possible where ... 'faith, their life
Begins already! They 're too occupied