The King makes tart reply: "Whom else but the wise his equals
Should he welcome with heart and voice?—since, king though he be, such weak walls
Of circumstance—power and pomp—divide souls each from other
That whoso proves kingly in craft I needs must acknowledge my brother.
"Come poet, come painter, come sculptor, come builder—whate'er his condition,
Is he prime in his art? We are peers! My insight has pierced the partition
And hails—for the poem, the picture, the statue, the building—my fellow!
Gold 's gold though dim in the dust: court-polish soon turns it yellow.
"But tell me in turn, O thou to thy weakling sex superior,
That for knowledge hast travelled so far yet seemest nowhit the wearier,—