Plough up the seas, and beat the rocks withal.
She loves to walk in the still moonshine night,
And in a thick dark grove she takes delight;
In hollow caves, thatched houses, and low cells
She loves to live, and there alone she dwells.
Melancholy, on the other hand, states that her life and surroundings, if subdued and retired, are tranquil and beautiful. It may be remembered that a few pages back the Duchess said that she herself was always addicted to “melancholy rather than mirth”.
I dwell in groves that gilt are with the sun;
Sit on the banks by which clear waters run;
In summers hot down in a shade I lie,
My music is the buzzing of a fly;