To mighty Arthur. But, I see, 'tis true,
The dearest friend, when dead, we all forget.
King. 'Tis he—it is the honest Gaffer Thumb.
Oh! let me press thee in my eager arms,
Thou best of ghosts! thou something more than ghost!
Ghost. Would I were something more, that we again
Might feel each other in the warm embrace.
But now I have th' advantage of my king,
For I feel thee, whilst thou dost not feel me.[169]
King. But say, thou dearest air,[170] oh! say what dread,