Why weepest thou, my gentle Spenser? Have the rebels sacked thy house?
Spenser. They have plundered and utterly destroyed it.
Essex. I grieve for thee, and will see thee righted.
Spenser. In this they have little harmed me.
Essex. How! I have heard it reported that thy grounds are fertile, and thy mansion large and pleasant.
Spenser. If river and lake and meadow-ground and mountain could render any place the abode of pleasantness, pleasant was mine, indeed!
On the lovely banks of Mulla I found deep contentment. Under the dark alders did I muse and meditate. Innocent hopes were my gravest cares, and my playfullest fancy was with kindly wishes. Ah! surely of all cruelties the worst is to extinguish our kindness. Mine is gone: I love the people and the land no longer. My lord, ask me not about them: I may speak injuriously.
Essex. Think rather, then, of thy happier hours and busier occupations; these likewise may instruct me.
Spenser. The first seeds I sowed in the garden, ere the old castle was made habitable for my lovely bride, were acorns from Penshurst. I planted a little oak before my mansion at the birth of each child. My sons, I said to myself, shall often play in the shade of them when I am gone; and every year shall they take the measure of their growth, as fondly as I take theirs.
Essex. Well, well; but let not this thought make thee weep so bitterly.