LOCRINE.

Did she not well? sweet laughter speaks not scorn.

GUENDOLEN.

GUENDOLEN.

And thou didst laugh, and wept’st not, to be born.

LOCRINE.

LOCRINE.

Did I then ill? didst thou, then, weep to be?

GUENDOLEN.

GUENDOLEN.

The same star lit not thee to birth and me.

LOCRINE.

LOCRINE.

Thine eyes took light, then, from the fairer star.

GUENDOLEN.

GUENDOLEN.

Nay; thine was nigh the sun, and mine afar.

LOCRINE.

LOCRINE.

Too bright was thine to need the neighbouring sun.

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