CAMBER. CAMBER. Thine—with that grey goat’s fleece on chin, sir? Needs Must she be fair: thou, wrapt in age’s weeds, Whose blood, if time have touched it not and stilled, The sun’s own fire must once have kindled,—thou Sing praise of soft-lipped women? doth not shame Sting thee, to sound this minstrel’s note, and gild A girl’s proud face with praises, though her brow Were bright as dawn’s? And had her grace no name For men to worship by? Her name? DEBON. DEBON. Estrild. CAMBER. CAMBER. My brother is a prince of paramours— Eyes coloured like the springtide sea, and hair Bright as with fire of sundawn—face as fair As mine is swart and worn with haggard hours, Though less in years than his—such hap was ours When chance drew forth for us the lots that were Hid close in time’s clenched hand: and now I swear, Though his be goodlier than the stars or flowers, I would not change this head of mine, or crown Scarce worth a smile of his—thy lord Locrine’s— For that fair head and crown imperial; nay, Not were I cast by force of fortune down Lower than the lowest lean serf that prowls and pines And loathes for fear all hours of night and day. DEBON. DEBON. What says my lord? how means he? CAMBER. CAMBER. Vex not thou Thine old hoar head with care to learn of me This. Great is time, and what he wills to be Is here or ever proof may bring it: now, Now is the future present. If thy vow Constrain thee not, yet would I know of thee One thing: this lustrous love-bird, where is she? What nest is hers on what green flowering bough Deep in what wild sweet woodland? DEBON. DEBON. Good my lord, Have I not sinned already—flawed my faith, To lend such ear even to such royal suit?
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