SABRINA. Because, methought, though one were king or queen And had the world to play with, if one missed What most were good to have, such joy, I ween, Were woful as a song with sobs between And well might wail for ever, ‘Had I wist!’ And might my father do but as he list, And make this day what other days have been, I should not shut tonight mine eyes unkissed. ESTRILD. ESTRILD. I wis thou wouldst not. SABRINA. SABRINA. Then I would he were No king at all, and save his golden hair Wore on his gracious head no golden crown. Must he be king for ever? ESTRILD. ESTRILD. Not if prayer Could lift from off his heart that crown of care And draw him toward us as with music down. SABRINA. SABRINA. Not so, but upward to us. He would but frown To hear thee talk as though the woodlands there Were built no lordlier than the wide-walled town. Thou knowest, when I desire of him to see What manner of crown that wreath of towers may be That makes its proud head shine like older Troy’s, His brows are bent even while he laughs on me And bids me think no more thereon than he, For flowers are serious things, but towers are toys. ESTRILD. ESTRILD. Ay, child; his heart was less care’s throne than joy’s, Power’s less than love’s friend ever: and with thee His mood that plays is blither than a boy’s. SABRINA. SABRINA.
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