ESTRILD. But hath my fledgeling cushat here slept ill? SABRINA. SABRINA. No plaint is this, but pleading, that I make. ESTRILD. ESTRILD. Plead not against thine own glad life: the plea Were like a wrangling babe’s that fain would be Free from the help its hardy heart contemns, Free from the hand that guides and guards it, free To take its way and sprawl and stumble. See! Have we not here enough of diadems Hung high round portals pillared smooth with stems More fair than marble? SABRINA. SABRINA. This is but the Ley: I fain would look upon the lordlier Thames. ESTRILD. ESTRILD. A very water-bird thou art: the river So draws thee to it that, seeing, my heart-strings quiver And yearn with fear lest peril teach thee fear Too late for help or daring to deliver. SABRINA. SABRINA. Nay, let the wind make willows weep and shiver: Me shall nor wind nor water, while I hear What goodly words saith each in other’s ear. And which is given the gift, and which the giver, I know not, but they take and give good cheer. ESTRILD. ESTRILD. Howe’er this be, thou hast no heed of mine, To take so little of this life of thine I gave and would not see thee cast away For childishness in childhood, though it shine For me sole comfort, for my lord Locrine Chief comfort in the world.
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