"For what?" said I.

"I think, for Robin Herrick," she said.

It was a lamentable confession, for that said, gravity fled away; and
Electra fetched out a lute from a low cupboard in the arbour, and
while she played Julia sang to a sober little melody I seemed to know
of old:

Sighs have no skill
To wake from sleep
Love once too wild, too deep.

Gaze if thou will,
Thou canst not harm
Eyes shut to subtle charm.

Oh! 'tis my silence
Shows thee false,
Should I be silent else?

Haste thou then by!
Shine not thy face
On mine, and love's disgrace!

Whereat Dianeme lifted on me so naïve an afflicted face I must needs
beseech another song, despite my drowsy lids. Wherefore I heard, far
away as it were, the plucking of the strings, and a voice betwixt
dream and wake sing: