_Vashti_.
Be careful of thy tongue,--and of the wine.--
Who watches me? Eyes are fixt on my soul,
Eyes of desire. I think some great event
Hath pusht its spirit forward of its time,
To stand here quietly waiting, into my mind
Inflicting its strange want of me, and ready
To fetch my heart, and ready to take my hand
And lead me away shrinking: is it Death?
It is some marvellous thing: for I know surely
Behind it crowd out of their discipline
The coming hours to watch me seized, and stare
With questioning brows on me, and lift lean hands
From under gowns of shadow to point me out
One to another, saying: "This is she:
How will she bear it, think ye?"--Is it not cold?
Was there not wind just then?--The flames are steady.

_1st Woman_.
No wind at all: the air's like one closed room.

_2nd Woman_.
There is no talk like this at the King's feast,
I warrant. Were we not best be merry,
And thank the King so for these wines and sweets?

_Vashti_.
Yes, let us not forget our thankfulness;
For is not, sisters, everything we have