I know not rightly what I here begin;
No more than one, who stands in midst of wind
On a tall mountain, knows what breaking down
The earth must have ere the wind's speed is done,
And it hath drawn out of the drenched soil
The clinging vapours, and made bright the air.

_2nd Woman_.
But we'll not have thee disobedient.
The King's mind is a summer over us;
Thou with a storm wilt fill him, and the hail
That shatters thee will leave us bruised and weeping.

_Vashti_.
Be sulky in his arms: the weather soon
Will pleasantly favour thee again.

_4th Woman_.
No, no;
Not because from our heaven of man's mind
Thou wilt bring down on us a rain of scorn,
But because thou art wicked, thou must go
And tell the King the wine was rash in thee.

_Vashti_.
I must!

_3rd Woman_.
Thou must indeed: words such as thine
Never were impudent in men's ears before.