Yet stand you there
As would you to the lecture-room repair,
As if before you stood,
Arrayed in flesh and blood,
Physics and metaphysics weird and grey!--
Away! (Exeunt.)

MARGARET (with a lamp)
Here 'tis so close, so sultry now,
(She opens the window.)
Yet out of doors 'tis not so warm.
I feel so strange, I know not how--
I wish my mother would come home.
Through me there runs a shuddering--
I'm but a foolish timid thing!
(While undressing herself she begins to sing.)

There was a king in Thule,
True even to the grave;
To whom his dying mistress
A golden beaker gave.

At every feast he drained it,
Naught was to him so dear,
And often as he drained it,
Gush'd from his eyes the tear.

When death came, unrepining
His cities o'er he told;
All to his heir resigning,