And warm the world that feels the sundawn break.

ESTRILD.

But hath my fledgeling cushat here slept ill?

SABRINA.

No plaint is this, but pleading, that I make.

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.

This is but the Ley:
I fain would look upon the lordlier Thames.

ESTRILD.

A very water-bird thou art: the river
So draws thee to it that, seeing, my heart-strings quiver