Mine eyes.--There is a tear behind
That lash.--Oh, I am sick with shame!
Aye, but it hath a sting,
To come to reason; yet the name
Of madness is an awful thing.--
Could I but die in one swift flame
Unthinking, unknowing!

NURSE
I veil thy face, Child.--Would that so
Mine own were veiled for evermore,
So sore I love thee! ... Though the lore
Of long life mocks me, and I know
How love should be a lightsome thing
Not rooted in the deep o' the heart;
With gentle ties, to twine apart
If need so call, or closer cling.--
Why do I love thee so? O fool,
O fool, the heart that bleeds for twain,
And builds, men tell us, walls of pain,
To walk by love's unswerving rule
The same for ever, stern and true!
For "Thorough" is no word of peace:
'Tis "Naught-too-much" makes trouble cease.
And many a wise man bows thereto.
[_The_ LEADER OF THE CHORUS _here approaches the_ NURSE.]

LEADER
Nurse of our Queen, thou watcher old and true,
We see her great affliction, but no clue