That would refuse your love.

_Julian_.
Ay! What of her?

_Robert_.
I heard no more than so; and that you came
To seek the next best service you could find:
Turned from the lady's door, and knocked at God's.

_Julian_.
One part at least is true: I knock at God's;
He has not yet been pleased to let me in.
As for the lady--that is--so far true,
But matters little. Had I less to think,
This talking might annoy me; as it is,
Why, let the wind set there, if it pleases it;
I keep in-doors.

_Robert_.
Gloomy as usual, brother!
Brooding on fancy's eggs. God did not send
The light that all day long gladdened the earth,
Flashed from the snowy peak, and on the spire
Transformed the weathercock into a star,
That you should gloom within stone walls all day.
At dawn to-morrow, take your staff, and come:
We will salute the breezes, as they rise
And leave their lofty beds, laden with odours
Of melting snow, and fresh damp earth, and moss--