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56
KING EDWARD
And not acts; when neither warbling voice
Nor trilling pipe is heard, nor pleasure sits
With trembling age, the voice of Conscience then,
Sweeter than music in a summer's eve,
Shall warble round the snowy head, and keep
Sweet symphony to feather'd angels, sitting
As guardians round your chair; then shall the pulse
Beat slow, and taste, and touch, and sight, and sound, and smell,
That sing and dance round Reason's fine-wrought throne,
Shall flee away, and leave him all forlorn;
Yet not forlorn if Conscience is his friend.
[Exeunt.
SCENE. In Sir Thomas Dagworth's Tent.
Dagworth and William his man.
Dagworth.
BRING hither my armour, William;
Ambition is the growth of every clime.
William.
Does it grow in England, sir?
