Page:Dramas 2.pdf/269

SONG.

They who may tell love's wistful tale,
    Of half its cares are lighten'd;
Their bark is tacking to the gale,
    The sever'd cloud is brighten'd.

Love like the silent stream is found
    Beneath the willows lurking,
The deeper, that it hath no sound
    To tell its ceaseless working.

Submit, my heart; thy lot is cast,
    I feel its inward token;
I feel this mis'ry will not last,
    Yet last till thou art broken.

ALICE.

Thou singest sweetly, ay, and sadly too,

Even as it should be sung. I thank thee, Jessie.

JESSIE (after having entirely undone her hair, and taken the fastenings from other parts of her dress).

Now, Madam, let me fetch your gown and coif.

ALICE.

I want no further service, my good Jessie,

I'll do the rest myself: and so, good night;
I shall be soon in bed. Good night, and thanks!

JESSIE.

Not yet good night; I will return again,

And take away the light.