_Phil._ This poison's swift. Here is her cup. Why palter? A drop will do it. [_Gazes at her_] 'Tis when we sleep the touch Of life is gentlest. Even affliction's kiss Falls like a rose upon the sense-shut lid. Then he most miserable is as the happy, And who so happy that is not then more blest? And since that death is sleep's eternal sum, Why should I pause, nor grant this precious good? O, I could moralize me to a god Who holds the cup of bliss for lip beloved. Nauresta, drink, and in this little drop Sip everlasting ease. [_Pours poison_] 'Tis done. I've reached From mortal shores and opened Hades' gate. Ay, with the gesture of a hand have hooked Eternity. _Nau._ [_Waking_] Phillistus, you? _Phil._ 'Tis I, Beloved Nauresta. _Nau._ Flowers! You have brought them? _Phil._ Can I forget you love them? _Nau._ Ah, my friends! They wear no frown to dash down hearts; nor chide When ears are sick for quickening praise; but yield Their royal payment for each passing care; No vagrant dew gives them its moistening heart But they must pay it thrice in perfumed beauty, And bury it as never king shall lie. O human faces, might ye turn to flowers, How many broken hearts would live again! _Phil._ This is a covert chiding of my faults, So deep repented, love. I'll make thee happy. _Nau._ My gentle daughter--she that I could call A sister to this rose--her mute complaints Cry like dumb, wounded birds to my sore heart, And I pass by nor help. For what, Phillistus? That you may wear a crown in Syracuse. A crown that is the golden nest of cares, Brooded by every dismal wing may hatch An enemy to peace. _Phil._ And when didst grow So wise, Nauresta? _Nau._ Midnight hours teach well. Some sleepless nights would help you too, I think. Wise? Ay, and not too late! I'll be no more Your shield while you make thrust at brave Ocrastes. I'll give him my Theano. _Phil._ Does he know? _Nau._ Not yet. I weakly thought to pay old love The grace of first confession. _Phil._ [_Kissing her hand_] Thanks for that. This sudden turning of a heart long loyal Has left me numb. You know how dear my purpose That she should wed a lord of my own faction. Give me an hour, but one, before you speak. You break the bough that held my care-built nest, And old wings go not blithely after straw. _Nau._ They've learned to wait, and who would count an hour Before the long day of unbroken love? ... I'm weary now, Phillistus.