LADY MACBETH: (Raps for quiet) Peace ladies, time passes, we must hasten, are there more suggestions? PERDITA: Madam President--Now Jove give me courage, I do so tremble when I speak--we should plant lavender and mint, and savory, and marjoram, and pale primroses--fairest flowers of their season would show star-like on Avon’s banks, while the flower-de-luce and crown imperial would rear their lily heads in majesty gainst the foliage of willows. We could also have carnations and gillyvors, tho I like them not. (sits down hastily) KATHERINE: Madam President. Perdita is so shy she will not tell why she likes not the carnation and the gillyvors, but I know ’tis because they both are streaked with red and white and look like painted women. MISTRESS FORD: (aside) Let’s call Cleopatra “gilly” for short. CORDELIA: Madam President. LADY MACBETH: Cordelia has the floor. CORDELIA: Ladies, I ask your indulgence while I tell you a short but sweet tale of the Crown Imperial. This flower, which we sometimes call the Canterbury Bells, was first made white and erect and grew to its full beauty in the Garden of Gethsemane where it was oft noted and admired by our Lord, but on the night of the Agony, as he passed through the Garden, all the other flowers bowed their heads in sorrowful adoration, save the Crown Imperial, which alone remained with its head unbowed, but not for long. Sorrow and shame soon took the place of pride, and tears and painful blushes followed, and so hath she ever remained with bent blossoms unto this very day. (Murmurs and nods from members) MISTRESS FORD: (aside) Did I not say Cordelia was a fine religious woman? ROSALINE: Madam President? LADY MACBETH: Rosaline, my dear, I rejoice to hear you speak. ROSALINE: Dear Madam, I recall a sweet song of my childhood, learned before I knew that sometimes Love’s Labor’s Lost. It paints a picture of springtime. (Sings) When daisies pied and violets blue And lady-smocks all silver white And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue Do paint the meadows with delight. Surely this would apply to Avon’s banks as well. LADY MACBETH: Quite likely, child, ’tis a pretty chant, we thank you. (looks slowly around circle) Ah, Cleopatra, have you no suggestions? (Cleopatra rises languidly and poses)