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Right weary grown, to his great Maker offer?
Yet I can die as meekly as ye will,
Albeit of his regard it is unworthy.

Eth. Give me thy hand, brave man! Well hast thou said!
In truth thy off'ring far outprizes all;
Rich in humility. Come, valiant friends;
It makes my breast beat high to see you thus,
For fortunes' worst prepar'd with quiet minds.
I'll sit me down awhile; come gather round me,
And, for a little space, the time beguile
With the free use and interchange of thought:
Of that which no stern tyrant can controul.
(they all sit down on the ground.)

Her. (to Eth.) Nay, on my folded mantle do thou sit.

Eth. I thank thee, but I feel no cold. My children!
We do but want, methinks, a blazing fire,
To make us thus a friendly chosen circle
For converse met. Then we belike would talk
Of sprites, and magic power, and marv'llous things,
That shorten the long hours; now let us talk
Of things that do th' inquiring mind of man
With nobler wonder fill; that state unseen,
With all its varied mansions of delight,
To which the virtuous go, when like a dream
Smote by the beams of op'ning day, this life
With all its shadowy forms, fades into nothing.

First Th. Ay, Ethelbert, thou'rt full of sacred lore;