The pleasure soon
Becomes a shame, scarce to be spoken aloud;
And in best minds, either detested doting
Man's joy in woman's beauty will become;
Or a strict binding fire, holding him down
In lust of beauty where no beauty is.
[_The_ KING'S MESSENGER _comes in_.
_Messenger_.
To Vashti, to the Queen of the world, to her
In whom the striving beauty of the world
Hath made perfection, from the King I come.
And the King bids me say, Rise from thy feast;
For thou must be to-night thyself a feast:
The vision of thy loveliness must now
Feed with astonishment my vassals' hearts.
Therefore thou art to come.
_Vashti_.
And tell the King
I will not come.
_Messenger_.
What was there in my words
Thou dost not understand?--I say, the King
Would show thy beauty to his under-kings,
That with this also they may be amazed
And utterly fear his fortune.
_Vashti_.
So. Go back,
Tell the King I have hearkened to his message,
And tell him I will not come.
_Messenger_.
What sickness shall I say has lighted on thee,
So that thou canst not come?
_Vashti_.
Thou weariest me.
Say this to the King, Vashti will not come.
Are they not plain, my words? Canst thou not learn
them?
_Messenger_.
Give me some softer speech.
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