Page 732 - Shakespeare - Vol. 2

Glendower speaks to her in Welsh, and she answers him in the same.

GLENDOWER
She is desperate here. A peevish self-willed harlotry,
One that no persuasion can do good upon.

The Lady speaks in Welsh.

MORTIMER
I understand thy looks. That pretty Welsh

Which thou pourest down from these swelling heavens
I am too perfect in; and, but for shame, [200]
In such a parley should I answer thee.
The Lady again in Welsh.
I understand thy kisses, and thou mine,

And that’s a feeling disputation.
But I will never be a truant, love,
Till I have learnt thy language; for thy tongue [205]

Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penned,
Sung by a fair queen in a summer’s bow’r,
With ravishing division, to her lute.

GLENDOWER
Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad.

The Lady speaks again in Welsh.

MORTIMER
O, I am ignorance itself in this! [210]

GLENDOWER

She bids you on the wanton rushes lay you down
And rest your gentle head upon her lap,
And she will sing the song that pleaseth you
And on your eyelids crown the god of sleep,
Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness, [215]

Making such difference ’twixt wake and sleep
As is the difference betwixt day and night