2nd Woman.  But we’ll not have thee disobedient.  The King’s mind is a summer over us; Thou with a storm wilt fill him, and the hail That shatters thee will leave us bruised and weeping.

Vashti.  Be sulky in his arms:  the weather soon Will pleasantly favour thee again.

4th Woman. 
     No, no;
Not because from our heaven of man’s mind
Thou wilt bring down on us a rain of scorn,
But because thou art wicked, thou must go
And tell the King the wine was rash in thee.

Vashti.  I must!

3rd Woman. 
     Thou must indeed:  words such as thine
Never were impudent in men’s ears before.

2nd Woman.  We will not have thee disobedient.

1st Woman.  Here comes another:  gentle words, my Queen, Let him take from thee now, and swiftly follow Contrite, and let the beauty of thy grief Bend pleading against the King’s furious eyes.

     [The POET comes in, and kneels.

Poet.  I will not ask thee what strange anger sent That blaze of proud contempt in the King’s face:  But ere the voice of the King seals up thy life In an unalterable judgment, I Am granted now to come as his last message:  And, as I will, to speak.  Here then I am Not as commanding, but on my knees beseeching, And for myself beseeching.

Vashti. 
     What hast thou
To do with this? and wherefore wert thou chosen?

Poet.  I was to praise the splendour of the King; And I made thee his splendour; and the King, Knowing my truth, would have thee brought, to break All the pride of his under-kings, already Desperate with his riches, and now seeing What marvellous fortune also hath his love, How marvellously delighted.

Vashti. 
     Get thee back: 
And tell the King ’tis time his judgment fell.

Poet.  Not till thou hearest me.

Vashti. 
     I will not hear thee. 
Wouldst thou go on before me, and say, Look, This is the woman which I told you of, You kings; does she not, as I said, stir up Quaking desire through all your muscles?  Look, And thank the King for showing you his lust!—­ I will not hear thee.

Poet. 
     Dost thou not know, my Queen,
That, when I taught thee songs, thou taughtest me
The divine secret, Beauty?  My small tunes
Were games to thee; but now I am he who knows
How man may walk upon Eternity
Wearing the world as a god wears his power,
The world upon him as a burning garment;
For I am he whose spirit knoweth beauty,—­
And thou art the knowledge, Queen!  Therefore thou must
Come with me to the kings of all the nations;
For the whole earth must know of thee.  These kings,
Though it be but a lightning-moment struck
Upon the darkness of their ignorant hearts,
Must know what I know; that there is a beauty,
Only in thee shown forth in bodily sign,
Which can of life make such triumphant glee,
The force of the world seems but man’s spirit utter’d.