O COME, my king, and fill the palaces Where sceptred Loss too long hath held her state, With courts of Joyaunce, and a laughing breeze Of voices. -- If thou willest, come; -- I wait Unquestioning, no servant, but thy slave. I plead no merit, and no claim for wages, Nor that sweet favour which my sovereign gave In other days, of his own grace: but pages Are privileged to linger at the door With longing eyes, while nobles kiss the hand Of him the noblest, though elect no more To touch the train, or at the throne to stand. But come, content me with the lowest place, So be it that I see thy royal face. |