No More Learning

Lest my work should all seem done
For naught, I needs must keep what I have won;
So prithee take her in. No theft, but true
Toil, won her. . . . Some day thou mayst thank me, too.

ADMETUS.
'Twas in no scorn, no bitterness to thee,
I hid my wife's death and my misery.
Methought it was but added pain on pain
If thou shouldst leave me, and roam forth again
Seeking another's roof. And, for mine own
Sorrow, I was content to weep alone.
But, for this damsel, if it may be so,
I pray thee, Lord, let some man, not in woe
Like mine, take her. Thou hast in Thessaly
Abundant friends. . . .
'Twould wake sad thoughts in me.
How could I have this damsel in my sight
And keep mine eyes dry? Prince, why wilt thou smite
The smitten? Griefs enough are on my head.
Where in my castle could so young a maid
Be lodged--her veil and raiment show her young:
Here, in the men's hall? I should fear some wrong.
'Tis not so easy, Prince, to keep controlled
My young men. And thy charge I fain would hold
Sacred. --If not, wouldst have me keep her in
The women's chambers . . . where my dead hath been?
How could I lay this woman where my bride
Once lay? It were dishonour double-dyed.
These streets would curse the man who so betrayed
The wife who saved him for some younger maid;
The dead herself . .