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"Look you thus in Heaven, O my King?" she breathed. Sir Mortimer approached her very slowly, for he saw that her senses strayed. As he came nearer she shrank against the wall of bloom. "Dear heart," he said, "I am a living man, and before all the world I now may wear thy silver sleave." But the rose you gave me once before hath withered into dust. I could not hold it back.
Her face, too, was as full of goodness as intelligence it was like no other farce; the heart bounded to meet it. He rented a box at her theater. He was there every night before the curtain drew up; and I'm sorry to say, he at last took half a dislike to Sunday Sunday "which knits up the raveled sleave of care," Sunday "tired nature's sweet restorer," because on Sunday there was no Peg Woffington.
"I love you I love you " until at last sleep helped to knit up the ravelled sleave of care. Every morning there were fresh roses for her. "The signorino hopes you are better." "Oh, much better, thank you." And after a while a day came when she felt really strong enough to get up. She dressed slowly and came down and out on to the terrace.
There are always those who think it is funny to do that sort of thing, but they are the first to squeel when anything is done to them. Once I put a small garter Snake in a girl's muff, and it went up her sleave, which is nothing to some of the things she had done to me. And you would have thought the School was on fire.
Bon. Peace, sirrah; observe. Lov. So, let me see the summa totalis of my sweet ladies perfections. Grimes. Good, he has her in whole already. Tho. Peace, Grimes. Lov. Imprimis, her faire haire; no silken sleave Can be so soft the gentle worm does weave. Grimes. I, there it goes. Bon. I protest I comend him; he goes through stitch with her like the Master of his trade. Lov. Her belly Grimes.
To her mind there was present an idea that she would, at any rate, endure as much actual suffering as her daughter. There they both sat, and in the morning they were objects pitiable to be seen. Macbeth and Sancho have been equally eloquent in the praise of sleep. 'Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care! But sleep will knit up effectually no broken stitches unless it be enjoyed in bed.
Health and happiness often disappear from those who fail to sleep, for sleep, indeed, is "tired Nature's sweet restorer," as Young in his Night Thoughts termed it. Shakspere never wrote anything truer when he said: Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care, The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great Nature's second course, Chief nourisher of life's feast.
"Burdened with thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls, the sometimes Thane of Cawdor indulged in an apostrophe to 'the dull god' which has enduring place in all language: 'Sleep, that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in Life's feast,
She lifted the lovely head, chose, and cut off a long piece, and handed it respectfully to the father. He took it without a word, sat down on the step before the communion-rail, and began to smooth out the wonderful sleave of dusky gold. It was, indeed, beautiful hair. As he drew it out, I thought it must be a yard long.
"Poor O'mie!" and Dollie made a dive for the kitchen to weep out her grief alone. It seemed to settle upon Springvale that O'mie was lost; had been overcome in some way by the murderous raiders who had infested our town. In sheer weariness and hopelessness I fell on my bed, that night, and sleep, the "sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care," fell upon me.
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