XLII.

If he be glad, if he be sad, How should one question when the hand Is full, the heart. That life he had, While leisure was aside may stand, Till he shall overtake the task Of every day, then let him ask (If he remember—if he will), 'When I could sit me down and muse, And match my good against mine ill, And weigh advantage dulled by use At nothing, was it better with me?' But Sigismund! It cannot be But that he toil, nor pause, nor sigh, A dreamer on a day gone by The king is come.