Hugo.

No cheer. Thy questioning looks may not be answer’d With any brightness, duke: and yet take heart. The fever of our climate is in the onset Oft overmasked as this. ’Twill clear and pass. ’Twere quite incredible she should so sicken Of mere affection. The compacted body Hath its machinery for health and action, Its appetites for food and rest, too firm To be unfixed by fancy. Like a river Our life flows on, whose surface storms may vex, But never move the current from its bed.