Mounseiur Barnavelt, 'Tis no mans envy that hath brought us hether To sitt as Judges on you, but your owne.

So I am sailing now to my owne Indies, And see the happie Coast, too: How my wings Doe spread to catch the wind which comes to court 'em, And the green Sea, enamour'd on my barke, Doth leap to see how Cupid sitts at helme.

[Sitts by her.

" I often sitt for an hour or more, watching Hans Holbein at his brush.

As thou sittest in the moonlight there, Its glory flooding thy golden hair, And the only darkness that which lies In the haunted chambers of thine eyes, I feel my soul drawn unto thee, Strangely, and strongly, and more and more, As to one I have known and loved before; For every soul is akin to me That dwells in the land of mystery!

Now I seek thee, and thou sittest opposite me calm and serene as if thou didst not observe me and wert busy with other things.