The Seventh Star Inn

[Envinyatar]

He picked up his lute, the merry ribbons on its neck fluttering as he joined in the airy melody. His fingers pressed the strings and picked the chords in light succession. Head bent over the instrument, as if to watch the notes fly from it, he mouthed the somber words writ for the song -

Wise men patience never want,
Good men pity cannot hide ;
Feeble spirits only want
Of revenge, the poorest pride :
He alone, forgive that can,
Bears the true soul of a man.

Done! The last notes barely fallen away, and now the lute-master calls for another sweet melody, its harmony enlarged by the clink of tankards on the tables and the counterpoint of conversations as they rise and fall.

Derufin, softly singing the lyric, looked out upon the inattentive throng.

Now winter nights enlarge
The number of their hours;
And clouds their storms discharge
Upon the airy towers.
Let now the chimneys blaze
And cups o'erflow with wine,
Let well-tun'd words amaze
With harmony divine.
Now yellow waxen lights
Shall wait on honey’d Love
While youthful Revels, Masks, and Courtly sights,
Sleep’s leaden spells remove.

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Verses from Thomas Campion's Firste Booke and Third Booke of Ayres