where nor shepherd dares to herd his flock nor ever scythe hath mown, but o’er the mead unshorn the bee doth wing its way in spring; and with the dew from rivers drawn purity that garden tends. Such as know no cunning lore, yet in whose nature self-control, made perfect, hath a home, these may pluck the flowers, but not the wicked world. Accept, I pray, dear mistress, mine this chaplet from my holy hand to crown thy locks of gold; for I, and none other of mortals, have this high guerdon, to be with thee, with thee converse, hearing thy voice, though not thy face beholding. So be it mine to end my life as I began.AttendantsMy prince! we needs must call upon the gods, our lords, so wilt thou listen to a friendly word from me?HippolytusWhy, that will I! else were I proved a fool.AttendantsDost know, then, the way of the world?HippolytusNot I; but wherefore such a question?AttendantsIt hates reserve which careth not for all men’s love.HippolytusAnd rightly too; reserve in man is ever galling.AttendantsBut there’s a charm in courteous affability?HippolytusThe greatest surely; aye, and profit, too, at trifling cost.AttendantsDost think the same law holds in heaven as well?