Laertes sits back with a thoughtful look. "It's strange," he says after a moment. "Others used to ask me whether I was jealous of him, for he took many other lovers--and I would always answer that I would no more keep the sun to myself than his love. His love is a gift that he shares freely, and I am glad beyond the telling that so many return that gift in full measure. But as for myself ... I do not think my heart any such gift. I'm yet new to the arts of love. I never believed that such things could be possible for me, ere I came here--I meant to die old and alone, an unfriended bachelor all my days. Now, I think, my heart seeks surfeit where once it had pledged itself to famine. And, ay, Sagramore is and will always be first in my heart, but only as the evening star is the first and most constant in the sky."