Act five scene seven: Within the branches of a storm damaged tree

Enter Beloved climbing into Sylvanus an ancient apple tree much broken by storms.

Sylvanus:
We all must play our part in this bright world, and I no less than you,
Must take my gifts and talents to the world, and use them such as I,
Am called upon to do. And though I will not, cannot be the hero of,
This tale. Still am I willing now to play the part I must.
You who came to me, called me love, and sought to find some shelter,
In these branches, pulling them around you, called them safe, ate,
Of these my fruits until you were quite full. I asked for nothing, still I gave,
Gave you all of what I am that you might find, some sense of just,
How beautiful you were. How in the infinite black of night, the raging storms,
The tempest and the winds, you still were beautiful and whole, had worth.
How when you spoke of night I saw your stars, and asking nothing, let you,
Walk, through all your fears, and spoke to each of them.
But so it is my part, for I am not, a thing to be loved but to give love,
And as you grow and strengthen so I see, the time that is at hand.
For you are searching now for other hearts, while I, constant and fixed,
Must watch you climb down to the ground, and smell the earth after the rain.
Such are my gifts, such is my path, and though I hate the knowledge, still,
I must, be willing to perform the tasks which I am called upon to do.
Or else I fail to play my part. So go. Find for yourself that love you truly want,
Remember my branches safe and all the truths I spoke to you. That you,
Are more than stars, and planets, hearts of suns, you are the light,
And you the night, you are the whole and all and everything. For it is I,
That can not be enough. I am the healer not the hero of this tale.
The one who was enough when things were hard, but now in sunlight,
You must dance while I watch on in quietness.
For in your coming less and less, the whispering of birds within the woods,
I have been shown the truth. That you were seeking more than me.
To come to me has now become a chore, you do not run,
But rather drag your feet like school boys on their way to class,
And this together with the notes of men, leaves me to think that you,
Most beautiful and most beloved, have been and are inconstant now.
And so it seems that I have helped to heal and that you must now,
Depart, out to the world and to another man, who you will find more,
Pleasing and more worthy.
But take the blessings of the orchard and the wood. Know that in each,
And every way you still are loved and blessed. Parting is hard. But better,
For you to honestly hold your head up high and say “I wish for more than trees”,
And to climb down and walk away to lover true. Than ask me without words,
To tip you from my bower. So go. Be blessed. Find happiness in other arms,
And leave me now, to my own loneliness, for it is not your part to heal.

Exaunt Beloved stage left. Wedding music is heard from of stage.

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