The Legendary and Poetical Remains of John Roby Part 14

Why, poor wretch, I pity thee. Perhaps she hath fallen sick for the moon; thou seest his cheek is somewhat shorn off, and I verily think he favours the lover that I told thee of.

ROLAND.

Thou art an old and a wicked rogue. But what waked such pleasant music?

Came that from the moon too?

STEPHANO.

Ah, ah, honest friend, dost thou breed suspicions?--Ask the gardener who brought the music-men so late under the garden terrace.

_Enter LAURA cautiously, carrying a light._

LAURA.

How now, masters, wot ye,--a pretty time o' night for secret whisperings! What brings you to the terrace, worthy sirs, so nigh upon midnight? Pleasant discourse truly, you unseasonable villains! Can't you stay a-bed?

ROLAND.

Sweet mistress, we came to hear the music.

LAURA.

And what should lug your dainty ears to the serenade?--I' faith, 'tis high time for your betters to stop their ears, when a.s.ses jog to the pipe. So, you guessed the music came to benefit your private discourse.

An excellent jest this!--a serenade to a couple of owls.--Get in, you lazy dolts, and thank your stars, and not your ears, that you have 'scaped a beating.----[_Exeunt ROLAND and STEPHANO._]----I wonder these idiots guessed not who drew the serenade to this long-deserted house.

True it may be some dozen years or more since this same salute awoke me; nevertheless, I was not past hope of its return. That gallant stranger whom I saw at vespers yesterday eyed me not, nor did he watch the corner of the street, for nought.--Well, it is a n.o.ble-looking cavalier, and a steady, well-ordered person, I warrant, from his noticing me so properly, and not that giddy coz of mine, the love-unheeding Hermione.--I hope he will return. Virgin decorum permitteth not my regard to his first appearance.--Hark!----[_Music._]----Oh! how my heart flutters! Sweet harbinger of love! I must show myself, or he will die of despair, or, perchance, he will not come again, which will suit me still worse. Though, certes, it would be mightily amusing to feel oneself the cause of a gay cavalier hanging himself in his garters! What a precious revenge for the many slights we maidens are subject to! And then, to have it said, "there goes the signora for whom signor so and so hanged himself." Oh, how charming is this moonlight! Really, I am younger to-night than when I was but one year past thirty. Hus.h.!.+--ay, I warrant thou art in love;--I can tell by the turn of thy voice. Senor Antonio quavered just as thou dost;--but--he was fickle, and quavered so far he could not get back again. I never saw him again after his second sky alto!--Hark!

SONG.

Fair as the moonbeam, Bright as the running stream, Sparkling, yet cold.

In Love's tiny fingers A shaft yet there lingers, And he creeps near thy bosom and smiles, lady.

Soon his soft wings will cherish A flame round thine heart, And, ere it may perish, Thy peace shall depart.

O listen, listen, lady gay, Love doth not always sue; The brightest flame will oft decay, The fondest lover rue, lady!

LAURA.

I cannot resist.

[_She waves her hand over the Terrace. A letter is thrown--she takes it to the lamp, and reads--_

"Say, fairest, canst thou love? or doth cold scorn compose the sum of thy affections? Can thine eyes enkindle so suddenly another's heart, and yet shed no warmth on thine own? Give me but one smile, and thou shalt frown upon me for ever: so shall that cheering beam outlive a thousand dark winters. I am grown bold, for I have but a simple tale, and if thou wilt lend an ear to my suit, on the Terrace, to-morrow night at this hour, my presence will not offend thee again unless thou judgest in my favour.

"CARLOS."

So, so,--rather a bold gallant I trow, seeing it is the first he hath asked of my company; but I guess it is the fas.h.i.+on of these perilous days. Peradventure, if I had not been beforetime so careful of my favours, I had been woo'd and wedded with the best of 'em. After all, I see no great harm in the company of a handsome young spark, save that the uncourted dames are envious withal! but verily they would change their minds mayhap as I do, though every one doth not judge so charitably as the person who hath chanced to ride on the other side of his opinion. I scolded the maids though but yesterday for a night frolic with their sweethearts, and bravely will Hermione laugh at my sermon, with the practice thereto appended. Well, I care not--"let those laugh that get the magpie's nest."--When I am married, grin who dare;--Carlos, I meet thee! [_Exit._

ACT II.--SCENE I.

_The Duke's Chamber._

_Enter DUKE._

DUKE.

A strange conceit:--where dwellest thou, And on what nurtured?--Love on air-fed dreams Yet lives not: if in the heart nor hope there be, Nor thought, nor token'd glimpse on which to cling For daily sustenance, the recreant dies.-- Repliest thou?--What, nought my monitor?-- Nay, thou didst rise unbidden on my path, With threatening front, and sternly stalked thee forth From out thy covert, sent, forsooth, as though To warn of menaced danger. Back to thy den!

Dream there of mischief and invent new terrors; I yet can jest, laugh with the laughing dames, Sport in their transient blaze, unharm'd, uncensured, And ever to thy fond embrace return, Beatrice, thence more wedded to thine heart!

In quiet cease thine oft foreboding ill, Nor with unreal fears haunt my repose, Lest when thou shouldst arouse, erewhile to rush Betwixt me and my purpose, thine alarms I heed not, if so oft thy drivelling fancies Arise to fool me!----

_Enter an ATTENDANT._

ATTENDANT.

My Lord, the Lady Hermione visits you to-day.

DUKE.

My pages--are they summoned?

ATTENDANT.

Fabian waits below, in the great hall, just equipped for the chase.

DUKE.

Let him attend. [_Exit ATTENDANT._ The tongue of that gay damsel in mine ear Yet rings. I like her wit well, she doth sport These humours n.o.bly. Words from her charmed lips Do gather sweetness, and the sharpest taunt Falls from her harmless, veil'd in the soft tones Of her most delicate voice. And yet her presence I would not seek; a lurking mystery Hangs, or my thought deceives me, fathomless, Inscrutable, and dazzling as the veil That quells th' intruder's gaze. I watch'd her eye In secret yesternight, amid the feast; The soul that sate there laugh'd not, but her face With radiant smiles was sprinkled, dimpling o'er Like the soft waves on summer seas, with such Smooth, gentle undulation. Yet her eye Ne'er rose nor fell, but fix'd as some stern rock Amid that smiling wave. I like not this-- There's witchery in that glance.

_Enter FABIAN._

Bring here my tablets, boy:--how goes the news?

FABIAN.

Your grace, perchance, hath heard two gentle strangers The abode inquiring of Hermione.

Beneath Ridolfi's terrace, yesternight, Unto her ear they gave, with pipe and lute, Sweet signal of their presence.

DUKE.

Where?--the terrace!-- I'll have them seiz'd. Ho!--guards!

_Enter Guard._

FABIAN.

Oh, stay!--why thus, my lord!-- The men purpose no mischief, hither bent On some love errand; they in this can plot None other hurt.

DUKE.

Love! sayest thou?--Whom seek they?--

FABIAN.

Hermione, my lord, and she----

DUKE.

Admits their coming?--Seize them, guards!-- Why this delay?

GUARD.

My lord, we know not where Your message hath its reference.

DUKE.

Where lurk the caitiffs, boy?

FABIAN.

Alas! alas! some frenzy masters you: One moment wait, one precious moment, ere Upon the spotless robe of your fair justice Fall this abhorred stain. Pause, I beseech you, [_The DUKE motions the Guards to withdraw._ 'Tis for yourself I plead! [_Kneels._

DUKE.

Up, boy!--what ails thee? Knowest thou, Fabian, Of these intruders?--Speak!