Charles: Have you so labored to this atom's birth?
Is a boy's passion so new under the moon
You gape at it?
Cecco: But if, sir——
Charles: I had thought
Would start up in your words some Titan woe,
No human catapult could war upon!
Some dread colossal doom, frenzied to fall!
Were it he's traitor gnawing at my throne,
Or ready with some potent cruelty
To blight this tenderness new-sprung in me—
I would—even have listened!
(Noise is heard at the postern. It is unlocked. Hæmon enters, and stops in consternation.)
Charles: Keys? To—this?
Hæmon: I—have excuse.
Charles: Perchance also you have
Them to my gems and secrecies? Shall I
Not show their hiding?—rubies, and fair gold?
Hæmon: Mistake me not, my lord.
Charles: I could not: you
Have come at midnight—a most honest hour.
Enter this postern—a most honest way,
And seem most honest—Why, I could not, sir!
Hæmon: You wrong me, and have wronged me. I but come
To loose my sister.