THE ANGEL. It is but the rest of the fire, from which the air has been taken! It is but the rest of the sand, when the hour-glass is not shaken! It is but the rest of the tide between the ebb and the flow! It is but the rest of the wind between the flaws that blow! With fiendish laughter, Hereafter, This false physician Will mock thee in thy perdition.
PRINCE HENRY. Speak! speak! Who says that I am ill? I am not ill! I am not weak! The trance, the swoon, the dream, is o'er! I feel the chill of death no more! At length, I stand renewed in all my strength Beneath me I can feel The great earth stagger and reel, As if the feet of a descending God Upon its surface trod, And like a pebble it rolled beneath his heel! This, O brave physician! this Is thy great Palingenesis!
Drinks again.
THE ANGEL. Touch the goblet no more! It will make thy heart sore To its very core! Its perfume is the breath Of the Angel of Death, And the light that within it lies Is the flash of his evil eyes. Beware! Oh, beware! For sickness, sorrow, and care All are there!
PRINCE HENRY, sinking back. O thou voice within my breast! Why entreat me, why upbraid me, When the steadfast tongues of truth And the flattering hopes of youth Have all deceived me and betrayed me? Give me, give me rest, oh rest! Golden visions wave and hover, Golden vapors, waters streaming, Landscapes moving, changing, gleaming! I am like a happy lover, Who illumines life with dreaming! Brave physician! Rare physician! Well hast thou fulfilled thy mission!
His head falls on his book.
THE ANGEL, receding. Alas! alas! Like a vapor the golden vision Shall fade and pass, And thou wilt find in thy heart again Only the blight of pain, And bitter, bitter, bitter contrition!
COURT-YARD OF THE CASTLE
HUBERT standing by the gateway.