Du N. Hers is that beauty by the mind conferred,
The outward vestment lumined by the soul,
Which sets respect as centinel to guard
The treasure stored within, and from approach
Too near, restrains those whisperers of nought,
Who throng impertinent around the form,
Which owes to symmetry alone, and feature,
Its power to fascinate. There is a dignity
Withal in her simplicity, which awes
The surer for the company unwont
In which 'tis found. Nature herein has mocked
The cunning artist's skill, who, in a rim
Of purest silver sets his goodliest stone,
Making the metal richer for the gem.
Xaint. Thou lovest her then?
Du N. Are words denied the heart
Of firmest mould, or what enchains my tongue?
If life for life, if soul for soul exchanged,
So honour were retained, be mark of love,
Then love I her.
Xaint. Thou surely wilt not wed her,
When easier terms—
Du N. Now, by my sword's good point,
For that foul thought I could a vengeance take
Which should forbid all chance of like offence.
Ah! witness not these swelling veins, that I
Myself am heir of wanton shame, and worse,
Of broken faith? Sits not the stamp accursed
Of bastardy upon my brow, to dim
The gems that in my coronet might sparkle?
And shall I imitate the vice I scorn,
And wring some breast with anguish like my own?
Hear me, ye mighty Pow'rs above, if e'er,
Through me, should fall the tear of broken virtue;
If cry of babe that may not bear my name,
Ascend, then may that tear consume my heart,
And that faint cry o'erpower my prayer for mercy.
Xaint. I meant not to offend: my foolish words
Thus oft disgrace my thoughts.
Du N. Enough! if mine
She e'er become 't shall be in holiest bands;
But if thou value me, ne'er breathe the secret.
She is not to be won as other maids,
And never can I brook refusal. Hark!
The trumpet calls.
Xaint. I leave thee for my post.
Du N. And I for mine.