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 nobly. 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.