sylvio.
I cannot read this haughty damsel. Ah! what have we here?—[Picks up the paper Laura has just dropped.]—Something, I trow, more legible than maiden's breast. [Reads.
"Say, fairest, canst thou love,"—I warrant thee—"or does cold scorn compose the sum of thine affections"—"Grown bold"—"If thou wilt lend thine ear to my suit on the terrace to-morrow night at this hour"—A bold suitor, truly—"I will not offend thee again unless thou judgest in my favour." "Carlos."
Good b'ye, lady.—[Mimicks her.]—The Duke shall enjoy this tender morsel. Tell my Lady Hermione, when she next gives a private meeting to her gallant, to keep her billet safe, to veil the fringe of her bodice, and raise the beak of her stomacher, else their shallow covering will betray to every idle flutterer the secrets of the haughtiest beauty in Christendom. [Exit.
SCENE IV.
The Terrace. The night dark and tempestuous, with distant thunder.
Enter Carlos.
carlos.
The night broods heavily, as though
Gaunt mischief were abroad, and its dun cloak
Would hide some horror, the yet timid eye
Shrinks to behold. An hour—a minuted age,
Ere the appointed moment can break in
Upon its tedious march. Hark! footsteps.
I must conceal——this friendly——Ah, Hermione!
Thus anxious for the meeting? [Steps behind a pillar.
Enter Hermione, with a light; she sets it down at the entrance, and walks across the Terrace.
hermione.
Roll on, thou terrible storm,—
On thy dark brow, the lightnings, as they play,
Reveal thy rapid march!—
Spirit of air, that on the untamed winds
Dost walk, or, on the rushing elements
Upborne, thy chariot cleaves the groaning sky,—
Whether to me thou speakest with rude voice
Of unstill'd tempest, or in whispering breath
From morn's flower-fragrant breeze,—I hail thy presence.
Bear in thine hand hot thunder-bolts,
The whirlwind on thy wing, the cloud-swoln cataract
Burst on the reeking earth,—dauntless I'll make
Terror my pastime, sport in their turmoil,
And with the storm-careering demon's shriek
My bitter laugh shall mingle. These are but
The harmless play of innocent childhood,—
So fierce the storm that desolates my soul!
[Carlos comes from behind the pillar, and hesitatingly approaches.
Soft—Who approaches?—How!—Don Carlos!
Whence this intrusion?—Speak not, but begone!
I hear thee not. Touch but my garment,
Shuddering, I'll shake thee off, as some vile reptile
My senses loathe. Hence, ere I spurn thee!
Enter the Duke hastily, his sword drawn.
duke.
Draw, villain!—guard thine hated carcass!
Unsheath, bewildered fool, lest I should spike thee
On this good weapon!
[They engage.
hermione.
Help!—How fierce they fight!—Lights!
Ho!—within!— [Carlos falls.