Song.
O, the day is loud and busy!
Every blush the sun discovers.
Loud and busy, bright and bold,
Day was never loved of lovers.
Night for nightingales and moonlight!
Many a blush night's mantle covers.
Night for kissing, night for loving,
Night for us, for we are lovers!
Ivy. What singers be these?
Green. A shepherd and his lass.
Ivy. I know a better song than that. It goes this way:
[Sings.] Night and day let us be merry,
And set not by the world a cherry;
For dry bread chokes——
That's not right. I forget it. I could make a better song than either
myself; by my soul, I could! None of your sheepish love-songs, but a song
to make the stars dance quicker, and the moon multiply itself a score of
times. You have only made two moons.
Celio. We did not aim at putting the moon beside herself.
Ivy. I could make a song about the moon. Sir, I have read about the
moon. Her name—hic!—her name is—hic!——
Celio. Hecate.
Ivy. Give a man time to speak his mind. Her name is Hecate, although
you say it. I know about the moon: Hecate is the moon—Hecate.
Sylvia. O, come away!
Celio. Make your song, my friend, and show it to me to-morrow.
Ivy. I will, sir; I will.
Celio. Good-night.
[Celio and Sylvia go out.
Ivy. The song is coming, Green; it's coming. 'By the light of
Hecate's lamp'—lamp, lamp—what rhymes with lamp?—Come to some more
delusive, poetic spot.—'By the light of Hecate's
lamp'—lamp?—Come.—What the devil rhymes with lamp!—Come.
[Ivy and Green go out.
Enter hurriedly Cinthio, and Faustine dressed as a shepherd-boy.
Faustine. O Cinthio, hearken! We are lost. Alas!
Cinthio. Fear not, my love: all danger we shall pass.
[They go out..
SCENE IV.—A Room in Martha's House.
Enter Martha.
Martha. Gone with the Prince! I knew 'twould come at last.
Well, I shall be a lonely woman soon.
To think how many a mother envies me
My lovely daughter for her loveliness,
And that she has enchanted our good prince,
And all the happiness in store for me,
When I shall be a prince's mother-in-law.
[Knocking.
A visit at this time! Who's there?
Enter Onesta.
What now, my lady Faustine's maid? Onesta. The king has sent for you. Martha. The king! Onesta. King Alardo. By the deceit of providence he has come back; and Guido has found out Faustine's escape. He commanded me to go and bring you, because he has heard about Eulalie; for Guido threatened me with flaying and pickling, and buttering and roasting. You are to come at once and meet the king and Guido and another lord at the tree in the gushet where the three roads meet, to go with them to the wood, where Eulalie and the prince, and Faustine and Cinthio are. If I would not tell him all, he would have minced me into collops, else he might have pulled my tongue out before I would have told. The king is going to pack you and Eulalie off this very night. 'The mad, old heifer,' says he, 'to set her low-bred cow to my royal bull.' And Cinthio is to be made into a ram—no, it was a ewe, Guido said: I think it was a ewe, though it struck me he meant an ox; and Faustine is to mew in a nunnery all her life. Martha. The king come back, and Eulalie and I to be packed off to-night; Faustine, made a nun; you, to be roasted Onesta. Haste, haste. I'll tell you more as we go. Martha. More! Save us! You have said more than enough. [They go out.