University of Virginia Library

Scene IV

Enter AMORET
MAGUS
Here Amoret, a word with thee!

AMORET
Proceed.

MAGUS
I am called hence by strong necessity.

AMORET
Alas! and when shall Heaven's auspicious breath
Restore thee to these longing eyes?

MAGUS
Perhaps
E're yet again the silver moon shall fill
The curvéd radiance of her glowing horns.

AMORET
How in thy tedious absence shall I chide
The lazy motion of the lagging hours?
Hours will seem days.

MAGUS
Sweet Amoret I would
Thy tongue were not at variance with thy heart.

AMORET
True as the handle of the horologe,
As ever moved by the works within,
So move my lips responsive to my heart:
True as the many-chorded Harp returns
Harmonious answers to a master's touch—
So speaks this tongue congenial to my Soul.

MAGUS
It is not mine to draw aside the veil
Of dark deception, or unmask the thoughts
Of other minds—My Necromantic arts
Could never teach me this—sooner might I
Transmute this bodily form into some shape
Of wingéd bird or lazy quadruped
Or bloodless habitant of Ocean's wave.

AMORET
Alas! and why should false suspicion's breath,
With such ill-omened and pernicious words
Tarnish the lustre of my spotless fame?

MAGUS
I cannot trace the windings of a heart,
The searchless windings of a woman's mind,
For that Egyptian labyrinth famed of old
With all its maze of avenues and chambers
Were nothing to it—like a lightsome feather
When put in balance with a ton of lead.

AMORET
(weeping)
What weighty cause, what reason have I giv'n
That thou should'st treat me thus unkindly, Magus?
Have I not lent to thee my youth, my time,
And all that I possess? To thee o'er whom
Full eighty suns have roll'd, while these young eyes
Have barely seen a score, yet would I live
Embosom'd in the fulness of content,
Did not thy temper, fretful and morose,
Still find new themes to harp upon and rail,
Making the shadow of a sound reality,
And the thin air solidity of substance,
For thou art jealousy personified.

MAGUS
Pass not too harsh a judgment on me, Amoret.
Causes however slight do oft give birth to
The same effects as spring from weightier reasons.
The little burning taper's tremulous ray
And th'inexhaustible fount of fire which lives
And emanates from the great Sun, would move
The Dial's circling shadows equally.
And, if thy nature in itself be fickle,
Remember that the windy vane will veer
To the Heaven's lightest murmuring, as well as
To the strong tempest's chiding; one light word,
One thoughtless look, may lead frail spirits as far
As the vice pre-meditated.
Who shall know man, or freely explicate
The many folds of character? or who
Shall bear the lamp of subtle scrutiny
Into the deep recesses of the heart?
Each Being is a world within himself,
A complicated Engine, whose main springs
Are circumstance and habit, and were this space
Of limited life a chain of centuries,
And each particular minute o't employ'd
In the developing another's nature,
'Twere all too short for th'purpose.
I have liv'd long and shall live longer, I
Have mix'd with life in all its variations,
I have visited the camp, the court, the mob,
The riotous tavern, the unruly Hell,
The penetrated hovel, the high palace,
I have had friends and they were stedfast, enemies
And they were bitter—I have wandered far
From th'utmost Arctic to its opposite,
I have seen the thievish Russ, the crusty Spaniard,
The bold, brave Switzer, the freehearted Scot,
The musical Italian, the proud Angle,
The volatile, light-heeled Frank, the sleepy Turk,
The money-loving and broad-bas'd Mynheer—

AMORET
Illiberal innuendos and dark hints
Are gender'd of suspicion—she who views
All objects thro' a mighty magnifier
And multiplies to her diseased vision
Accumulation of anxieties.

MAGUS
Well, Amoret, I will believe thee true
And faithful as the compass to the pole.
For in life's passage would I always look
Upon that side of things which sheweth fairest,
Else were our days but one continued gloom,
A weary scene of surmise and mistrust.
The breath of life blows chillingly enow
To nip our sweetest hopes, and heaven forefend
That we should waken bootless grievances—
When the keen Ether is condens'd with frost
Who would not cleave to th'sunny side o' th'wall?
And hark ye, Amoret, one word of counsel!
Close thou thy casement early, nor look down
At sound of querulous serenade or flute
Wooing the dewy wings o' th'midnight air
To carry upwards on their whispering down
Unto the gaping portals of thine ears
Its soothing luxury of tender tone—
Regard not thou the glancing of the eye—
The pressure of the hand—the easy lapse
Of honey'd words from amatory lips—
All this regard not—Now farewell; may Heaven
And the good Saints protect thee!

[Going
AMORET
The like wish
Attend thee on thy way!

MAGUS
(returning)
If I have said
Ought roughly or in anger—

AMORET
Think not of it!
Once more farewell!—

MAGUS
Farewell, my own good Amoret,
And if my humour should sometimes show testy,
Impute it all unto the love I bear thee,
Which effervesceth of its own intensity,
And oftentimes mounts upward and boils over
Because of its own fervour.

[Exit
AMORET
Go thy ways!
Thou yellowest leaf on Autumn's wither'd tree!
Thou sickliest ear of all the sheaf! thou clod!
Thou fireless mixture of Earth's coldest clay!
Thou crazy dotard, crusted o'er with age
As thick as ice upon a standing pool!
Thou shrunken, sapless, wizen Grasshopper,
Consuming the green promise of my youth!
Go, get thee gone, and evil winds attend thee,
Thou antidote to love! thou bane of Hope,
Which like the float o' th'fisher's rod buoys up
The sinking line and by its fluctuations
Shows when the pang of Disappointment gnaws
Beneath it! But to me are both unknown:
I never more can hope and therefore never
Can suffer Disappointment.
He bears a charmed life and will outlast me
In mustiness of dry longevity,
Like some tough mummy wither'd, not decay'd—
His years are countless as the dusty race
That people an old Cheese and flourish only
In the unsoundest parts on't.
The big waves shatter thy frail skiff! the winds
Sing anything but lullabies unto thee!
The dark-hair'd Midnight grant no ray to thee,
But that of lightning, or the dreadful splendour
Of the conflicting wave! the red bolt scathe thee!
Why was I link'd with such a frowzy mate,
With such a fusty partner of my days?