University of Virginia Library

Scene 3.

A terrace before Winthrop's house. Night. Enter Anne.
ANNE.
Into the cool night air; my blood is thick
With a strange melancholy; and in my heart
A fluttering fear beats quick, then dies away
In faint dim longings. What should all this mean?
I'll walk i' the moonlight—it may be the chaste
And solemn light of the starry heavens, together
With the night's cool breathings, shall refresh my spirit.
How bright thou art, ineffable lonely queen,
That rul'st these silent hours! O me! my soul
Melts in thy radiance! All things are at rest.
From the still boughs that sleep beneath thine eye
Faint odours breathe of the green and budding spring;
No smallest sound is heard, but a low rustling
Like the unfolding of the new made leaves.
My husband sleeps; I watched him ere I left him;
A dreamless quiet slumber it did seem,
Like that of a good man.
[Enter at the back Lord Alford.
I'm glad I woke.
My sleep was much disturbed, and in my dreams
A voice and form arose for evermore,
That seemed to draw my heart away from me;
I'm glad I woke! How sad and fair is night!
How fair were such a night to two who loved,
Standing beneath this loving sky. Ah me!
That mine had been so sweet a lot! Who's there?
O Heaven! Who's there?

ALFORD
(coming forward).
Start not, fair dame, nor fear.
What, wandering thus a lonely votary
Of the cold queen! Where is your happy husband,
That he thus suffers you to steal away,
To walk through the night a fairer earthly Dian?

ANNE.
How comes your lordship waking at this hour?
I thought the house abed.

ALFORD.
Nay, how come you
At such an hour awake? Alas! my eyes
Refuse to close: my blood within my veins,
Stirred by some unknown passion to and fro,
Gushes and ebbs from my o'erladen heart,
That heaves with smothered sighs. But what make you
With restless wakefulness? You, in whose breast
The sunshine of a calm content doth dwell,
Whose wishes crowned with perfect happiness
Rest in the joy of full accomplishment?

ANNE.
O Heaven! I!—

ALFORD.
Why, you are weeping, sure!
Whence are these crystal tokens?

ANNE.
Sir—my lord—
It is not fit, nor seemly—'tis not well,
That thus in the night we should converse together.

ALFORD.
Why? was it sin when here you stood alone,
Gazing into the heavens, like one dropt from them?
And is it sin that, led by the beauteous night,
And a secret spirit of most blessed chance,
I here have met you? Nay, but if you were one
Not bound in wedlock chain, but gently bent
To hear me plead—if I were one who loved you—
If kneeling thus, thus pressing this white hand,
I prayed your mercy—

ANNE.
Rise this instant, sir!
You have forgot to whom you speak—forgot
Yourself and me—in this audacious language.

ALFORD.
Pardon, oh, pardon!—on the earth I lie
Prostrate before you. Call your husband hither,
And bid him put his sword into my heart,
But pierce it not with thy more terrible anger.

ANNE.
Hence, ere the night shall waste another second
I may not look upon you once again,
Nor hear you speak another syllable,
Without a deadly sin.

ALFORD.
Forgive—forgive me

[Anne re-enters the chamber and closes the window; he remains kneeling as the scene closes.