University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

An apartment in Orlando's palace.
Olivia, Violetta, and Attendants.
Oliv.
Sing me that strain, my gentle Violet,
Which erst we used, in sport and mockery
Of grief, beneath the willow shade at eve
To chaunt together; 'twill allay my woes.

Song, by two voices.
First Voice.
Who is the baby, that doth lie
Beneath the silken canopy
Of thy blue eye?

Second.
It is young Sorrow, laid asleep
In the crystal deep.

Both.
Let us sing his lullaby,
Heigho! a sob and a sigh.

First Voice.
What sound is that, so soft, so clear,
Harmonious as a bubbled tear
Bursting, we hear?

Second.
It is young Sorrow, slumber breaking,
Suddenly awaking.

Both.
Let us sing his lullaby,
Heigho! a sob and a sigh.

Oliv.
'Tis well: you must not weep; 'twill spoil your voices,
And I shall need them soon.

Viol.
For what, Olivia?
You were not wont to prize our simple skill
Erewhile so highly: what will please you most?
What lay of chivalry, or rural sport,
Or shepherd love, shall we prepare you next?

Oliv.
My dirge: I shall not tax your music else.
It must be: wherefore weep?

Viol.
I cannot help it,
When you converse so mournfully of death;
You must forgive me.

Oliv.
Death! thou silly girl,
There's no such thing; 'tis but a goblin word,
Which bad men conjure from their reeking sins
To haunt their slumbers; 'tis a life indeed.
These bodies are the vile and drossy seeds,
Whence, placed again within their kindred earth,
Springs Immortality, the glorious plant
Branching above the skies. What is there here
To shrink from? Though your idle legends tell
How cruelly he treats the prostrate world;
Yet, unto me, this shadowy potentate
Comes soft and soothing as an infant's sleep,
And kisses out my being. Violetta,
Dost thou regard my wish, perhaps the last?

Viol.
Oh! madam, can you doubt it? We have lived
Together ever since our little feet
Were guided on the path, and thence have shared
Habits and thoughts. Have I in all that time,
That long companionship, e'er thwarted thee?
Why dost thou ask me then? Indeed I know not
Thy wishes from my own, but to prefer them.
Then tell me what you will; if its performance
But occupy the portion of a minute,
'Twill be a happy one, for which I thank you.

Oliv.
Thine hand upon it; I believe thy promise.
When I am gone you must not weep for me,
But bring your books, your paintings, and your flowers,
And sit upon my grassy monument
In the dewy twilight, when they say souls come
Walking the palpable gross world of man,
And I will waft the sweetest odours o'er you;
I'll shower down acorn-cups of spicy rain
Upon your couch, and twine the boughs above;
Then, if you sing, I'll take up Echo's part,
And from a far-off bower give back the ends
Of some remembered airy melody;
Then, if you draw, I'll breathe upon the banks
And freshen up the flowers, and send the birds,
Stammering their madrigals, across your path;
Then, if you read, I'll tune the rivulets,
I'll teach the neighbouring shrubs to fan your temples,
And drive sad thoughts and fevers from your breast;
But, if you sleep, I'll watch your truant sense,
And meet it in the fairy land of dreams
With my lap full of blessings; 'twill, methinks,
Be passing pleasant, so don't weep for me.

Viol.
I fear, Olivia, I'm a selfish creature,
These tears drop not for you, but for myself;
'Tis not that death will have you, but that I
Shall be a lone lost thing without your love.

Oliv.
My love will spread its wings for ever near you;
Each gentler, nobler, and diviner thought
Will be my prompting.

Viol.
Well, I'll bear it then,
And even persuade myself this intercourse
Of disembodied minds is no conjecture,
No fiction of romance. The summer sun
Will find me on the sod that covers you,
Among the blossoms; I'll try not to cry;
And when I hear a rustle in the grass,
Or the soft leaves come kissing my bent arm,
I shall not lay it to the empty air,
But think I know thy utterance in the noises
That answer me, and see thy rosy fingers
Dimpling the brooks.

Oliv.
Thou wilt be cheerful, then?

Viol.
Yes, with this hope,
That when, some silent, melancholy night,
I've sobbed myself to sleep over your picture,
Or some memorial of your former kindness,
I shall awaken to ethereal music,
And find myself a spirit with Olivia.

[A bell tolls.
Oliv.
Whose summons loads the gale with mournful sound?

Attend.
Dear lady?

Oliv.
I ask who's dead or who's to die:
You need not tell me: I remember now,—
It was a thought I wished to keep away.
My love, my Hesperus, unto me thou wert
The gentlest and the kindest; sudden madness
Must have inspired this deed; and why do I,
Wife of the dying, tarry in the world?
I feel already dissolution's work;
A languor creeps through all my torpid veins;
Support me, maidens.

Viol.
Come unto your couch;
Sleep will recruit thee.

Oliv.
Yes; the breathless sleep;
Come and pray round me, as I fade away;
My life already oozes from my lips,
And with that bell's last sound I shall expire.

[Exeunt.