University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

—The Garden of the Castle.
Enter Sir Rupert and Sir Conrad.
Sir Rup.
Time is the same. 'Tis our condition's changed.
The hours hang weary heavy on our hands,
We scarce could catch when Catherine was here;
They went so fleetly by us. Then the death
Of the Duke hath left a blank, which, while he lived,
Light offices, with grateful tasks fill'd up,
And kept our spirits from flagging.

Sir Con.
Eventful day,
The day he died! Eventful day to us!
Our Catherine married Huon then, and fled;
And Huon fled, avoiding Catherine;
Nor since of either tidings—though for him
Almost the world was search'd. Strange, loathing him
As she did, with hate almost unnatural,
How much to heart the Countess took his flight.

Sir Rup.
Ay, as a gentle stream would take a rock,
Suppose one cast sudden into it,
Damming its channel up, and making foam,
Where all before went crystal, without ripple,
But such as noteth gliding. Yes, 'twas strange.

Sir Con.
'Twas very strange.

Sir Rup.
'Twas one of certain things
We see, yet question that we see, yet there
We know they are.

Sir Con.
She pines for loss of him.

Sir Rup.
No, sir; she takes to heart her father's will,
Compelling her to choose a husband, or
Accept of him the tournament may send her.
And so, she keeps alone, to all forbidding
Approach to her, except this youth, who sits
In Huon's place, her secretary now,
The forward cousin of fair Catherine.

Sir Con.
Strange, Catherine should fly, and Huon too!
That each should purpose, what, if known to each,
Had one accomplish'd, had sufficed for both—
To shun the consummation of the rites!
Strange, that the Duke that very day should die!

Sir Rup.
Untimely was the Duke's decease for us—
Prevented by his death from profiting
By the fair opening, which the turbulent
And wild Bohemians for our lances made.
We could not take the field; and, lo, the war,
Ere well commenced, is done; concluded too
By single combat, and the conqueror
A knight unknown till now, whose championship
Had graced the proudest days of chivalry:
Of presence noble as his deeds are lofty,
By that confirming what by these he won—
The favour of the Empress. Yonder comes
The secretary.

Sir Con.
Ay, 'tis he.

Sir Rup.
I fear
He laughs at us, giving us hopes—as still
You know he does—that one of us shall yet
Make wife of Catherine. A forward spark!
I hate a stripling that's so much the man;
It shows like aping. He grows worse and worse,
Since he hath got his office. For the sake
Of Catherine, alone, I bear with him.

Sir Con.
He is like her; never brother more like sister.
I have a word to say to you anon,
Touching to-morrow, when the tournament
Decides who weds the Countess; she declining
To choose a mate herself.

Cath.
[without, very loud].
Ho! Holloa!

Sir Rup.
Ho!
Catherine enters.
Why call you, sir, so loud?

Cath.
To make you hear
News, sirs, from Catherine! Shall I whisper it?
She is coming!

Sir Rup.
So you told us months ago.

Cath.
Well, when she comes, she'll be the welcomer!

Sir Con.
I'll wait for her no longer.

Cath.
Wait for her?
O! ay!—A man may wait, and wait in vain.
I wait for a wife; though the odds are ten to one,
As I'm a man, I die a bachelor.
Do you know the signs of one?

Sir Con.
No; what are they?

Cath.
O, various; but the chief, a cautious eye,
And calculating. He that scans a fence,
But seldom makes a clever leap of it;
Nine times in ten he balks his spring and falls,
In the ditch; while he who takes it at a glance,
Goes flying over. Women are shrewd imps!
Behoves a man he thinks not of their pockets,
When he is looking in their faces; for,
Wear he his eye ever so languishingly,
They'll find he's only busy at a sum
In arithmetic! Sir Rupert, let me see
Your face! Don't look so sullen at me. Who
Can see the sun, if he's behind a cloud?
That's right. I would not say, but when the woman
Kind Heaven intends for wife to you shall come,
You'll marry her.

Sir Con.
What say you of my face!

Cath.
The same I say of his. By my honour, sirs!
Though I may pass for an astrologer,
I never yet, believe me, made pretence
To read the stars; nor am I adept, yet,
In palmistry; nor have I studied signs
As lucky or unlucky omens; yet
Things can I tell before they come to pass.

Sir Con.
But shall I die a bachelor?

Cath.
You will,
Unless it chance upon a certain day,
In a certain month, in such or such a year—
At present which is doubtful, but as sure
As time runs on 'twill come—you get a wife!
Now, there's a puzzle for you; make it out,
And tell it me; and then I'll tell it you,
If you are in the right. Your lot is cast
In mystery; but for Sir Rupert, his
Is plain. 'Tis right before me! I can tell
The year, the month, the week, the day, almost
The very hour, he will be married, or—
Not married! yet am I no conjurer.
Where is Sir Otto?

Sir Con.
We are going to him;
He waits for us.

Cath.
I'll follow. News wait I
From Catherine; I'll bring it, if it comes.
Nay, sirs, beseech you, look not thus upon me
With eyes of marvel. On my word! indeed,
And, by my honour,—and, if nothing else
Will satisfy you, though I have ta'en an oath
'Gainst swearing, I will give it on my oath—
I am no conjurer! Another word:
What I have told you, tell not, as you love me,
Lest I should pay for it by flood or faggot!
Upon my life, sirs, I am no conjurer!

[They go out severally.