University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A large platform on the roof of the palace of Petronius, from which are seen spires and towers, and the broken roofs of houses, &c., with the general appearance of a ruined city, the distant parts involved in smoke. Ella is discovered with an attendant, standing on a balcony belonging to a small tower, rising from the side of the platform. As the curtain draws up the sound of artillery is heard.
Enter Othus and Marthon.
Othus.
Ah, see how sadly changed the prospect is
Since first from our high station we beheld
This dismal siege begin! 'Midst level ruin,
Our city now shows but its batter'd towers,
Like the jagg'd bones of some huge animal,
Whose other parts the mould'ring hand of time
To dust resolves.

Mar.
(coldly).
It does indeed some faint resemblance hold
To what thou hast compared it to. How is't?
Art thou not from the walls?

Othus.
No, not immediately.

Mar.
Wast thou not there when Mahomet's huge cannon
Open'd its brazen mouth and spoke to us?
How brook'd thine ears that deep tremendous sound?
The coasts of Asia and th' Olympian heights,
Our land-begirded seas, and distant isles,
Spoke back to him again, in his own voice,
A deep and surly answer; but our city,
This last imperial seat of Roman greatness:
This head of the world, this superb successor
Of the earth's mistress, where so many Cæsars
In proud successive lines have held their sway,
What answer sent she back?

Othus.
Fy, hold thy tongue!
Methinks thou hast a pleasure in the thought.
This head o' the world—this superb successor
Of the earth's mistress, as thou vainly speakst,
Stands 'mid these ages, as in the wide ocean
The last spared fragment of a spacious land,
That in some grand and awful ministration
Of mighty nature has ingulfed been,
Doth lift aloft its dark and rocky cliffs
O'er the wild waste around, and sadly frowns
In lonely majesty. But shame upon it!
Her feeble, worthless, and degen'rate sons—

Mar.
Yes, what sayst thou of them? they also are
The fragments of a brave and mighty race,
Left on this lonely rock.

Othus.
No, blast them! on its frowning sides they cluster
Like silly sea-fowl from their burrow'd holes,
Who, staring senseless on th' invader's toil,
Stretch out their worthless necks, and cry “caw! caw!”
O, Paleologus! how art thou left,
Thou and thy little band of valiant friends,
To set your manly bosoms 'gainst the tide!
Ye are the last sparks of a wasted pyre
Which soon shall be trodd'n out.—
Ye are the last green bough of an old oak,
Blasted and bare: the lovelier do ye seem
For its wan barrenness; but to its root
The axe is brought, and with it ye must fall.—
Ye are—O God! it grasps my swelling throat
To think of what ye are.

Mar.
A brave band, truly:—
But still our gallant emp'ror and his friends,
Opposed to Mah'met and his num'rous host
With all his warlike engines, are in truth
As if one toss'd against the whirl'd-up sands
Of their Arabian plains, one grasp of dust.

Othus.
Yes, they are few in number, but they are
The essence and true spirit of their kind;
The soul of thousands. A brave band they are,
Not levied by the power and wealth of states;
And the best feelings of the human heart
Have been the agents of their princely chief,
Recruiting nobly. Virtuous Sympathy,
Who on the weaker and deserted side
Her ample, lib'ral front doth ever range;
Keen Indignation, who, with clenched hand
And sternly-flashing eye, ever beholds
The high o'erbearing crest of proud oppression;
And gen'rous Admiration, above all,
Of noble deeds, whose heav'n-enlighten'd smile,
And imitative motion, ever wake
With eager heart-throbs at the glorious sight
Of manly daring, have unto their numbers
Some score of dauntless spirits lately added;
Such as would ride upon the whirlwind's back,
If it might be, and with heaven's spearmen cope.
With such a band, methinks, all things are possible.

Mar.
(smiling).
Why, thou soft man of peace,
Who in gay banquets spend'st thy giddy nights,
And o'er some sculptured stone, or ancient lore,
Each idle morning wast'st in the cool shade,
Thou speakest with a bold and warlike voice!

Othus
(throwing back his cloak, and showing under it a warlike garb, with the scarf and devices belonging to the imperial band).
Ay, and wear, too, a bold and warlike form.
Behold what now I am? Thou shrinkest back,
And lookest strangely on me: give thy lips
No friendly blessing to my new estate?

Mar.
Heaven bless the brave!

Othus.
Amen! but thou art cold.
[Sound of artillery is heard again.
O hear that sound!
Doth it not stir thee as it thund'ring growls
Along the distant shore?
[Shaking his head.
It moves thee not.
Is that the sound of female voices near us?

Mar.
Yes; seest thou not on yon high balcony
That pale and fearful maid? her watchful ear
Is ever turn'd to ev'ry distant sound.

Othus.
My gentle kinswoman upon the watch!
I know for whom she fears; nor do I marvel;
For she was present on that crowded shore,
When Genoa's captain brought his gen'rous succour,
And saw the brave contention of those men,
In their proud vessels bearing boldly on,
With wavy pendants floating on the wind,
Whose armed sides, like to a goodly bank,
Breasted the onward tide of opposition.
[Speaking with a great deal of appropriate gesture.
No wonder that her fancy has been moved!
Oh, it did stir the women on our walls—
The infants—yea, the very household curs,
That from their kennels turn'd to look upon it!—
But for that motley crowd of moving things
Which we miscall our men—Nay, by the light,
Thou too dost hear me with a frozen eye!

Enter Ella hastily from the balcony, and puts her hand eagerly upon the shoulder of Othus, who turns round surprised.
Ella.
What sayest thou of him? where fights he now?
Or on the land, or on some floating fence?

Othus.
Of whom speakst thou, fair Ella?

Ella.
Nay, nay! thou knowst right well. Did I not see thee,
High as I stood, e'en now, tossing thine arms,
And motioning thy tale with such fit gestures
As image ships and sails, and daring deeds?
Of whom speak even the beggars in our streets
When they such action use? Thou knowst right well,
Of Genoa's captain, and of none but him.
Didst see him from the walls?

Othus
(smiling).
My little kinswoman,
Thou lookest with a keen and martial eye
As thou dost question me: I saw him not;
I come not from the walls.

Ella.
Didst thou not talk of him as I descended?

Othus.
Yes, of that noble fight.—But dost thou see?
There are more warriors in the world, Ella,
[Pointing to his dress
Though men do talk of us, it must be granted,
With action more composed. Behold me now
The brave Rodrigo's comrade, and the friend
Of royal Constantine; who is in truth
The noblest beast o' the herd, and on the foe
Turns a bold front, whilst with him boldly join
A few brave antlers from a timid crowd,
That quakes and cowers behind.

Ella.
Yes, Othus, I did mark thy martial garb:
Heaven's angels bless thee!

Othus.
And earth's too, gentle Ella.

[Artillery heard again.
Ella
(to Othus, starting fearfully).
O dost thou smile, and such light words affect,
Whilst ruin growls so near us? hath sad use
Made misery and sport, and death and merriment, amiliar neighbours?—I'll into my chamber.

Enter Petronius and a disguised Turk.
Pet.
(sternly to Ella).
Yes, to thy chamber go: thou liv'st, methinks
On the house-top, or watching in the towers.
I like it not; and maiden privacy
Becomes thy state and years. (To Othus.)
Ha! art thou Othus?
Thou'rt well accoutred, sooth! I knew thee not.

Mar.
Yes, he is now a valiant soldier grown:
His Grecian lute, and pen, and books of grace
Are thrown aside, and the soft letter'd sage
Grasps a rude lance.

Ella.
Nay, mock him not, for it is nobly done.

Pet.
(sternly to Ella).
Art thou still here?
[Exit Ella, abashed and chidden.
And now, my lord,—

[Turning to Othus.
Othus
(angrily).
And now, my lord, good evening:
I too, belike, shall trespass on your patience,
If longer I remain.

[Exit
Pet.
Well, let him go, it suits our purpose better.
[Exit.
But who could e'er have thought in warlike garb
To see him guised? He, too, become a fool!

Mar.
He thought, as well I guess, to move me also
His brave devoted brotherhood to join:
This was his errand here.

Pet.
I do believe it well: for Constantine,
With many fair and princely qualities
That in his clear morn no attention drew,
Now, on the brow of dark adversity,
Hangs like a rainbow on a surly cloud,
And all men look to him. But what avails
This growing sentiment of admiration
To our good means? Good Turk, where, is thy gold?

Turk
(giving him a bag).
There, Christian, whom
I may not well call good.

Pet.
That as thou wilt: but Mahomet, thy master,
Shall find me still his faithful agent here.
This very night, as I have promised to him,
The people shall in insurrection rise,
Clam'ring to have the city yielded up;
And if your narrow caution stint me not
In that which rules the storm, it shall be raised
To the full pitch.

Turk.
And what is that, Petronius?

Pet.
More gold. Ay, by thy turban and thy beard!
There is a way to make our timid sluggards
The sultan's work within these walls perform
Better than armed men.

Turk.
And what is that, I pray?

Pet.
Why, more gold still.—
I have in pay, besides our mutinous rabble,
Who bawl, and prate, and murmur in our streets,
Prophets, and conjurors, and vision-seers,
And wise men, not a few, whose secret haunts
The timid flock to: many are the palms
That must be touch'd.—There are within our walls
Of idle, slothful citizens, enow,
If with their active master they should join,
Still to defend them: therefore, be assured,
He who shall keep this fickle, wav'ring herd
From such wise union, shall to Mah'met give
This mistress of the East.

Turk.
Fear not; thou shalt be satisfied.

Pet.
Right: let us now to work: 'tis near the time
When, from the walls returning with his friends,
The emperor his ev'ning hour enjoys,
And puts off warlike cares: now let us forth,
And urge those varlets on.
(To Marthon.)
Do thou into the eastern quarter go,
And stir them up. Where is our trusty Gorbus?
The western is his province. Send him hither:
We must some counsel hold: meantime within
I wait his coming. Be thou speedy, Marthon.
[Exit Marthon. To the Turk.)
Remember, friend.

Turk.
Thou shalt be satisfied.

Pet.
Good fortune smile upon us!

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A state apartment in the imperial palace, with splendid sideboards, set forth, on which are seen cups and goblets, &c. as if prepared for a grand repast, and several domestics crossing the stage, carrying different things in their hands. Enter Heugho, followed by a stranger and two inferior domestic officers.
Heugho
(after looking over every thing).
Is nought omitted here? the rubied platters
And the imperial cup—I see them not.

1st offi.
What boots it now, encompass'd thus with foes,
And death and ruin grinning at our side,
To set forth all this sumptuous garniture,
Which soon shall in a Turkish harem shine?
The emp'ror heeds it not.

Heugho
(stamping with his foot).
Dog, but I heed it!
And were the floating remnant of a wreck,
With the sea bellowing round it, all that now
Remain'd of the eastern empire, I thereon,
Until the last wave wash'd us from its side,
Would humbly offer to brave Constantine
The homage due to mine imperial lord.
Out on thee, paltry hind! go fetch them hither.

[Exit officer.
Stranger.
This is the hour, you say, when Constantine,
Like a tired woodman from his daily toil,
Unclasps his girded breast; and with his friends
Enjoys his social meal right cheerfully
For one so overshadow'd with dark fate.
I am a stranger here, and, by your leave,
I fain would tarry still to have one view
Of his most noble countenance.

Heugho.
Thou'rt welcome.
And, gentle stranger, thou wilt see a prince,
Who ably might have reign'd, had not his heart
To the soft shades of friendly intercourse
Still turn'd, as to its true and native place:
A prince with loving friends, but lacking troops:
Rich in the dear good-will of gen'rous minds,
But poor in kingly allies. One thou'lt see,
Whose manly faculties, beset with gifts
Of gentler grace, and soft domestic habits,
And kindliest feelings, have within him grown
Like a young forest-tree, beset and 'tangled,
And almost hidd'n with sweet incumb'ring shrubs;
That, till the rude blast rends this clust'ring robe,
Its goodly hardy stem to the fair light
Discovers not. Hark! now they come!
[Flourish of trumpets.
Stand thou secure, and see whate'er thou wilt.
[Calling to some people off the stage
Ho! you without! move there with more despatch.

[Several domestics again cross the stage as before.
Stranger.
See, yonder come the brave imperial friends,
If right I guess. They bear a noble mien.
And who is he who foremost walks with steps
Of gravely-measured length, and heavy eyes
Fix'd on the ground?

[Pointing off the stage.
Heugho.
That is Justiniani; a brave soldier,
Who doth o' tiptoe walk, with jealous care,
Upon the very point and highest ridge
Of honour's path, demure and circumspect,
Like nicest maid, proud of her spotless fame;
A steady, cheerless friend.

Stranger.
And who is he with open, lib'ral front,
Who follows next?

Heugho.
He is the brave Rodrigo;
That Genoese, who, with four gallant ships,
Did in the front of the whole Turkish fleet
So lately force his passage to our port,
Bearing us gen'rous and most needful succour.
Does he not look like one, who in the fight
Would fiercely strive, yet to the humbled foe
Give quarter pleasantly?

Stranger.
And who comes after with more polish'd aspect,
But yet, methinks, keen and intelligent?

Heugho.
Oh, that is Othus; a soft letter'd sage,
Who wears his soldier's garb with its first gloss.

Stranger.
Constantine comes not yet?

Heugho.
No; first of all to his imperial dame,
Who o'er his mind a greater influence has
Than may, perhaps, with graver wisdom suit,
Being a dame of keen and lofty passions,
Though with fair virtues graced, he ever pays
His dear devotions: he will join them shortly.
But softly, here they are.

Enter Justiniani, Rodrigo, Othus, and many others of the Emperor's friends, armed as if returned from the walls.
Rod.
(to Justiniani).
Thou'rt sternly grave: has aught in this day's fight
Befall'n, thy eager temper to disturb?

Just.
Your first directed fire should, in good right,
Have been against that Turkish standard sent,
Rear'd in their front.

Rod.
And shall we seriously expend our strength
In paying worship to each Turkish rag
That waves before our walls?
But frown not on me, friend: perhaps I'm wrong.
We who are bred upon a bark's rough side,
And 'midst the rude contention of the waves,
Must force our steady purpose, as we may,
Right in the teeth of all opposing things,
Wrestling with breakers on the scourged rock,
Or tilting it with a seal's cub, good faith!
As it may chance; nought do we know of forms.

Othus.
Another time, valiant Justiniani,
With more respect to warlike ceremony
We will conduct ourselves.
Rodrigo well hath pled his own excuse;
And I, thou knowest, am but new in arms.

Just.
Methinks, e'en to a child it had been plain
That, when so circumstanced—

Othus.
Hush, hush, I pray thee, now! the emp'ror comes:
This is his hour of cheerful relaxation,
Snatch'd from each circling day of busy cares,
A faint gleam thrown across a dismal gloom,
Let us not darken it with petty brawls.

Enter Constantine.
Con.
(saluting them).
A pleasant meeting to us all, brave friends,
After our day of toil! There be among us
Tired limbs that well have carn'd their hour of rest;
This kindly-social hour, this fleeting bliss
Of the tired labourer. Undo our bracings,
And let us sup as lightly as we may.
[Taking off his helmet, which he gives to an attendant.
This galls me strangely;
Mine armourer, methinks, has better skill
To mar men's heads than save them.
Nay all of you, I pray.
[They all begin to take off their helmets, and part of their armour.
And gentle Othus too, unbrace thyself:
How likest thou the gripe of soldiers' gear?

Othus.
Worn in the cause, for which I wear it now,
It feels like the close hug of a rough friend,
Awkward but kindly.

Con.
Thanks, gen'rous Othus! it had pleased me better
To've had the gentle service of thy pen.
Thou couldst have told, if so it might have been,
How brave men acted, and how brave men fell.—
Well, let it be.
[Turning aside to check his emotion, and then assuming a cheerful face.
You gallant seamen, in th' applauding view
Of the throng'd beach, amidst the tempest's rage,
E'en on the last plank of your sever'd bark,
Ride it careeringly, my brave Rodrigo!

Rod.
Yes, royal sir; with brave true-hearted mates
All things we do and bear right cheerfully.

Con.
And so will we.—Your hand, my gallant friend!
And yours, and yours, and yours, my brave Eubedes—
And noble Carlos too—and all of you—
[Taking all their hands, one after another.
I am indeed so mated.
Bring me a cooling cup, I pray, good Heugho,
My tongue is parch'd.
[Heugho presents a cup to him, kneeling.
What, wilt thou still upon thine aged limbs
These cumbrous forms impose? These surly times
Suit not such ceremony, worthy Heugho.

Heugho.
Be health and sweet refreshment in the draught,
My royal master!

Con.
(tasting it).
And so there is: few cups presented thus
Come with such kindness. But I have, in truth,
Shrunk, as a potentate, to such small grasp,
That now I fairly may put in my claim
To the affections of a man.—Brave friends,
Health to you all!
[Drinks, then turning with a smile to Justiniani.
Justiniani, I with thee alone
Have cause of quarrel in this day's long toil.

Just.
How so, and please your highness?
The holy hermit, counting o'er his beads,
Is not more scrupulous than I have been
Nought of his sacred duty to omit.

Con.
Thou putst a gross affront upon the worth
Of all thy warlike deeds; for thou from them
Claimst not the privilege to save thyself
From needless dangers. On the walls this day
Thou hast exposed thyself like a raw stripling,
Who is ashamed to turn one step aside
When the first darts are whizzing past his ear.
Rodrigo there, beneath a pannier
Would save his head from the o'er-passing blow,
Then, like a lion issuing from his den,
Burst from his shelter with redoubled ardour.
Pray thee put greater honour on thyself,
And I will thank thee for it.

Just.
I stand reproved.

Con.
I'm glad thou dost.—Now to our social rites!
No tired banditti in their nightly cave,
Whose goblets sparkle to the ruddy gleam
Of blazing faggots, eat their jolly meal
With toils, and dangers, and uncertainty
Of what to-morrow brings, more keenly season'd
Than we do ours.—Spare not, I pray thee, Heugho,
Thy gen'rous Tuscan cup: I have good friends
Who prize its flavour much.

[As he turns to go with his friends to the bottom of the stage, where a curtain between the pillars being drawn up, discovers their repast set out; a citizen enters in haste.
Cit.
I crave to speak unto the emperor.

Con.
What is thine errand?

Cit.
My royal sir, the city's in commotion:
From ev'ry street and alley, ragged varlets
In crowds pour forth, and threaten mighty things.
But one, whom I outran, comes on my steps
To bring a fuller tale.

Con.
(to citizen).
Thou'rt sure of this?

Cit.
It is most certain.

Con.
(to Othus).
What thinkst thou, good Othus?

Othus.
I doubt it not: 'tis a degraded herd
That fills your walls. This proud imperial city
Has been in ages past the great high-way
Of nations driving their blind millions on
To death and carnage. Through her gates have pass'd
Pale cowled monarchs and red-sworded saints,
Voluptuaries foul, and hard-eyed followers
Of sordid gain—yea, all detested things.
She hath a common lake or sludge-pool been,
In which each passing tide has left behind
Some noisome sediment. She is choked up
With mud and garbage to the very brim.
Her citizens within her would full quietly
A pagan's slaves become, would he but promise
The sure continuance of their slothful ease.
Some few restraints upon their wonted habits
And Mah'met's gold, no doubt, have roused the fools
To this unwonted stir.

Con.
It may be so: I shall wait further tidings.
Meantime, my friends, go ye, and as ye can,
Snatch a short soldier's meal.
[They hesitate.
Nay, go I pray you!
I must not to my friends say “I command.” [They all go immediately, and without any order standing round the table, begin to eat.
(To the citizen remaining still on the front of the stage.)

And so thou sayst—But lo! another messenger.

Enter another Citizen in great haste.
2d cit.
The citizens in crowds—the men and women—
The very children too—mine eyes have seen it—
In crowds they come—

Con.
Take breath, and tell thy tale
Distinctly. From what quarter comest thou?

2d cit.
I'm from the east.

Enter 3d Citizen.
3d cit.
I come to tell your highness that the city
Is in commotion; e'en with flesh-forks arm'd,
And all the implements of glutt'nous sloth,
The people pour along in bawling crowds,
Calling out, “bread,” and “Mah'met,” and “surrender,”
Towards the royal palace.

Con.
And whence art thou?

3d cit.
I'm from the western quarter.

Con.
Ha! spreads it then so wide?
[Calling to his friends at the bottom of the stage.
Friends, by your leave,
I somewhat must upon your goodness bear.
Give me my helmet and my sword again:
This is no partial fray.

[Beginning to arm, whilst all the rest follow his example.
Rod.
Well, let us jostle with these ragged craft,
And see who grapples best.

[Buckling on his armour gaily.
Just.
A soldier scorns to draw his honour'd blade
On such mean foes: we'll beat them off with sticks.

Othus.
Words will, perhaps, our better weapons prove,
When used as brave men's arms should ever be,
With skill and boldness. Swords smite single foes,
But thousands by a word are struck at once.

[As they all gather round Constantine, and are ready to follow him, enter Valeria in great alarm, followed by Lucia, and several ladies.
Val.
(to Constantine).
O, hast thou heard it?

Con.
Yes, my love, they've told me.

Val.
From the high tower my ladies have descried
The dark spires redd'ning in their torches' light,
Whilst, like the hoarse waves of a distant sea,
Their mingled voices sweet as they approach.

Con.
It is a storm that soon will be o'erblown:
I will oppose to them a fixed rock,
Which they may beat against but cannot shake.

Val.
That is thyself.—O, no! thou shalt not go!
Yea, I am bold! misfortune mocks at state,
And strong affection scorns all reverence;
Therefore, before these lords, e'en upon thee,
Thou eastern Cæsar, do I boldly lay
My woman's hand, and say, “thou shalt not go.”

Con.
Thy woman's hand is stronger, sweet Valeria,
Than warrior's iron grasp,
But yet it may not hold me. Strong affection
Makes thee most fearful where no danger is:
Shall eastern Cæsar, like a timid hind
Scared from his watch, conceal his cowering head?
And does an empire's dame require it of him?

Val.
Away, away! with all those pompous sounds!
I know them not. I by thy side have shared
The public gaze, and the applauding shouts
Of bending crowds: but I have also shared
The hour of thy heart's sorrow, still and silent,
The hour of thy heart's joy. I have supported
Thine aching head, like the poor wand'rer's wife,
Who, on his seat of turf, beneath heaven's roof,
Rests on his way.—The storm beats fiercely on us:
Our nature suits not with these worldly times,
To it most adverse. Fortune loves us not;
She hath for us no good: do we retain
Her fetters only? No, thou shalt not go!
[Twining her arms round him.
By that which binds the peasant and the prince,
The warrior and the slave, all that do bear
The form and nature of a man, I stay thee!
Thou shalt not go.

Con.
Wouldst thou degrade me thus?

Val.
Wouldst thou unto my bosom give death's pang?
Thou lov'st me not.

Con.
(with emotion, stretching out his hands to his friends, who stand at some distance).
My friends, ye see how I am fetter'd here.
Ye who thus bravely to my fortunes cling
With generous love, less to redeem their fall
Than on my waning fate by noble deeds
To shed a parting ray of dignity:
Ye gen'rous and devoted; still with you
I thought to share all dangers: go ye now,
And to the current of this swelling tide
Set your brave breasts alone!
[Waving them off with his hand, and then turning to her.
Now, wife, where wouldst thou lead me?

Val.
(pointing with great energy to the friends who are turning as if to go out).
There, there! O, there! thou hast no other way.
[Brushing away her tears hastily, and then assuming an air of dignity, she takes Constantine by the hand, and leading him across the stage, presents him to his friends.
Most valiant, honour'd men, receive your chief,
Worthy the graceful honours of your love,
And heaven's protecting angel go with you!

[Exeunt Constantine and his friends, paying obeisance to her as they retire, which she returns with the profoundest respect, continuing to look after them till they are out of sight; then returning to the front of the stage with a deep sigh, remains for some time with her eyes fixed on the ground.
Lucia.
My dear and royal mistress, be not thus!
The people will their sov'reign lord respect.

Val.
Will they? Where is my little Georgian maid,
Whose grandsire, though a brave and sov'reign prince,
Was piecemeal torn by a ferocious crowd?

Lucia.
She told a wonderful surcharged tale,
Perhaps to move your pity: heed it not.

Val.
Ah! whereunto do all these turmoils tend—
The wild contention of these fearful times?
Each day comes bearing on its weight of ills,
With a to-morrow shadow'd at its back,
More fearful than itself.—A dark progression—
And the dark end of all, what will it be?

Lucia.
Let not such gloomy thoughts your mind o'ercast;
Our noble emperor has on his side
The dark and potent powers.

Val.
What is thy meaning?

Lucia.
A rarely-gifted man, come from afar,
Who sees strange visions rise before his sight
Of things to come, hath solemnly pronounced it,
That Paleologus has on his side
The dark and potent powers.

Val.
Alas! alas! are they the friends of virtue?
Who told thee this?

Lucia.
One unto whom he told such marv'llous things
As did all natural knowledge far exceed.

Val.
Thou dost impress me with a strange desire,
As though it were upon my mind impress'd
By secret supernatural power. Methinks,
Were this dread night with all its dangers past,
I too would fain—Ha! hark! what noise is that?
[Listening with great alarm.
Hark, hark! it is the sound of many sounds,
Mingled and terrible, though heard afar.

Lucia.
Shall I ascend the tower, and give you notice
Whate'er I see?

Val.
(eagerly).
I'll go myself.

[Exit in great alarm, followed by Lucia and ladies.