University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

To Olympia, Mentevole, leading in Julia.
JULIA.
Well may you be surpris'd, nor can you question,
When you behold me here, how deep the interest
That urges me to seek you.

MENTEVOLE.
To behold you,
(Whate'er the cause) is such excess of bliss,
How, how shall I pour out my enraptur'd sense,
How thank this condescension?

JULIA.
Good my lord,
The anxious bosom, ill at ease like mine,
Partakes no raptures. Calmness and attention,
(If I deserve your thanks,) will better thank me.

MENTEVOLE.
Thou soul of all my passions! this fond breast
Is but the obedient instrument, whose chords,
As you think meet, sound high, or sink to silence.

JULIA.
I have heard of your late outrage to Marcellus.

MENTEVOLE.
Has he complain'd, and to a lady's ear?

JULIA.
Wrong not his well-tried courage. No; the attendants
Saw all your furious gestures, heard your challenge;
And, for prevention, to Olympia ran,
To alarm us of the danger.

OLYMPIA.
He's conceal'd,
And has been since your parting. That confirms it.

JULIA.
Waste not the precious minutes in denial.

MENTEVOLE.
Fool that I was! no kind concern for me,
The safety of Marcellus, made you seek me

JULIA.
And I avow the motive. Am I held,
Like those grim idols barbarous nations worship,
By cruel rites to be propitiated?
If love prevail not, dress'd in smiles and softness,
Array'd in blood will the fell monster charm me?
No; if you prize my peace, if you desire
I ever more should name Mentevole,
Or suffer him in thought, but with abhorrence,
Dismiss your causeless hate to Claudio's brother.

MENTEVOLE.
Let him dismiss his love to Claudio's mistress.

JULIA.
Your own, imaginary, light suggestion.

MENTEVOLE.
He boasts it, glories in it. Causeless hate!
Causeless, to hate the envenom'd thing that stings me?
Diseases curdle up his youthful blood,
And mar his specious outside!

JULIA.
Watchful angels,
Keep him in charge, and o'er his gallant head
Spread their protecting wings, to avert thy curses!

MENTEVOLE.
Ha! am I then—

OLYMPIA.
Is this your promis'd patience?

MENTEVOLE.
What can I do?

JULIA.
What reason bids you do.
Not to repent, but to commit a wrong,
Gives shame's true crimson to the ingenuous cheek.
Ask his indulgence, and confess your frenzy.

MENTEVOLE.
The boy may think I fear him.

JULIA.
No, not so.
What generous spirit is not slow to ascribe
Motives to others, which itself would scorn?
Are you alone too mighty to have err'd?
Rather suspect, your pride revolts to own it;
Acknowledge it, and then have cause for pride,
And rise exalted by humility.
Contrition is fair virtue's meek-ey'd sister;
Her drops can wash offence to fleecy white,
Turning our sins to gracious intercessors.
The wisest sometimes may do wrong from passion;
But conscious of that wrong, the ruffian only,
By brutal perseverance, twice does wrong:
Mean pride! false principle! true honour scorns them.

MENTEVOLE.
It goes against my nature's bent.

JULIA.
Indeed!
Then hear me, hear this solemn protestation:
If you persist, by that benevolent power,
Whose blessed beams avert from violence,
Whose law forbids it,—

MENTEVOLE.
O, enough; forbear
Yes, you shall be obey'd; I will put on
The meek demeanour of repenting rashness;
And to the foe I hate, thus bending, cry,
Forgive me, since you will it. Yet remember,
I thus degrade me in mine own esteem,
Only to rise in yours. Your liberal nature
Will give my free compliance its best gloss.
It shews your full dominion o'er my soul,
That joyfully prefers your least command,
Even to my honour, which I risk to obey you.

JULIA.
The act bespeaks itself. I must remember,
My peace, or misery, was in your power:
You chose the gentler part, and made me happy,

MENTEVOLE.
Transporting thought! behold, I fly to meet him.
The hour is come. Marcellus now expects me.
Farewel! my eyes, at variance with my tongue,
Still gaze, and cannot bear to lose thy beauties.

[Exit Mentevole.