 | Murtzoufle |  |
SCENE IV.
—A Chamber in Euphrosyne's Palace.Euphrosyne lying sick on a couch, a light before her bed.
Montmorency standing.
Euph.
Fiend, wilt you plague me still, and rudely shake
My latest sands?—O that, that comes by night,
Is nought to thee: See how that taper streams
Away from thee. O leave me—leave me—leave me.
Mont.
Woman, I cling, though thou shouldst drag me down
Half way the brimstone road; for well you know—
Madam, you know,—Madam, I'll swear you know.
Euph.
Well then I know, and you shall know apace.
The secret shall outburst, and it shall be
A dreadful warning to rebellious children,—
O'er grown with woes,—strange in a lover's eyes.—
Montm.
Dread prophetess, I must go back a little—
Pause in thy speech; I'll overtake thee soon.
Coolly—now coolly—lady, you say you know?
I mark it down, it is thy own confession:
And I shall find an argument to win—
To draw,—to drag the secret from that bosom;
Ere the mole of life, that seems to toil beneath,
Leave his dark chambers.—
You know,—I bless thee there,—'tis one point gained.—
Softly a moment,—I shall ask thee what.
Speak now, O speak.
Euph.
She never shall be thine.
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That wounds me, as it passes,
With a fierce stab: But not for me, dread woman,—
Not me—this one before thy dying couch:
But for her sake,—thy daughter's—woman!—thine;
If thou art human, not a fiend that mocks
In that pale form, my thought that the last life
Durst not conceal such secret, nor depart
'Neath such a burden;—speak and tell me where—
Where is thy daughter? where's the innocent maid?
O! where's my love?
Euph.
No, no.
Montm.
I'll blot the last,
And swear she is not mine, and ne'er shall be;
If thou wilt tell me, and permit this hand
To pluck her out from pit of awful shame,—
From death, or something worse,—I know not what:—
I'll walk three times across the room, and then
(For I oppress thee,) thou hast gather'd strength
To tell me all. May God inspire thy heart!
(He walks several times along the chamber.)
(Pausing.)
Now, now.—
Euph.
I have enough of strength, my Lord,
To wish and let thee hear it. O! did none
Know the dread secret but this breast of mine.
A moment's view to make thy heart-strings crack;—
'Tis gone! and thou art slung down in the dark.—
Ha! writ in dust, even like thy fame, proud lord,
On the bald top of a high windy rock!
Here—take, my lord, and knot that ribbon'd flame;
Then hast thou loos'd the knot of this dread secret.
Montm.
Woman, I'll kneel me down,
And swear thou hast afflicted me 'yond measure,
And wrung this heart, till it is dry despair,—
If it would make thy soul laugh; but thy tongue
Must give me words.—
Euph.
If I provide for her a royal spouse,—
If I have sent her to an emperor,
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My lord, you have my house. O! very good!
My couch;—I cannot rest.—This is my taper:
Day-light is shut from me, 'cause I'm sick.—
'Tis pity thou shouldst share this humble light—
Go hail the sun, and say, thou art his brother.
Haply thou'rt my physician:—I can't guess,
Else why thou are here. Physician, feel my pulse!—
Montm.
I tell thee thou art sick of more than death,
Even of a secret that entails damnation
On the poor soul.
Euph.
O! Heaven. I ask one moment,
A giant's strength to—O! O! put him down.—
Montm.
Do not I see the death-star in thine eye,
Which the last fever burnisheth so well?
Woman, ere thy soul
Go down th' eternal buckets, what did you mean,—
What meant you by that hint? If thou wouldst be
A dweller in that place, where sound of leaves
Shall never come in lapse of fiery years,
Nor murmuration of a little stream;
Make oath to these dark words—
Euph.
Thank thee, my lord;—
How dear thou art!—for thou hast given me heat.—
Thank thee—O thank thee—but a little more,—
And thou—shalt save—thy shame—to triumph here,
O'er a sick chamber.—I shall rise anon
And dance with thee.—Ho Death! where are my servants
For I would rest!—There's something in my chamber,
And ye wont put it out—I hear a breathing—
Montm.
O God, look here in pity—I must leave her.
What a dread struggle in that dying face!
The features bearing each its ghastly load,
Seem come unto one mount!—
Euph.
Forbear, O mortal,
For thou shalt come to this, and worse, ere long.—
Thou shalt not triumph o'er me thus—out, out—
(She puts out the light.)
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Hark ye, my lord,—one word,—
Go stab Earl Baldwin, then come back again;
I swear by thy true love's virginity,
To tell thee all, and thou shalt have aveng'd
Partly thy loss. Some know that Baldwin well—
Montm.
My vengeance shall be sacred, and from thee
Shall take no stain of hell. I leave thee woman
Unto thyself.
[Exit Montm.
(She is heard laughing wildly.)
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