University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

STRENI, VICTORIA.
STRENI.
'Tis but a qualm, a fit o' th' spleen, that's all.
'Twill soon blow over.

VICTORIA.
Consider it not so slightly,
My Lord: she's dreadfully ill; so much unhinged
The down that hardly lights might turn the scale
And sink her past recovery.—O 'twas frightful
To see her agonies!

STRENI.
How was she taken?

VICTORIA.
With a countenance so changed I hardly knew her,
Sobbing and trembling, shockingly pale as from
A mortal wound, she burst into the room
And flounced upon the floor. I flew to raise her;
Let me lie still and die, she said: half raised
Flat on her face she rush'd again, and lay
Like one abandoned to despair. Astonish'd
What this should mean, I learnt at last a tale
Enough to make her mad indeed.—You know it.

STRENI.
It happened ill; 'twas pity. But what next?

VICTORIA.
After the sad recital, long she sat
Pensive, and lost in thought: one might as well
Have talk'd to a statue; at last she started up
And walk'd about and muttered frantickly.
Music, her favourite study and delight,
I hoped might calm her; but no sooner rushed
The harmony on her ears than down she sunk
Upon a couch, and wept immoderately.
I thought my heart would have broke.—

STRENI.
My poor OLYMPIA!

VICTORIA.
I sent to stop the music. After a pause
Of silent grief, a fit of laughing seized her,
So violent, so unnatural as it seemed,
'Twas perfectly shocking. It left her quite exhausted;
And now she sleeps.

STRENI.
She has had such fits before.
This kind repose will cure her. Poor OLYMPIA
Has ever been too sensible to grief,
To joy, to all impressions; the misfortune
Of delicate spirits, which shake at every gust
That blows or hot or cold. Do, my VICTORIA,
Go keep all quiet, and when she wakes send hither.
She'll soon be well.

VICTORIA.
Would I were sure of that!

STRENI.
O never doubt it.—Who's there?—How I'm beset
With teizing cares and fretful circumstances!