University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

STRENI, OLYMPIA.
OLYMPIA.
I am ashamed to see my father's face:
But prostrate thus and breathless at his feet
I beg forgiveness.

STRENI.
Rise, OLYMPIA. Come,
Indeed it was not well.

OLYMPIA.
'Twas my despair
That did it.—Pardon me, my Lord—my father!

STRENI.
I do, my child, I do. You've never found me
An unrelenting parent: or if ever
I have given way to some austerities,
My very tenderness provoked me to them,
My eager care to see you happy.

OLYMPIA.
My father,
You have been ever gracious, kind and tender;
Your goodness still prevented all my wishes:
And it has cost me many a painful throb
To be reduced, by thwarting obligations,
To act a stubborn part against your pleasure.
I know your purpose is to make me happy:
But what's all splendor and superfluous wealth,
What's all the world, to dear content of mind?—
My heart is not at my command: and yet
So far I could controul it, that was there one
Dear as my soul—I never would, without
My father's sanction, change my vows with his:
There is but one thing you can urge and I
Not chearfully yield to. Were your sacred life
To be redeemed with mine, oh! I should fall
A willing victim: nothing there could combat
My filial duty. But to give the hand
To one while to another the heart's engaged,
Is something so prophane, it looks so like
Base prostitution, that the more I think on't
The more it shocks me.—Still my honoured father,
Let me implore your grace—'Tis not too late
To save me from this violation.

STRENI.
My child,
I will no longer to thy delicacy
Oppose the steadiest purpose of my soul.
Indeed I'm sorry to have urged so far
A match that shocks thee. To-morrow is the day
Thou dreadst so much: but I would rather make
The greatest power on earth my deadly foe
Than thee unhappy.

OLYMPIA.
O my gracious father!
Tears so o'erpower me that they choak my words—
But on my knees I thank you.—You're too good!

STRENI.
Come to my heart, my child: thou never wast
A stranger there, nor ever can'st thou be
While it has vital warmth.

OLYMPIA.
My dearest father,
This kindness makes at once a full amends
For all the griefs that I have ever known.—
I am too happy—

A SERVANT.
The Count, my Lord,
Is at the gates.

STRENI.
The Count!—what CLAUDIO?—well—
Conduct him in.—He comes betimes;—before
He was expected.—But—what ails my child—
Thou tremblest and growst pale!—Retire my child—
My poor OLYMPIA!—Well, 'tis plain enough
What all this hurry means. But soft and fair
Good Count! you come no further this way, Count.
Not one step further. You little know—