University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

A Cottage in another part of the Valley.
Out of a Wood on one side enter CURAN.
[CURAN]
There in yon copse beneath a spreading elm,
The night did pass upon my slumbering head,
And scatter'd, as she went, from her dun wing
Full many a dream; wild and disjointed all,
Yet pleasing: for they all, in colours bright
Of heaven's own pencilling, did picture her,
Whom only heav'n can image. Now, methought,
A visionary bark with streamers gay,
Its oars still beating time to warbling harps,
Bore us to Denmark. Sudden now the scene
Was shifted, and a cot mantled with joy
Was all our kingdom; yet we there seem'd crown'd
With more than kingly blessings. At the dawn
I rose, and shook the night-dew from my vest,
Then from yon meadow with attentive care
I cull'd the choicest flowers for scent or hue,
And wove them in this garland. When my fair one
Quits yonder homely cabbin, (far, alas!
Too homely to enshrine so rich a saint)
This path she needs must take. Here then I'll drop
The fragrant pledge, in hope that she may bless
Its weaver by the wearing. To my wish
The wicket opens; 'tis her lovely self!
She comes, she comes! Thou friendly thicket shroud me. [He retires.
Enter ARGENTILE.

Alas! alas! the morn is far advanc'd,
And yet no tidings come of loyal Oswald,
Or my dear Editha. What's this, a chaplet?
Not the dear Maid herself could better sort
Its hues, or with more careless grace combine.
I'll place it on my brow. But let me pause;
No rustic hand has thus arrang'd these buds,
This is no forest workmanship. It claims
A nicer weaver. I might guess and come
Near to the mark of truth, if I pronounc'd
That comely youth its maker, who of late
So long address'd my too indulgent ear.
A forester he seem'd, yet sure his phrase
Spoke him of gentle lineage. Blushing blooms;
There may be guileful snakes hid in your perfume:
I dare not use your decking. Lie thou there,
Sweet wreath; and may some happier maid, with brow
Unshent by care, adopt your gay adornings;
They suit not with my sadness.

CURAN, starting from the Thicket.
Cur.
So, sweet Maid,
Ev'n so, as that fair hand discards my wreath,
Your cruel heart disdains my constancy!

Arg.
I did not err. Go, Youth, take back thy flowers,
Fit emblem of thy sexes constancy.
Both are but born to fade.

Cur.
Thus to decide
Is all too harsh a sentence. If on me
Thy frown inflicts it, thou shalt find it false,
Ev'n tho' for life impos'd.

Arg.
Go, flattering Stranger,
And sooth some simpler damsel with the tale.
Thy truth or falshood to my absent ear
Will be the same; reckless alike of both.

Cur.
Wert thou a queen, as well thy beauty merits,
Thou would'st rejoice to rule o'er loyal subjects;
Ev'n if those subjects ne'er approach'd thy throne.
I am thy beauty's vassal, Shroud it from me,
I am thy vassal still. Thy frowns or smiles
May load my vassalage, or make it easy;
Yet still thou art its sov'reign.

Arg.
Fabling Youth,
Each quaint allusion in thy speech bewrays
The glossing courtier. The true forester,
Who to the turtle's truth compar'd his own,
Or match'd his wailings with the nightingale's,
Would to my ear his suit more aptly move,
And more pathetical, than thy forc'd phrase
Set out with royal trimmings. Hie thee hence
To some throng'd city. Woo some noble virgin,
May relish better with accustomed ear
Thy talk of queens and vassals. I the while
Will tend my little flock in this still vale,
List'ning their rural bleating.

Cur.
Sylvan wonder,
Know, tho' no inmate of these neighb'ring hamlets,
I have a soul can taste all rural pleasures,
With thee would court them as the choicest blessing
Heaven has in store for mortals, or what next
To thy fair self was precious! Try me, sweet one!
See with what nimble zeal on yonder cliffs
I'll seek thy straggling lambs! at close of day
How safely pen them in their hurdled cotes?
At night how guard them from the prowling wolf?
Then ever and anon at sultry noon
Shalt thou, o'er-canopied by thickest shade,
Recline on this true bosom; while I breathe
Light roundelays upon my oaten reed,
And lull thee to sweet slumbers. Try me, Fairest;

Arg.
No more, soft Youth; picture not scenes of bliss,
Which, if in very truth thou deem'd'st them such,
With me thou ne'er must share. Have I not said
My uncle is a stern man and austere?
He will not match me with thy alien birth.

Cur.
“The old have interest ever in their eye;”
So says a well-prov'd proverb. Trust me, Virgin,
I can a dowery bring will soon o'ercome
His scruples, tho' when poiz'd against thy worth
The weightiest ingots of each Indian mine
Would lightly kick the beam.

Arg.
Indeed, indeed,
My heart is much to blame thus to prolong
This tender converse; yet, I know not how,
There is a kind of music in his voice,
And such a melting mildness in his eye—
O that I ne'er had seen him!

[Aside.
Cur.
Turn thee, Nymph!
Still let those eyes shed their sweet radiance on me!
I live but by thy smiles. The jealous flower,
In its true yellow livery, that still turns
Where the sun flames, watching his burning course,
Then nightly droops the head, as he declines,
Best parallels my passion.

Arg.
Gentle Youth,
Thou hast no cause to droop, when I am gone,
As now perforce I must. What if, while absent,
I dar'd to impose one friendly office on thee?

Cur.
O bless me with the errand!

Arg.
I have said,
I seek a long-lost brother; could'st thou find him?
He pairs thee in complexion, dress, and size,
Save somewhat more of slender. Nay, so much
Alike, thou know'st I lately took thee for him.
He journeys from the north along the flats.
Could'st thou from any neighb'ring cliff detect
The wand'rer's step, and lead him to this cottage,
My smiles should thank thee.

Cur.
Let me press that hand
With these chaste lips, and instant I am gone.
For such another bliss, my willing toil
Would plough the stormy main.

[Exit Curan.
Arg.
If he succeeds
He brings me back my friend, that friend, erewhile,
Had with her brought my peace; but now, alas!
I fear me much the better half is lodg'd
In other hands; yet those are gentle too—
Poor Argentile! how wayward is thy fate!—
I'll to the grove and weep.

[Exit Argentile.