University of Virginia Library

[Ah, 'tis a weary night! Alas, will sleep]

Euphemia.
Ah, 'tis a weary night! Alas, will sleep
Ne'er darken my poor day-lights! I have watched
The stars all rise and disappear again;
Capricorn, Orion, Venus, and the Bear:
I saw them each and all. And they are gone,
Yet not a wink for me. The blessed Moon
Has journeyed through the sky: I saw her rise
Above the distant hills, and gloriously
Decline beneath the waters. My poor head aches
Beyond endurance. I'll call on Beatrice,
And bid her bring me the all-potent draught
Left by Fernando the apothecary,
At his last visit. Beatrice! She sleeps
As sound as a top. What, ho, Beatrice!
Thou art indeed the laziest waiting maid
That ever cursed a princess. Beatrice!

Beatrice.
Coming, your highness; give me time to throw
My night-gown o'er my shoulders, and to put
My flannel dicky on; 'tis mighty cold
At these hours of the morning.

Euphem.
Beatrice.

Beat.
I'm groping for my slippers; would you have me
Walk barefoot o'er the floors? Lord, I should catch
My death of cold.

Euphem.
And must thy mistress, then, I say, must she
Endure the tortures of the damned, whilst thou
Art groping for thy slippers! Selfish wretch!
Learn, thou shalt come stark-naked at my bidding,
Or else pack up thy duds and hop the twig.

Beat.
Oh, my lady, forgive me that I was so slow
In yielding due obedience. Pray, believe me,
It ne'er shall happen again. Oh, it would break
My very heart to leave so beautiful
And kind a mistress. Oh, forgive me!

Euphem.
Well, well; I fear I was too hasty:
But want of sleep, and the fever of my blood,
Have soured my natural temper. Bring me the phial
Of physic left by that skilful leech Fernando,
With Laudanum on the label. It stands
Upon the dressing-table, close by the rouge
And the Olympian dew. No words. Evaporate.

Beat.
[exit.
I fly!

Euphem.
(sola.)
Alas, Don Carlos, mine own
Dear wedded husband! wedded! yes; wedded
In th' eye of Heaven, though not in that of man,
Which sees the forms of things, but least knows
That which is in the heart. Oh, can it be,
That some dull words, muttered by a parson
In a long drawling tone, can make a wife,
And not the—

Enter Beatrice.
Beat.
Laudanum on the label; right:
Here, my lady, is the physic you require.

Euphem.
Then pour me out one hundred drops and fifty,
With water in the glass, that I may quaff
Oblivion to my misery.

Beat.
'Tis done.

Euphem.
(drinks.)
My head turns round; it mounts into my brain.
I feel as if in paradise! My senses mock me:
Methinks I rest within thine arms, Don Carlos;
Can it be real? Pray, repeat that kiss!
I am thine own Euphemia. This is bliss
Too great for utterance. Oh, ye gods
If Hellespont and Greece! Alas, I faint.

[faints.