University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

A Room in the Court at Cornwall.
Eliduke alone.
Eli.
Oh, if she loves me! and last night I thought so,
By the way she fixed her eastern eye on mine
The time I talked of love; an eye more deep
Than the gray cavern from whose twisted depth,
Unfathomed by the old Egyptian king,
Mysterious Nilus takes a double course.
I only felt its influence, and kept mine
Fixed on the boy alone; for had I dared
To sound the depths of her ensouled orbs,
My flood of passion would have swept away
The old containers of its tumbling tide,
And stranded honour only have been left,
A sign of ruin, on the wasted shore.
Honour! I've lost it, if't be dishonourable,
As 'tis most foully so, having a chaste
And loving wife, by sighs and hinted words,
All but direct entreaty,—I think even that,—
To seek another's heart. Is it not strange?
Oh, when we are most innocent, we are only
Shut out from evil by a brittle wall.
We are tender plants, and Heaven, to guard our souls,
Set in the evil air of this gross earth,
Glasses us over with a frame of virtue,
Wherein we may live safely and do well;
But crack it, and it needs must shatter widely.
Mine's broadly breached, and yet I may repair it.
Estreldis, we must break! She's not so fair now;
Clear Virtue now disputes the palm with her,
And with her brighter beauty dims the less.
Virtue's the highest and the noblest;
And he's but weak, unworth the name of man,
Aiming the arrow of his life at her,
That lets temptation's wind blow it aside.
Henceforward help me, Heaven! I will only
Draw for the white of virtue. Enter Lardune.
[He salutes her courteously.

You are early, lady;
And yet I cannot blame you, for the bloom
On your fresh face speaks not of stinted slumbers.

Lar.
Oh, morning's your best cordial, my good lord;
Yet you look melancholy.

Eli.
Oh, believe me,
I never was in deeper satisfaction.

Lar.
Nay, but you shall be soon; I've that about me
Shall tinge your aspect with a livelier hue.
Though you be now content, I dare affirm,
Or I mistake you greatly, I can lift you
Higher in joy than ever yet you dreamt of.

Eli.
What is't, Lardune?

Lar.
Oh, come, sir, you are dull.

Eli.
Estreldis?

Lar.
Ay, sir.

Eli.
Lady, what of her?
Bless me with tidings; did she send you here?

Lar.
Oh, do you brighten? Yes; stocked with kind words.

Eli.
Tell me them not, or I'm undone for ever.
Virtue, where are thine arms? Oh, clasp your lips;
For these kind words are like the deadly berry,
To outward show most bright and excellent,
But under lined with death. Oh, speak them not!

Lar.
Nay, I can bear them back, being so unwelcome.
There was a favour too.

Eli.
From fair Estreldis?

Lar.
But I'll not show it, lest you should refuse it;
That seems your present mood. Oh, fie, my lord!
Are you turned coy virgin, that you hang back thus?
Trust me, such feignings ill become a man.
I will go tell my lady how you met me.

Eli.
Oh, cease! cease!

Lar.
What, when a lady loves you?

Eli.
D'ye mean Estreldis loves me?

Lar.
In good truth,
I have o'erstepped my warrant to say so;
And yet, to shame you,—though in saying it
I am a loose-tongued traitor to my sex,—
By all I can observe, and that's not little,
She sets you dearer than her secret soul.

Eli.
Then I'm a devil.

Lar.
A very tame one, then.

Eli.
A very sorry devil; true, indeed.
And yet I knew't before, or half believed it.
Estreldis loves me! bright Estreldis loves me!
Oh, sweet and sour mingled in equal parts;
O bitter joy! sweet guilt! Estreldis loves me!
What shall I do? I am thrown wide of heaven.
Shall I fly? that's weak. Shall I stay? that's infamy.
Flight shows the best, then. Oh, bid the weary soul
That has attained high heaven, and clasped at length
The height and breadth of full felicity,
Go out into the dreary void again,
And then let's talk of flight. Estreldis loves me!
Let the world roll; I'm fixed and centred here.
Bend, steady Virtue, stoop thy pillared head!
Bow to my love, make passion virtuous,
Or I'm at war with Virtue!

Lar.
Sure, he raves.
Is it so criminal to be beloved?
Heaven keep me safe from sweethearts! Yet I fear
I'm deeply dyed in sin, or else deceived.
Lord Walter swore he loved me. I'm for the sin.
Your line of words, my lord, 's too short and knotty
To fathom your intent. What shall I say?
Shall I tell the princess she has set her love
Upon a tortoise, or upon a man?

Eli.
Pardon me, that at first I seemed so dull!
Fancy a reason for it. Tell your lady
There's not a pulse in all my dancing blood
But it keeps time to the very tune of love.

Lar.
You are a man again. Good day, my lord!

Eli.
Sure you spake of a favour, did you not?

Lar.
Oh, d'ye remember it? I thought for sure
It had slipt your memory. Sir, this is it;
She wore it at the festival yest'r eve,
And bids you stick it in your helm i' th' fight,
Tendering your safety, so she bade me say,
More than this idle bauble.

Eli.
As kind as fair!
Think me not rude, or that I misconstrue
Your willing service, if I beg of you
To wear this jewel! 'tis accounted fair;
Whether it will endure to face your eyes,
I know not. Pray accept it!

Lar.
You're too lavish.
I am most glad to serve you; yet I'll not seem
To underrate your gift by a refusal,
But wear it gladly.

Eli.
I esteem't an honour;
And as a finder of a bag of gold,
Bearing it to the owner, claims a part,
So, for the store of love that you have brought me,
Accept a share in mine. Fail not to think
My friendship rates you high.

Lar.
Grandmerci, sir,
You strain too far; and yet believe me grateful.
Success sit in your saddle on the morrow,
Both for our sake and yours! Adieu, my lord!