Sylvia :: :: University of Virginia Library

High in the midst a crag-built dome
Ruder than Cyclops' mountain-home,
Or that the blood-born giants piled
When Earth was with their steps defiled.
Lightning has scorch'd and blasted all
Within this dark cavernous hall;
Through every cranny screams a blast
As it would cleave the rocks at last;
Loud-rapping hail spins where it strikes,
And rains run off the roof in dykes;
And crackling flame, and feathery sleet,
Hiss in dire contest as they meet;
Tempests are heard to yell around,
And inward thunders lift the ground.

In front a dismal tomb-like throne,
Which Horror scarce would sit upon:
Yet on this throne doth sit a thing
In apish state, misnamed a king;
A ghastlier Death, a skeleton,
Not of a man, but a baboon.
His robe a pall, his crown a skull
With teeth for gems, and grinning full;
His rod of power in his hand
A serpent writhing round a wand:
With this he tames the gnashing fiends,
Soul-purchased to assist his ends;

Yet still they spit, and mouthe, and pierce,
If not with fangs, with eyes as fierce,
Each other—While behind they seek
Their sly revenge and hate to wreak.

Hear now the WIZARD (with a grin
Meant for a smile) his speech begin.

Ararach.
Silence, curst demons!—Listen to me, or
I'll strike ye dumb as logs!—Breathe no more flames
In one another's faces, but pen up
Each one his fiery utterance while I speak!—
Silence, I say!—and cower before me, slaves!—
I must and will have all this Valley mine!

Demons.
You must and shall!

Ararach.
Silence, and down!—Hear me!—
We've sworn indeed—but what are oaths to us?
Oaths are to bind, where there's some touch of honour,
Though not enough. It were a crime against
The majesty of Sin, for us to keep
An oath; and honour is dishonourable
Amongst the fiends, whose glory is in shame.
We'll break the truce, I say!

Demons.
We will! we'll break it!

Ararach.
Silence!—'Tis true, I and that witch Morgana
Have battled long about this place: we halved it
At our last contest, when her ivory spear
Wounded my basilisk, and made him bite me
Here in the wrist, or I had crush'd the minion.

Demons.
Vengeance!—war!—war!

Ararach.
Down with that trump!—not so!—
We must be cunning, for yon queen is wise.
I'll first secure the mountain-girl I love;
Sylvia, the shepherdess: who else may fly,
Scared by the din of arms: perhaps be scorch'd
Or kill'd amid the fray.—Spirits and Horrors!

All.
Ay! ay! ay!

Ararach.
Which of you loves a mischievous adyenture?

All.
I, my lord!—I!—I!—I!

Ararach.
That will hurt men,
Please me, and gain great praise?—Who speaks?

All.
All! all!

Ararach.
But there's some danger in it: you must face
Morgana and her imps. What! does that fright ye?
Cowards!—Will none leap forward?

Grumiel comes forward.
Ha! brave Grumiel!

Momiel.
(Coming forward.)
Master, I'll do the mischief; let me, pray thee!
Were it to kill a baby in its play,
Ravin a leaguer'd city's corn, or drain
The traveller's only well i' the sanded wilds,
That his dry heart shall crumble; yea, the beauty
Laid warmly in her bridegroom's treasuring arms,
Shall turn a corpse-cheek to his morning kisses
If thou wilt have it so.—Let me, I pray thee!

Ararach.
Good! good!—Go both of ye!—Thou, my bold slave!
And thou, my sly one!—aid him with thy strength,
And he will prompt thy dulness.

Grumiel.
Hang him, poltroon!
Must I divide my glory with a knave
Who winks at a drawn blade?—a foul-mouth'd cur,
That bites the heel and runs!

Momiel.
Master, yon fool
Hath no more brains than a cauliflower: pray
Let him not go with me!—An alehouse board
Sets him to spell: he cannot count his fingers
Without a table-book.

Grumiel.
Curse ye, vile babbler!—hound!—
Mouse-hearted wretch!—

Momiel.
How wittily he calls names,
Like an ostler's paraquito!

Ararach.
Ye will prate,
Both of ye in my presence, will ye?—Take thou that—
And thou another? [Strikes them.]
Ay, stand there and writhe,
But whine not, ev'n for pain. Ye'll say, forsooth,
What ye would have!—Listen to my commands,
And do them to the tittle, ye were best!—
Go forth, but stealthily: we'll try at first
What may be done by craft. I'd rather gain
One treacherous point, than win a battle-field.
Go forth, I say; and use all smooth deceit
To wile the Maid into our bounds: or, if
She is too coy, and fearful, being warn'd
Of our intents by some sly ouphe, then hear
What ye shall do. A youth has lately wander'd
Into this bourne, whom by my art I know
The witch hath for this Nymph selected spouse.
Him shall ye seize; for he is all unversed
In these wild paths, and is a hotbrain, too,
That loves a deed of peril for its name.
If we could grip him, the elf-queen would scarce
Make up the loss; at least her present aim
Would be thus baffled, and our road left clear.
Ye know your business: off! and do it wisely!
Grumiel, be thou the master; and thou, sirrah!
Counsel him to thy best.

Momiel.
[Aside.]
Oh ay, I'll lead him!—
I'll be his Jack with the Lantern!

Grumiel.
Follow me,
Thou muttering slave!

Ararach.
If you do take the youth,
Brain him not: do you hear me?—We will keep him
Alive in torture here: perchance the Nymph
(Whom they will give love-potions) may be tempted
Thus to approach our realm, and lose herself
Ere she find him. That were a triumph worth
Laying ten plots for. Vanish!

Demons.
Way for the king!

[They vanish separately.