The Law of Lombardy A Tragedy |
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| 7. | SCENE VII. |
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 | The Law of Lombardy |  |
SCENE VII.
PALADOREalone.
Death! 'tis she!
There's not a silken braid that binds her hair,
One little shred of all that known attire
That wantons in the wind, but to my heart
Has sent such sweet disturbance, that it beat
Instinctive of her coming, ere my sight
Enjoy'd the beauteous wonder.—Soft! What now!
See she lets down the cordage of her shame,
To hoist him to her arms, I'll look no more—
Distraction! Devil! How she welcomes him!
That's well! that's well!—Again: grow to her lips—
Poison and aspics rot them! Now she woo's him,
Points to her chamber, and invites him inward.
May adder's hiss around their guilty couch!
And ghosts of injur'd lovers rise to scare them!—
Ay, get you gone—Oh, for a griffin's wing,
To bear me thro' the casement! Deeds like this
Shou'd startle every spirit of the grove,
And wake Enchantment from her spell-hung grot,
To shake the conscious roof about their heads,
And bare them to the scoff of modest eyes
Twin'd in the wanton fold. Oh, wretch accurs'd!
See there the blasted promise of thy joys,
Thy best hopes bankrupt.—Do I linger still?
Here find a grave, and let thy mangled corse,
When her lascivious eye peers o'er the lawn,
Satiate the harlot's gaze.
[Going to fall on his sword, Rinaldo rushes out and prevents him.
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What frenzy's this!
Arm'd 'gainst your life! In pity turn the point
On your old faithful servant, whose heart heaves
Almost to bursting to behold you thus.
PALADORE.
Hast seen it then?
RINALDO.
I have seen your wild despair;
And bless'd be the kind monitor within
That led me here to save you.
PALADORE.
Rather curs'd
Be thy officious fondness, since it dooms me
To lingering misery. Give me back my sword—
Is't come to this! Oh, I cou'd tear my hair!
Rip us this credulous breast! Blind dotard! Fool!
Did Wit, or Malice, ere devise a legend
To parellel this vile reality?
RINALDO.
Disgrace not the best gift of manly nature,
Your reason, in this wild extravagance.
PALADORE.
And think'st thou I am mad without a cause!
I'll tell thee—'Sdeath! It choaks me—Lead me hence—
I will walk boldly on the billowy deep,
Or blindfold tread the sharp and perilous ridge
Of icy Caucasus, nor fear my footing;
Play with a fasting lion's fangs unharm'd,
And stroke his rage to tameness.—But hereafter,
When men wou'd try impossibilities,
Let them seek faith in woman.—Furies seize them!
[Exeunt.
| The Law of Lombardy | |