 | Julia ; Or, The Italian Lover |  |
SCENE VI.
To him Olympia.[Mentevole.]
Tell me, Olympia, are not women woo'd
By constancy, and deep-protested oaths?
By living on their smiles, by nice attentions?
By yielding up our reason to their humours?
By adoration of their beauty's power?
By sighs, and tears, by flattery, kneeling, fawning?
Tell me how many ways a manly mind
Must be debas'd, to win a lady's smile?
OLYMPIA.
That which by baseness only can be gain'd,
Were better undesir'd. But say, good brother,
Why do you question with such angry haste,
And what strange fury ruffles all your mien?
Give me your hand: it burns. You are not well.
Your mind unquiet fevers thus your blood.
MENTEVOLE.
No, no: a woman's coldness. Your fair friend,—
Teach her to smile, and my distemper dies.
OLYMPIA.
She has no sense of joy: that beauteous flower
Bows its sweet head o'er Claudio's bloody grave.
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Must that eternal sound grate on me still!
Hast thou been faithful to me? Hast thou told her,
How thou hast seen these lids, even at her name,
Swell with unbidden tides of melting fondness?
Whole nights how I have fill'd thy patient ear,
And she my only theme? How many times,
When chance has given her beauties to my sight,
Thou hast beheld me, trembling, try to speak,
And gaze away my meaning?
OLYMPIA.
Nay, my lord,
Endeavours true as mine disdain suspicion:
And let me say, if she should ne'er consent,—
MENTEVOLE.
How's that? take heed! if she shou'd ne'er consent?
Put not my life on chilling supposition;
Make it the doubt, Olympia, of a moment,
And though thou art my sister, and a dear one,
By heaven, I almost think that I shall hate thee:
For here I swear, deeply and calmly swear it,
The hour which sees me desperate of her love,
Shall be my last.
OLYMPIA.
For shame! be more a man.
MENTEVOLE.
By the great power which gave me sense and being,
I'll wrest from fate my folly's chastisement,
And this right hand shall end me.
OLYMPIA.
Oh! how shocking,
To hear with what devout impiety,
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Outrageous to its own bless'd providence!
MENTEVOLE.
Well, be it as it may, I have sworn it.
Knows she that young Marcellus is arriv'd?
OLYMPIA.
Yes; and the pleasing tidings for a moment
Dispell'd the cloud that dim'd her beauteous eyes.
Instant she beg'd me, and with warmth unusual,
To bear her greetings to his mother Fulvia;
I now was on my way.
MENTEVOLE.
Then, bear thy message;
Go, be the agent to destroy thy brother.
This compliment, I know, is but the prelude,
To invite a second Claudio, in Marcellus.
OLYMPIA.
If peace be worth a wish, and love be such
In every other bosom, as in thine,
Let the short story on my grave-stone tell,
“Nor loving, nor belov'd, Olympia died.”
MENTEVOLE.
You never wish'd more wisely: but forgive me;
Pardon my infirmity, 'tis too like madness.
OLYMPIA.
'Tis worse, for madmen have their intervals;
Thine's an eternal rage.
[going.
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Go not in anger:
Return; I will be calm; return, Olympia.
Thus on my knee let me entreat you hear me.
[offering to kneel.
OLYMPIA.
'Pray, rise. We may be seen. What is't? go on.
MENTEVOLE.
I have a never-failing instinct here,
Which prompts me what to dread. This young Marcellus,—
OLYMPIA.
Well, what of him?
MENTEVOLE.
I know, will see her shortly.
Crowd all thy faculties into thine eye;
Read his reception keenly; mark him too;
And give me note of every circumstance:
Their words, their looks, let not a glance escape thee.
Promise me so, and from this hour, Olympia,
Thy prudence shall be my sole counsellor:
Though you enjoin me to be blind and mute,
I'll bear it patient as the tutor'd child,
Whose fond instructor smiles, and teaches him.
OLYMPIA.
Keep these conditions, and command my service.
I linger here too long.—Remember patience.
[Exit Olympia.
| Julia ; Or, The Italian Lover | |