University of Virginia Library

SCENE VII.

A Bedchamber.
Imogen enters, with a Book and Taper.
A large Coffer in a Corner.
Imog.
The night's far gone—It is a sleepy tale,
[Lays by the Book.
And I'll to bed—Thou ever wakeful Fancy,
Who makest new worlds, and peoplest them with beings
At thine own will—O, take my Leonatus
Into thy kind creation; give him to me
In all his love and loveliness, a shade
Passing all waking substance!—so shall night
Atone my griefs by day; and, what is not,
Be prized o'er all that is—
[Lies down.
From every power of darkness, guard me, gods!
And ope your Heaven within!

[Sleeps.
Clodio rises cautiously out of the Coffer.
Clod.
Soft—All is still—except the cricket's chirp;
And the death-worm, that ticks its midnight watch
To silence—Tarquin, thus, with stealthy pace
Came o'er the sleeping Lucrece, ere he waked
The chastity he wounded—First, to mark
The tales impannell'd on the pictured boards,
And needled in the arras.
The fifteenth Danaide—Hero, from the tower,
And, from the beach, Alcione, just sprung
To join their loves below.—Panthea, arm'd
Against her life, hangs o'er her mangled lord!
Strike, woman,
Put the beholder out of pain!—By Proserpine,
All that is fabled, yet, of female worth,
Is call'd together here, to be affirm'd
By yonder sole perfection!—Now, for marks
Of nearer, dearer annotation—such
As may, with jealous frenzy, rend the soul
Of that loved, envied, curs'd, detested savage!—
Gently—as mousers tread by night—Kind sleep,
Image of death, lie thou upon her sense,
As monumental marble on a tomb
In some still chapel.—'Tis her breathing, sure,
That thus perfumes the chamber—Cytherea,
How thou dost sanctify thy shrine!—fair lilly,
Queen of the vale—more spotless, yet, within,
Than all external purity—Soft, soft,
Come off, thou precious bond, come off—'Tis mine—
[Takes off her bracelet.
A witness against truth, more strong, than all
Our Roman batteries!—O, the gods! what's here?—
On the left side, beneath the beauteous pap,
A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops
Ith'bottom of a cowslip—Here's a voucher,
Beyond what law can make!—She stirs!—enough—
I'll to my trunk again—
Ye dragons, who draw on the team of night,
Ply fast your leathern wings, that chearful morn
May rise to win my freedom!

[Goes into the coffer.—The scene closes.