University of Virginia Library

Act. II.

Scene I.

A Grand Hall in a Palace.
Enter Duke, Duchess, Ladies, & Attendants
Duke.
I have of late observ'd it:—And to say true,
I do not think that good Sir Guyon's absence
Is that alone makes Florimel so sad;
Nor that alone for which She shuns our presence.

Duchess.
Fiducio too seems thoughtful, & reserv'd:
Oft knits his brow, & walks with folded arms.
Nay! & I've heard him utter deep-fetch'd sighs;
As if some pent-up sorrow workt within
His breast disturbing.—Frequent in the Grove
I've seen him wait till Florimel arriv'd:
Then ey'd them walking near as might beseem
A Lover's Friend, & a betrothed Fair.—
I do not say She's false—or faithless He;
I would not be censorious of the Pair:
But thoughts are free.

Duke.
Why this I oft have seen:
And noted much the secret walks they take;
And what reserve they put on in our presence.

1st. Lady.
Yes!—& I've seen them linked arm in arm,
As they say Lovers walk—& often turn
Their face upon each other, & so close,
That lip might easily encounter lip,
If hearts were so dispos'd.

2d. Lady.
And I have seen them smile upon each other;
Give nods of Curtesy, & silent winks,
Passing each other.

1st. Attendant.
And I vow, & swear,
I've often seen him tread upon her robe
Only to beg her pardon: And She drop
Her Kerchief, or some other petty triffle,
That he may pick it up & give it to her.
Nay! I've seen more—but more I will not tell,
Lest I be thought suspicious, rude, or forward.

Duke.
Why Florimel is fair—Fiducio handsome—
Sir Guyon absent—his return uncertain—
Affection wav'ring—Men insidious Creatures—
And to say true—the best of Us are frail.

Duchess.
O! this way onward comes the pensive Fair.
Please You my Lord! we rally her a little,
And see if blushes will not speak the truth?

Duke.
Retire ye all!—I'll question her alone.

Exeunt.
Duchess
retiring. aside
—Fiducio shuns Me—turns his eyes from mine,
And will not understand their plain heart-language.
If he despise my love, he'll find my hate.

Enter Florimel.
Duke.
Well met thou pensive Maid! I wonder much
You shun our presence—& demean yourself
As if you fear'd, or had receiv'd, some Inj'ry.
What makes you sad? Sir Guyon will return:
His race of Glory run, he'll soon be here,
To reap the precious harvest of his Toil.

Florimel.
Still must Sir Guyon toil, encounter Dangers:
And think you, good my Lord! That I can couch
On bed of down, & close my eyes in peace,
Like Children void of care? while he perhaps,
Reclines his weary head on the cold ground;
Or traverses the Desart's trackless wilds?
Ill would it then beseem Me to rejoice,
Such cause being ever present for my grief.

Duke.
This well becomes you Florimel!—Yet tears
Drown the soft Loves, which playful in these eyes,
Were wont to ravish all who caught their glances.

Florimel.
Alas! my Lord! what beauty I can boast
I never wish should captivate, or please
But One, the only he, my plighted Lord.

Duke.
And yet our eyes may feast upon the Gems
Which Others own—Else why such lavishment
In splendid Equipage, & rich attire?
These are not for our own, but others view:
And in their likings We find half our joy.

Florimel.
Why true, my Lord!—But pleasures of the Soul
Lay not their treasures open to the view
Of each admiring eye—Its precious Casket
The heart unlocks not, as of vulgar stores,
The sacred Contents; But keeps them close:
Closer than Misers their ill-worship'd Pelf.

Duke.
And dost thou think the charms which thee adorn
That captivate the eye, & move the sense,
Even to extasy, of each Beholder,
Were giv'n to be conceal'd? Can heav'n enkindle
Such bright lights of its own, & then forbid
Our gazing on their lusture?—that were vain,
And solemn mock'ry of our best made senses.

Florimel.
What means your speech My Lord! I cannot think
You aim the shaft at Me, & Me alone:
If it be so, 'twere best that I retire,
Lest you give cause, or I should give offence.

Duke.
Then to be free—I think that other eyes
Can read your letter'd beauties with a sense
As keen as can Sir Guyon's—& perhaps
Of ampler power to do those beauties justice.

Florimel.
What ampler pow'r can any one possess
Than does Sir Guyon?—He's of noblest nature.
His soul, exalted to the highest pitch
Of human greatness, suffers no compeer.—
Then who has ampler pow'r to do Me justice?
Or who the pow'r like him to make Me blest?

Duke.
I do not call in question Florimel!
Sir Guyon's merit, or his high deserts:
But others sure may wish as much as he,
To gain your good grace, & secure your favour.
Even I would stoop—& do—to ask the boon.
And as first act of fealty, I swear
Upon this charming hand—[taking her hand]


Florimel.
What mean you Sir!
[withdrawing her hand hastily]
Is it alone to try my steady faith
Towards Sir Guyon, that you thus presume?
Or else, forgetting other sacred ties,
You loose the reins of your unbridl'd thought,
And make this bold attempt upon my honor?

Duke.
I understand you well—'tis true I've tak'n
The Duchess to my state for policy,
And for our great alliance—And in this
The World upholds Me: Ev'ry Day's example
Sanctions such unions; while the heart is free,
And left at large to follow its affection.

Florimel.
Alas! my Lord! no more—You quite forget
Your state & place—forget too who I am:
One in my love—betroth'd—& one afflicted.
Then do not crush a broken reed to pieces;
And wound a heart already much distresst.

Duke.
Why! if another's truant disposition
May plead for our escapes, I freely say,
I've often seen My Duchess cast an eye
Of tender languishment on your Fiducio.

Florimel.
On my Fiducio?—Yes—he is my Friend:
And such he is with warranty of heaven.

Duke.
Come come—this will not do—I have beheld
Some tender intercourse between You Two,
Which savours something short of heav'nly love.

Florimel.

Exit.
Duke.
Her virtue while it awes me doth astonish:
Methought I saw new charms when She reprov'd.
Such love as mine is not so soon repuls'd:
I'll seek a fitter time, & fitter place.

Exit.

Scene II

Scene changes.
Enter Fiducio & Florimel meeting: She appears disorder'd.
Fiducio.
What mean these downcast looks? & outward signs
Of newly waken'd sorrow?—speak I pray You!

Florimel.
The Duke—

Fiducio.
Why, what of him, he's sure thy friend?

Florimel.
Yes, such a Friend, Fiducio! as would rob
Me of thy friendship, & mine own dear honor.

Fiducio.
It cannot be.

Florimel.
It is—he hath assail'd it.

Fiducio.
Speak again.

Florimel.
In verity, he hath assail'd mine honor.

Fiducio.
Say, in what form?

Florimel.
By off'ring Me his love.

Fiducio.
In manner doubtless?

Florimel.
Yes—no doubt remains.

Fiducio.
Then Confidence, & Honor, flee to shades;
And shun for ever the high courts of Princes.
House ye with cottage Swains who know not guile;
And dwell content with their simplicity.

Florimel.
To move thee more—he challenged our friendship:
And call'd thee mine, e'en in the very sense
He wisht me to be his—And couch'd in terms
Of no ambiguous note, suspicion hinted
His Duchess look'd on thee with tender eye.
And pleaded for his truant Disposition,
The policy of Princes, & Alliance.

Fiducio.
Didst Thou not spurn him from Thee?

Florimel.
In such sort
As fitted my firm Virtue, & his State;
As yet both undebas'd—& him besought,
To recollect his station, & himself.

Fiducio.
Thus ever doth revolting Duty shroud
Itself in vain pretext: & others faults
Urge in defence of its Delinquencies:
And under colour of another's fault,
It varnishes its own.—O! had I been
Within the breath of his audacious offer,
By heav'ns! the sacred Reverence I bear
To his high name & Office, had not stop'd
This hand to do thee right, & Myself justice.

Florimel.
This ardor well becomes thee—But, my friend!
Safe in my virtue, be assur'd my sense
Of wrongs like these, tho' felt with indignation,
Will not allow me to demean Myself
Below what now I am—& what I shall be.

Fiducio.
What thou now art, I know—what thou shalt be,
Lives only in the undisclosed womb
Of teeming Time: And heav'n alone can tell
What thou shalt be—& cast thy future lot.

Florimel.
But may not heav'n in special grace, disclose
Its future dealings?

Fiducio.
I say not but it may.
Yet special grace like this must bear its seal,
And come in such unquestionable form,
That hesitating Doubt shall close the lip.

Florimel.

Fiducio.
'Tis strange.

Florimel.
Nor stranger than 'tis true—She further said;
If thou by trial shalt approve thyself,
And thy beloved Lord return from Toil,
(As in firm faith I trust he will) & give
Proof of his prowess & exalted Virtue;
Your hands shall link in holiest union:
And from that union mighty Princes rise
To bless the People over whom they reign:
And in their People's blessing find their own;
The sov'reign bliss of Kings.

Fiducio.
The Omen I receive—& bless the Power
That hath reveal'd this comfort to thy Soul.
Forward I look—& with auspicious joy,
Anticipate thy happiness—& feel,
E'en at this present moment, future bliss.—
But say!—revealed not the Pow'r her name?

Florimel.
She did—& said She was the Fairy Queen.

Fiducio.

Exeunt.

Scene III.

A romantic Scene in a Forrest.
Enter Sir Guyon in armour.
Sir Guyon.
Tho' toil succeed to toil, & one Encounter
Heralds another—tho' I long have borne
Fatigue & hunger, till to lowest ebb
The tide of Life was fall'n—known no suspense
Of labour since my mission; yet the thought
Of my Reward in Florimel bears up
My otherwise defective pow'rs, & balms
Each heart-felt sorrow. O! all-gracious heav'n!
Still still support me in the hour of trial;
And raise my virtue to the highest bent
Of manly daring; that I may deserve,
And gain at last this your most precious prize.

Enter the Fairy Queen.
F. Queen.

Sir Guyon.
If my Request be not presumptuous, say
How long these ordeal suff'rings must I bear?
And when an end (for Mortals ever wish
A period to their suff'rings) of my toils?

F. Queen.
Be patient in thy toils, & that will serve
More than the knowledge, when these toils will end
To lead thee on to glory.—Leave the rest
To those high Powers who ever will the best.
Meanwhile bethink thee, that thy promis'd bliss
Ensures a certain end to all thy toils:
What boots it then to know the day, or hour,
When this bliss shall arrive?—still for thy comfort,
I will unfold (for this I am permitted)
The sign by which thou shall be well assur'd,
Thy present sufferings are about to cease.—
The Omen seen, straight sheath thy conqu'ring sword.
Thrice having wash'd thee in the running stream,
With pure ablution, then thou mayst return:
And all that heav'n hath spoke shall be fulfill'd.—
The Omen this:—A Falcon from the West
Shall chase a snow-white Dove thro' mid-way air,
And seize the prey—then hover o'er thy head,
And drop the trembling Quarry at thy feet.

Sir Guyon.
Thanks, gentle Pow'r! for these kind admonitions:
And for the promis'd Omen, thank'd be heav'n.
Contented I submit—& meet each danger,
Secure in heav'n's assistance, & support.—
Most gracious Queen farewell [to the F. Queen Retiring]


F. Queen.
—Farewell! & prosper

Exeunt.