University of Virginia Library

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.