University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

Public Walk.
Cimbelli and Gerardo.
GERARDO.
It is a perilous strait! to speak my knowledge
Seems like a wrong toward Charity—to hide it
Were lack of love indeed!

CIMBELLI.
Well, speak—what is it?
Rock Charity to sleep.

GERARDO.
The general tongue
Clamors its censures loudly, and mine own
But echos what it says.

CIMBELLI.
This general tongue
Belongs to foul-mouthed Fame—and Fame tells lies—
And lies should not be echoed.

GERARDO.
Men must know
Their frailties to repent them: thou art blamed
For words too liberal, and a life beside
Too like thy words.

CIMBELLI.
I would that I could hear
The same sins laid to thee—no tongue hath said
Thy words and life are paired.

GERARDO.
Alas we err—
And shall we not be humbled? Is it hard
That they who drink to drunkenness of sin,
Should wake at last in shame!

CIMBELLI.
Come, come—be honest.
Prithee speak out: I cannot talk in verse—
I do abhor your figures!—drunk with sin,
Now sick and sober!—There are eyes abroad
Which see by starlight, and have found thee, father,
Where thou wouldst not be known.

GERARDO.
Mark me, young man,
We too have eyes for darkness, and our ears
Can hear what yours cannot.

CIMBELLI.
I do believe!
Dark doings need quick ears. Who walks by night
Must look before, or woe-betide his nose.
You bear some witches lanthorn—you can trace
The blind worm's path for leagues without a moon,
And circumvent the jackal. When you pray,
The frightened stars go out—from village towers
The bells untouched ring mournfully—the wolves
Look up and howl—and from the gibbet's nail
The murderer's hand gets loose to free his head!
Three times, as old men say, before her travail,
Your mother met a judge—and dreamed all night
That screech-owls stood as sponsors to the babe,
While bats and molewarps nursed it.

GERARDO.
Who said this?

CIMBELLI.
The same that told thee what I do—he is
A knave no doubt: but patience—we go forth
Each where his nature guides—the light leads me,
Loud tongues, loose fancies, laughing lips and eyes—
I hate all mysteries.

GERARDO.
Thou dost, Cimbelli?
So, Heaven be praised! my hands are clean in this—
My knowledge is not now my sin.—Be merry—
Sing like some April cuckoo all day long
The same dull note, for rustic fools to mock at—
Their jest, then weariness. Thou that lovest light,
Come not too near the fire!—it were as wise
To bruise one's nose, as burn it. Lips may grin
Without a gibe. Pray that my prayers may free
The gibbet from that coxcomb there—and so
Go warily, sir Fool!—Look well about thee,
Nor slip nor stumble—or it yet may roll
A rood beyond its shoulders. I would hint
What makes it rock thus giddily—but thou
Dost loath all mysteries! so peace be with thee!

[Exit.
CIMBELLI.
What! treachery, ha!—this dog-fox scents us grossly!
I could not listen for my noise! My tongue
Rides courier to mine ears, and leads them on
Where I may lose all three!—Halloo! and after.

[Exit.