University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

Scene I.

—Open Country near Florence.
Enter Crescenzi, Diodati, and Nobles.
Cres.
The Duke is much disturbed—ill fate attends him—
This sport goes ill—this princely Falconry!—
'Tis thousand pities!—for my part, methinks,
This vast assembled crowd does desperate mischief!—
The birds are scared by shouts, and cries, and tramplings—
'Tis all one hubbub now!—

First Noble.
When on the ground,
New lit upon their prey—the rush and stir
Of hurrying hundreds startle them and scare—
Nor can the Falconers lure them back again.

Second Noble.
Our fairest Florentines, with flaunting colours,
And flying draperies, and far-fluttering plumes,
And waving kerchiefs, (to say nought besides,
Of tongues that far out-ring the Hawk's gay bells,)
May well affright the poor long hooded birds—
The Falcon Queen, His Highness' favourite Hawk,
Is lost—they long have followed her in vain!—

Dio.
The Falcon Queen! a mighty bird and brave!—
Oh! I have seen her, like a rushing storm,
Make the Heavens darken with her wings—she seemed
(So the eye fastened to her shadowing suddenness—
Still seeing her where she had been—and was not—
Until she multiplied in endless movement—)
A winged Ubiquity—an Omnipresence—
Here, there, and everywhere!—

Enter the Grand Duke, attended by Courtiers, Falconers, &c.;—a Hawk on his wrist.
Grand Duke.
Ho! Falconers good!—
Ho!—gallant Hearts!—ye followed well the sport!—
We made a glorious Storm of it!—by Heavens!—
The hoofs of Thunder on the echoing ground—
The wings of Lightning in the quivering skies!—
But my fair Bird, the Falcon-Queen, is lost!—
I fear me she is lost—the Bird was scared
By all the bravery of our Florentines!—
Their scarlets and their purples and their yellows!—
But come! Signors of Florence!—to the field!—
Another cast—my Bird of Beauty here—
“La Belle Dame sans Merci”—must straight be tried,
With her companion good, “the Flying Dragon!”—
Hence! fair Signors!—

First Noble.
Your Highness does us honour!—

[Exeunt Grand Duke, Nobles, Falconers.
Dio.
A moment, stay!—didst mark the Princess?

Cres.
Yes!—
Indeed I did—with cruel-curious keenness!—

Dio.
Be sure she loves the Guicciardini—else
I never read a Maid's ingenuous heart
Blazoned upon her cheek,—deep bathed in blushes—
For so the cheek of sweet Beatrice was—
That ever fairly in all beauty wore
Its rich blood-royal bloom, and mock'd the rose!—

Cres.
Fair is the youthful Princess!—dowered with grace!—
But Oh! not fair as is the unmatched Costanza!—
All others are as Æthiops by her side—
Yet she could spare them charms to make them angels!—
Costanza is consummate Beauty!—

Dio.
Soh!—
Good troth!—thy Praise is warm; I ever thought
Thy heart was well inclined unto the maid—
But now suspect thou sighest for her bright charms—
With all a Lover's vehemence!—

Cres.
'Twere in vain!—
Thou know'st she is contracted to Lorenzo!—
Indeed 'twere vain!—besides—

Dio.
Hark!—hark!—a shout!—
A wild long-echoing shout!—and hark! again!—
Was't not Algarves' name I caught?—

Cres.
It was!—
Ring cries of “Live the Princess!”—“Live Algarves!”—
What means it?—come!—we must not linger here!—

Dio.
Nay! speed here some informants—pause awhile!—

Enter Giovanni and Francesco.
Cres.
What means this outery?—

Fran.
Excellent Signors!—
A dire mischance was threatened and averted!—
The Princess Beatrice's mettled horse
Had well nigh dashed himself, with his fair burthen,
Adown the bank by yonder chrystal stream!—
A pigeon lately loosed—for refuge fled
Ev'n to the fair Princess's glittering draperies,
That swept low down beneath her courser's housings—
(And finally sought safety on her lap,)—
The hawk swift followed it—the affrighted steed,
With furious snorting, and with startled bound,
Received the unwelcome guests—his desperate hoof
Brained the doomed hawk, the while, the fluttering pigeon
Flew 'twixt his fore-legs—adding dread to dread!—
Though at that moment Count Giordano held
The silken reins, the infuriate creature burst
With one wild bound away—till intercepted
By Count Algarves—a most gallant horseman,
Who from the distance viewed the fearful danger,
And sped him to the rescue—which accomplished—
'Twas found, that in its brave atchievement thus—
Himself was hurt—but slightly, in the arm—
Strained by the shock!—

Cres.
Come! come! my Friend, at once!—
We should not loiter, but should promptly tender
Our joint congratulations cordially—
Both to the Princess and the Sovereign Duke!—

[Exeunt Cres. and Dio.
Gio.
Oh! that I had saved our fair Princess's life—
I doubt not I had then been knighted straight—
Thwack!—thwack!—and made Hereditary high—
Great chief Lord Constable and Chamberlain!—
Ill luck!—and cross befallings, by the rood!—
The foul fiend fly off with that meddling Spaniard!—
Say I—and all his olive-coloured brethren!—
What right hath he to come and thrust himself
Between us and the beckoning Honours thus?—
The gold spurs snatching, off our longing heels—
The bread from out our gaping mouths—'fore Heaven!—
'Tis past my patience to endure the thought—
We have lost gold spurs—squires—lacqueys—place—promotion!—
Francesco! thou'rt too tame!—

Fran.
To say the truth—
Need were for better riders than myself
To save distress'd Princesses—in such streights!—
Aye! or than you, Giovanni!—and I doubt,
Awaited you for spurs until you lanced
Your Courser's flanks on such adventurous errand—
Your heels should go unrowelled till your death—
Guiltless of being gilt!—much lacking lacqueys!—

Enter Algarves and Millaflores.
Milla.
Giovanni and Francesco!—to your posts!—
I stand amazed to find you loitering here!—
His Highness must not miss you in his train!—
'Tis such remissness in the Court's retainers—
That most endangers Kingdoms and their Rulers—
[Exeunt Gio. and Fran.
Well! prithee!—Signor Count Algarves!—now
Detail to me how 'twas you saved the Princess—
A most sublime atchievement!—

Al.
It was thus—
The pigeon flew into Her Highness' lap—

Milla.
Excuse me, Sir—you speak most unadvisedly—
Princesses have no laps—it is indeed
Outrageous insult!—nay! I would observe,
Abomination—so to speak of them!—

Al.
Faith! well, Sir! on the august Princess's knees!—

Milla.
Her knees!—

Al.
Come, come! the deuce is in't!—d'ye mean
They are like jointless dolls?—why! what the plague!
Perhaps you think that Princes have no limbs,
Sage Millaflores! you are in error there!—
'Tis only Courtiers have no understandings!—
No knees!—(nay, suffer me to speak, I pray!)—
How could she fall upon them, which she did—
What time I checked her mad, infuriate horse,
And snatched her from the saddle, while I felt
Her poor Heart beat—

Milla.
Your language, Sir! excuse me!—
Becomes yet more injurious!—would you dare
Suppose Princesses can have hearts that beat?—

Al.
'Fore Heaven, Sir, if they have not, you will make
Myself remember I have hands that can!—
If thus these strange insulting interruptions
With most unseasoned rigour you pursue!
I will not bear it longer!—

Milla.
Nay, indeed
I must decline your proffered favour, Sir,—
Your hands are too unworthy of the office,
Seeing they're not of honourable clay—
(And also, that your arms are quite unknown)—
And if you venture to presume to act it,
I must assure you I shall hold myself
Bound to consider myself—still unbeaten;—
I grieve to contradict thus any man,
But cannot answer to my conscience, so
To let myself look on myself as thrashed
By hands so bare of adventitious aptness!—
Hands! Sir!—if you have at your fingers' ends
Your pedigree, I may consent to this—
(You must observe, that liberal though I am,
And panting to establish equal rights,
While yet the present system still subsists,
I feel it is my duty—clearly marked—
To stand by mine own order thus and place)—
Now I do look on hands—

Al.
Leave fooling, Sir!—

Milla.
(with dignity.)
It ne'er was in my power to play the fool—
By Nature o'er-endued with deepest wisdom—
But I must make you fully understand—
Your new-made title, Count! cannot be old!—
Wait some few generations—then indeed—
In short, Sir! I conceive your Great-great-Grandson
Might be allowed to challenge and chastise me!—
Hands?—hands?—have yours the knightly gauntlet worn?
(Aside.)
I guess the Peasant's hedge gloves would suit better!—
(Aloud.)
I doubt if in such lofty exercise
I can indulge them—manual labour may
Have oft dishonoured them—and then, perchance,
In contact with base things—

Al.
Death! Sir!—beware!—
Lest manual labour they should now attempt,
And come in contact with base things indeed!—
(Aside.)
But let me not take heed of this vain fool,
Or aught that he can say,—'tis out of reason!)—

Milla.
Hands! Count!—yourself may be perhaps the offspring
Of some left-handed marriage!—I must know—
Besides—good Sir!—if that same name you bear
Be handed down at least two generations—
Ev'n though not noble—gentle in degree!—
If not, worthy, worthy Count, you might pretend
To beat me! but no image of a bruise
Should blacken o'er my high Imagination—
Hands! Sir!—it is not that I mean exactly—
Hands are not Hands!—but then the vulgar views
Taken of course by Physiologists—
By dull anatomists and grave Logicians,
And studious naturalists, and rude mechanics,
Are different from a man's of noble blood—
A man of science in high breeding's art!—
True!—the Arms they terminate—and furnish thus
The extremities—

Al.
Hold! Sir! the Duke is coming!—

Enter the Grand Duke, Attendants, &c.
Duke.
Algarves!—long we vainly sought for thee—
Thou hast retreated from our thanks and praises!—
Now, Gentlemen! we do not need your service—
But fain would hold discourse awhile alone,
With our good friend the Count Algarves!—
[Milla. &c. go out.
Now!—
Hear! hear me, best and bravest!—I do feel
Thou hast been twice made the Saviour of my Life!—
Thus having saved my Sister's as mine own—
My Sister's!—ev'n a dearer part of mine!—
Mine obligations unto thee oppress me!—
Nought I can give can equal thy deserts!—

Al.
(Aside.)
Oh! torture to the height of madness!—this!—
(Aloud.)
Your Highness far o'errates my petty deeds!—

Duke.
No! no!—I do not!—and I cannot—no!—
Algarves!—as a proof of mine esteem—
My friendship, love, and boundless gratitude—
How now! thou tremblest!—

Al.
I am crushed—o'erwhelmed!—

Duke.
Aye! by a very avalanche, methinks,—
It leaves your brow, in sooth, as white and tintless!—
But listen how I purpose to promote you!—
I offer you my much-loved Sister's hand—
And such advancement as may best befit
The Consort of a Princess of our House—
The additions and the accompanyings all
Of such exalted state!—

Al.
Forbear!—forbear!—
For every reason, yet forbear! my Liege!—
(Aside.)
Dastard as traitor!—all my courage fails me!—
Oh! would I dared confess!—

Duke.
Forbear!—explain!—
What mean'st thou?—

Al.
Most dread Lord! this cannot be!—
I cannot wed the Princess!—

Duke.
How!—is't so?—
Darest thou refuse my Sister?—scorn the honour
That I would do thee?—

Al.
Pity me, Great Duke!—
I cannot give that faithful Heart which should
Accompany this most unworthy hand!—

Duke.
Thou lov'st another?—

Al.
Duke! I love another!—
With soul and heart and mind to her devoted!—

Duke.
That other is?—

Al.
Costanza Lambertazzi!—

Duke.
And hast good hope?—

Al.
My Liege! I have good hope—
But I entreat your Highness to forbear—
Nor on that point to probe with further question!—
Liege Lord!—wilt graciously permit me now
To speak of thy most honoured Sister?

Duke.
Speak!

Al.
I do know one who loves the beauteous Princess,
Ev'n as she should be loved—with fullest Soul—
And uttermost devotion and Heart's homage—
One too, whom I have reasons strong and cogent,
To think the gracious Princess loves as deeply—
My Friend, the Guicciardini!—

Duke.
What!—is't thus?—
I nought of this suspected—nought observed!—
If 'tis indeed as you imagine—good!—
The Guicciardini shall espouse my Sister!—
His title to so high an honour, know,
Is being thy best friend!—for thy dear sake,
My brave Deliverer, do I yield consent
To these espousals, and at thy sole instance!—
It shall be so!—but for thyself, beseech thee
Choose now some fitting mark of my regard—
My perfect friendship!—

Al.
For myself!—myself!—
The rack—the wheel—the dungeon—or the grave!—
At once the torture—or at once the tomb!—
All! everything but this!—thy maddening kindness!—

Duke.
What transport thus possesses thee?—

Al.
But hear!—
And sentence, sentence me!— (throws himself on his knees:)
I am a traitor!—
The rankest, basest, foulest that e'er trailed
His slime empoisoned o'er the exuberant growths
Of generous bounty—unsuspecting goodness!—
I have been leagued—thank Heaven that I can say
Have been—that 'twas a moment's passing phrenzy—
With plotters 'gainst thy Princely state!—

Duke.
And life?—
The Life, Algarves! that yourself preserved?—

Al
No! infamous beyond all words to speak!—
I yet stopped short of such a fiendish horror!—
Thou askedst me to choose some mark of grace—
Of favour—and I would do so—yet ask
No grace—no favour—save most rigorous justice!—
No bounty—but eternal Banishment!—
Nay, better far—far better—instant death!—
Mercy!—and curse me!—Pity!—then and crush me!—
Forbearance!—and but stretch me on the rack!—
For this—thy murdering magnanimity
Drives the sharp death-blow to my living Soul!—
Low in the dust let me pour out that Soul—
And deprecate—ah no!—implore and pray
Thy worst severity!—

Duke.
Up!—up!—my Friend!
High as my Heart!—up! up! I say!—and then
Thou'rt higher than the Sun!—for I do feel
Forgiveness—Mercy—best ennoble Man,
Being—best attributes of Him who made Him!—

Al.
This wounds to more profound extremity!—
Oh! measurelessly more than hate and harshness!—
These towering magnanimities of Soul
Rebuke me with a Voice that shames the Trumpet!—
But I will not be pardoned!—I will not!—
I do refuse thy mercies—and deny them!—
Reject thy great forgiveness and forbearance!—
Thou hast no right to throw aside from thee
All the awful attributes that wait on Monarchs!—
I ask for justice—and thou giv'st me mercy—
I claim thy justice and refuse that mercy!—

Duke.
Art mad, Algarves?—if thou lov'st me, cease!—
Nor think a moment of some strange delirium
Hath cancelled obligations—

Al.
What!—that word!—
That word again!—Oh! maddening mockery! hush!—
Know'st not that I am bound to thee as much—
Nay! more! a thousand—thousand times yet more—
By being made e'en the Instrument of Heaven
For saving thus thy life, than thou to me—
Than unto me—weak tool of Power—art thou,
Who wert reserved by Providence for safety?—
Thus Parents better love their children ever,
(Whom they impose all obligations on)—
Than children do their Parents!—Still, doth man
All tremblingly in mystic joy, receive
Heaven's holy sanction thus to act its part!—
And the Deliverer owes to the Delivered
A most large debt!—Still since the eventful day
I felt strong ties—the strongest of all ties—
United thee and me; since mine was made
The blessedness to lengthen out thy life!—
I had that happy consciousness for ever,
And thanked thee, who the high occasion gave
To me to snatch a fellow-creature thus—
Back from the grave that yawned before his feet!—
I was the grateful One and ought to be so—
But how?—Oh! how have I shown gratitude
For this—for all—for all thou hast since done for me?—

Duke.
I charge thee now—no more!—I will not hear thee!—
Thou shalt not trench on my Prerogative—
My loftiest!—holiest!—I have pardoned thee!—
And I will pardon thee—and for thy sake—
Thy screened accomplices—unnamed—unknown!—
Yet tell me, who dared tempt thee,—for I feel
Thou hast been tempted—tell me honestly—
At once now tell me!—

Al.
Whatsoe'er their guilt,
Mine—overshadowing and outstripping theirs,—
As night's pitch darkness doth a cloud's faint gloom,
Doth render me indeed the most unfit
For task of such denouncement!—Urge me not!—
Oh!—urge me not! Great Duke!—take—take my life.
With tortures such as might, for thousand deaths,
With all their argument of agony,
Stand representatives—but spare me there!—

Duke.
I ask no more—but must not hide from thee
That I have shrewd suspicions of the truth.
Princes have many ears that do them service,
Well as long arms!—and though no Dionysius,
One I possess, that makes me Lord of secrets
I often wish were buried in oblivion—
'Tis e'en my faithful Minister's!—let pass—
We need not enter now on long discussions!—
Be sure I know thy tempter—more, I say not,—
But though for thy sake I do pardon him,
'Tis not with such full Soul, but that I yet
Shall visit his dark crime with retribution—
Not such as well it merits, but light chastening—
Thou know'st not all the darkness of his deeds—
Hush!—Hush! we are interrupted—not a word—
Prepare thy friend—the noble Guicciardini—
For all the good and greatness we design him!—

Enter Francesco.
Fran.
So please your Highness—by your fair command,
Another flight hath just been tried and finished;
“La Belle Dame sans merci” surpassed herself—
Her stoops were thunderstrokes, herself, she conquered,—
Nor needed from her partner aught of aid,
And brought the vanquished quarry to the ground—
Her first swoop sent it forty fathoms down,
All shrieking—fluttering in the air!—

Enter Giovanni.
Gio.
My Liege!—
The flying Dragon hath received a hurt;—
Dividing from her partner, each selecting
A noble Heron, (it fortuned, two flew near,)
She battled bravely 'gainst her screaming foe—
But plunging down impetuously and fiercely,
Spiked on the Heron's sharp spearlike beak remained—
That deadly weapon she can wield so well,—
Upraised to do the mortal hurt.—

Duke.
Ill chance!—
Our sport to-day hath cost us dear—I wot—
The Falcon Queen—a noble Bird of war—
Of most admired and finished science—lost!—
And now the Flying Dragon hurt to death!—
Fly “La belle Dame” once more, if serves the wind—
Methought but now 'twas changing—then feed up!—
Apprize the Princess I would speak with her—
And instant, one of you—go advertise
Unto that same effect, Signor di Montri,
Our Lord Grand Falconer—hence!—and spare not speed!—
[Exeunt Fran. and Gio.
What still amort!—look up! my Friend, look up!—
Thou thought'st thyself infallible it seems—
Now this hath happened well, to show thee truth.
We all are weak if we relax our watching—
For ne'er beleaguered city yet required
Such wakeful sentinels, such careful warders,
As man's 'seiged heart beset with all temptations!—
Come with me, we must seek thy gallant Friend!—
Come with me, for I will not let thee go,
Until I see a voucher in thine eye
That thou wilt keep the Peace—towards thyself!—

Al.
Good Saints guard ever all your princely thoughts!—

[Exeunt.

Scene II.

—Count Lambertazzi's House.
Count Lambertazzi alone.
Lam.
A dark foreboding strangely troubles me!—
Algarves saved the young Princess's life—
The Duke would doubtless shower upon him all
The o'erflowings of his deepening gratitude—
And he would in the impulse of the moment
Reveal at once—the secret he is charged with!—
If so—why! I am lost!—'twere utter ruin!—
And worse!—my loss should be his gain—his gain!—
I scarce could make the Prince believe the plot
Was but a suppositious and unreal one!—
Yet—ha! I have it!—yes! I still am safe!—

Enter Nicolo.
Nico.
The Count Algarves—if your leisure serves—
Claims speech with you and instant—

Lam.
Let him enter!—
[Exit Nicolo.
Now will I probe him to the core with looks—
Anatomize his mind with nice precision—
Search to the hidden corners of his heart—
And rake up all his vile pernicious thoughts!—

Enter Algarves.
Al.
Count Lambertazzi!—I have sped to thee,
To give thee notice of a deed I have done,
Without circumlocution or concealment!—
As far as I had entered and engaged
In thy conspiracy—and dark cabal—
I have revealed the whole unto the Duke—
All—

Lam.
Death! you did!—

Al.
I did!—

Lam.
And doubtless—all—
And more than all that I—and others—

Al.
Hold!—
I swear to you no name hath passed these lips,
And no confession save mine own to him—
He graciously released me from the task
(A task not torture to the last extreme
Had forced me to fulfil,) of following up
My free confession by particulars—
Details—and full unfoldings of the Plot!—
Be most assured of this—through me at least
The gracious Prince knows nothing of your own,
Or Millaflores' implication in it—
Yet it must follow doubtlessly that he
Will be more strictly on his guard, and keep
A general scrutiny and certain watch.

Lam.
(coldly.)
Your conduct, Sir! to me seems most mysterious—
You entered in our glorious enterprise
With Heart and Soul—methought a world had failed
To shake your 'stablished purpose and design—
A straw hath done it!—

Al.
It were vain indeed—
Most useless to discuss this subject now—
In me the madness of a moment rose
To cast the promise of a life aside—
And almost in that moment gave my Soul
To the everlasting uttermost perdition!—
My crime, premeditation lacked at least,
And prompt repentance charmed some evil from it!—
Precipitous preparation made my thoughts
To range themselves with stratagems and treasons!—
And as precipitately these prepared
(And well it was such deep contrition came,)
To stand once more in the open ranks of Virtue,
Though drooping with the weight of conscious wrong!—
Ev'n drooping to the dust!—

Lam.
Enough! Sir!—go!—
And if you can,—renounce these glorious visions
That rushed upon your mind in tides of triumph!—
Your thoughts had ranged themselves right royally
Upon the side of suffering Human Nature—
The rights of man—the freedom of the world!—
They shrink now back to join the fatal Phalanx—
The cold confederacy of formal judgments—
For ever leagued and linked in hateful pact
Against the People—'gainst the Mass of Man!—
Traitor thou calledst thyself—I tell thee no!—
The Traitors are the Tyrants that abuse
The hands of all born Freedom unto chains!—
But go! I plead not—where in vain are pleading
The rights and hopes of the endless generations!—
The high humanities—and Heav'n-born instincts
That point one path, and steer but by one star!—
I plead not where unheard are pleading still
The tongues of thrice ten thousand Angels!—Go!—
Forsake the hope to raise and bless mankind,—
But in their degradation find thy doom!—
Thou hast a Soul that pines with proudest thirsts—
It still must pine—while Slavery walks the world!—
The very Tyrants that oppress their fellows,
Oppress themselves—and must themselves debar
From good and greatness—sole to be atchieved
Through joint free efforts of a world untrammelled!—
They little know how much they lack and lose—
How utterly impoverished, weakened, lowered—
The world they sway, is, by their rule pernicious!—
They little know—

Al.
I pray thee, noble Count,
Permit my absence. Not your zealous bursts
Of wild enthusiasm can move me now,
Save to regret I e'er was blinded by them!—
But I am sobered now, and all unshaken—
The infatuation and the illusioned mood—
Of strange excitement, have subsided all!—
Howe'er to Fancy seem the unreal splendours
Thou conjurest up, with light and truth endued,
Sound Reason looks through each fantastic fabric,
And views the o'er-weening Vanity shrined in it—
Sees too the impossibilities—

Lam.
Away!—
That word insults the Almightiness of Virtue!
I may not listen to thy cold discourse!—
Go! help to forge the chains that ever best
Fit those that frame them for another's neck!—
And take thy long farewell of all that shone
In bright perspective to thine eyes before—
Fame, Freedom, Honour, Truth, and Right and Love—
The Happiness of myriads with thine own!—
Thy Country's and Costanza's—theirs—yes! theirs!—
And more, the good of the Universal Country—
The great Creator's Country!—wide Creation!—

Al.
(aside.)
He troubles me!—be firm! my Soul!—be firm!—
(Aloud.)
I go—yet I would pray thee to dismiss
These visionary schemes of fancied good—
A good impossible I fear on earth—
And do thy best as far as in thee lies
To aid the cause of Man by other means
Than treacherous—

Lam.
Hence!—but spare me thine advice!—
Not oft at my age men endure a tutor!—
My grave Preceptors are within! the thoughts
And inmost counsels of near threescore years!—
Irreverend boy! away!—

Al.
Forgive me! yes!—
I have much erred, forgive me!—

Lam.
Aye!—and hence!—
[Exit Algarves.
Forgive thee! when the arch Rebel is forgiven—
And on his throne on high—in Heaven—once more—
Then—not till then will I forgive thee!—Yes!—
'Tis failure—failure all! on every side!—
Far more than ever do I hate thee now!—
I will make meshes of my heart's own fibres,
Alive, and quivering with convulsion's anguish,
But I will trap thy steps unwary, yet!—
So! Nicolo! within there!—

Nicolo enters.
Nico.
Gracious Count!—
Command you aught?—

Lam.
Yes! hie you instantly
To Ugo Marco—bid him hither send,
At earliest speed, one Diego Riva, known
Full well to him; and take this token with ye,
[Gives a signet ring.
Charge them to loiter not—and straight begone!—

[Exit Nicolo.
Lam.
Look to thyself—proud Penitent!—twice Traitor!—
Thou yet shalt expiate every sin 'gainst me—
The greatest—being—what I fear thou art—
The heir to Andrea!—What! must I then see
My sweet Costanza—(all her mother smileth
In her fair aspect, touched with tenderest softness!
The while no trace of her appears in thee!)—
My sweet Costanza thrown aside—impoverished—
By such an arrant Wanderer,—utter Venturer?—
And then I shudd'ring think how thou hast inspired—
Thou—thou her Brother—feelings which—

Enter Lorenzo.
Loren.
Forgive—
I pray thee, good my Lord!—the haste of grief—
Which thus hath forced me unannounced, at once
Into thy presence—I can hide no longer
From mine own self nor thee the bitter truth—
Costanza loves me not—and loves Algarves!—

Lam.
Between Costanza and Algarves yawns
A gulph, so terrible, that with one word
Could I now change that love you dream you see
In her young Soul, to horror without end!—
A bar insuperable is raised between them—
She never can be his—let this suffice!—

Loren.
Say, what can be that gulph?—

Lam.
Inquire no more!—
Enough that it is so—time may reveal it—
For me I cannot—dare not—must not—no!—
It ne'er shall pass these lips—whoe'er reveals it,
I should not—and I shall not—this believe!—
Whate'er may seem Costanza's backwardness
To join her hand with yours—it yet must be!—
And will be for her happiness in the end!—
If she will not espouse thee—she is doomed!—
The veil must be her portion!—Who draws near?—
Is't Millaflores?—

Loren.
(looking off.)
Aye!—and Count!—farewell!—
My Heart is sore—I cannot brook his follies!—

Enter Millaflores.
Milla.
Nay! good Lorenzo!—what! art going?—

Loren.
Yes!—
Much business trenches on my time to-day!—
[Exit Lorenzo.

Lam.
(aside.)
This empty fool, even better saw than I
The ill-starr'd catastrophe of my design,
And prophesied the end with wond'rous shrewdness—
Strange—strange!— (Aloud.)
Did my despatch come safe to hand?—

Milla.
It did—was I not right?—Oh! I was sure,
Once in the vortex of the Princely Presence—
The faintly purposed mind of that rash boy
Would plunge amid the eddies all bewildered,
And give its secrets up with headlong hurry!—
But it is well he nothing said of us!—
So are we safe, I trust—the Prince conceives
The error all his own, nor further questions!—
Enough of him!—I seek your presence, friend—
To ask your counsel on momentous matters!—

Lam.
(aside.)
Now must I bear with what good grace I may—
The tedious torture of his tongue's dull clatter—
For I am in his power!—Oh! fallen! fallen! fallen!—

Milla.
Advise you me to make proposals straight
To Lady Fiorilina Diodati?—
Her princely family—her lofty rank—
Incline me much to such a step!—

Lam.
Thou think'st
That she would marry thee?—

Milla.
Good troth! I do!—
Who could resist me? tell me that!—Now listen—
I have possessions that might win the Hearts—
No!—hands of Queens and ermined Empresses!—
Allow me first to name a catalogue—

Lam.
Be speedy then, I pray!—commence!—

Milla.
Attend!—
For the delights of sweet Villegiatura
I have a house some few fair leagues from Florence—
Hung with worm-eaten tapestries old—so old—
You dare not breathe lest they should drop to pieces—
And forty volumes on fine vellum writ—
Forty huge volumes quite illegible—
(These she might study o'er and o'er for ever,
I vow she'll never make a word on't out)—
Of course, the subjects cannot well be known,
But 'tis supposed a compilation fair
Of various records of the Millaflores—
Forty huge volumes covered think with dust,
Regarding my illustrious family!—
Fine portraits too,—so very ancient these—
They're much obliterated—some erased—
You could not swear now if they represented
An owl or man—a monkey or a fish—
So undiscoverably confused and darkened—
Besides,—these are fair stores of perquisites
My courtier ancestors had well amassed—
A huge stone chair—none e'er can sit in it—
A drinking cup—the bottom out—(besides
So narrow nothing but a crane I swear
Could ever drink from it, and that but ill)—
Seven pair of shoes most furiously turned up—
No one could wear them—in these days at least!—
A Roman toga, which an ancestor
Of mine,—a senator!—once wore, when he
Was torn to shreds by fierce wild Beasts, at the order
Of some great Emperor whom he had offended—
I have one rag of't worth a revenue—
A real Lachrymatory—precious relique—
Thou'dst laugh for joy o'er that lugubrious treasure—
(Enough to make her happy that for ever!)
Then to crown all—Ah! such a vault!—a vault—
That makes one long to die—to lie in it!—

Lam.
Good sooth! a happy prospect 'tis indeed,
In Life or Death!—

Milla.
Thou sayst the truth, my friend!—
Amongst the portraits that I told thee of,
Is one not wholly vanished from the canvas—
I was at first provoked—it looks too modern—
But then, thank Heaven!—the frame is fallen in fragments!—
My Great-great-Grandmother, a noble Lady,
There frowns in all the splendour of her state—
This portrait represents her going forth
To join her lordly Husband in the chase—
Her face as solemn as a funeral!—

Lam.
Strange!—
When thus about to take her place and part
In such gay sport of ever-jocund cheer!—

Milla.
Know, Sir, aware of their own dignities—
Alive to their position and importance,—
The Millaflores never condescended
To be amused—it was beneath them quite—
Vulgar hilarity they could not share!—

Lam.
Why did they hunt then, prithee?—

Milla.
Sir?—why?—Sir!—
But that it might be said they hunted surely—
A proper aristocratic relaxation!—

Lam.
Oh! Lord!—would no one tell a lie to save
Their greatnesses the trouble then, with all
Their loftiness?—

Milla.
The question now at issue,
Is whether Fiorilina would look well—
Painted and placed among my ancestors;—
There is one portrait of my Great-grand-Uncle—
His costume marks him to have been a judge—
'Tis partly faded, yet in part preserved—
A little dog is holding in its paws
(A sweet device,) his stately coronet!—
If she had one—if she but had one like it!—

Lam.
A little dog?—

Milla.
Nay!—nay! mistake me not!—
A coronet like his!—

Lam.
I hear a step!—
Good Marquess!—I must urge thine absence now—
It is my sweet Costanza!—I must hold
Discourse with her in private—pray your pardon—
But there are subjects—

Milla.
I am gone at once!—

(Exit Millaflores; and enter Costanza at the opposite side.)
Lam.
Approach, my child!—

Cos.
Oh! blessings on that word!—

Lam.
Deserve it! and it ever will be thine!—
Once more, I urge thee, by all love and duty—
By all things sacred, and all things endeared—
To marry with Lorenzo!—

Cos.
Never! no!—

Lam.
No!—then a Convent shall receive ye straight—
For know, none other e'er shall claim thy hand!—
Yet—yet beware!—think—pause—and weigh!—beware!—
[Exit Lambertazzi.

Cos.
Grief crowds on grief, and all is suffering now!—
Who calls thee King of Terrors?—Death! dear Angel!—
Thou—thou art the King of Terrors! Life! dark Life!—
And once I could be happy!—oh! how happy!—
I was the lark—I was the chainless breeze—
I was the morning!—aye! I was the Sun!—
The crowned Sun was my Soul!—my very Soul!—
I was each flower that beautified the Earth—
Each Star that blazoned forth the eternal Heavens!—
And now—the ruinous difference!—I am all
That is the embodying or the sign of grief!—
Then—then my thoughts went flying all abroad—
I lived out of myself—all happy things
Were part of me!—my Life is now crushed in!—
Oh! Majesty of Sovereign Misery!—
I worship at the foot of thy dim throne!—
And pour my Soul, sense, strength, out in that worship!—

Enter Monna Laura.
Laura.
Dear Lady—wilt thou see thy gentle Friend,
The noble Fiorilina?—

Cos.
On the instant!
[Exit Monna Laura.
Let sorrow feed on other sorrow now,
Till joy shall seem a thing indeed unreal!—
Enter Fiorilina.
My Friend, my Sister—still thy gentle presence
Anticipates the pulses of my Heart!—
They throbbed to chime with thy approaching steps!—
I pined for them, and here thou art!—

Fio.
Thou'rt changed!—
Thine eye is hollow—and thy cheek how wan!—
Thou look'st all tears!—from worse to worse it darkeneth!—

Cos.
The Convent now, or this loathed contract's horror!—

Fio.
Thou'st chosen?—

Cos.
Doubt me not!—

Fio.
Now hear me, Sweet!—
Lorenzo—struck by thy despairing looks—
Thy shrinking from his homage and approaches—
Methinks, hath guessed the truth—and more than that—
For having guessed that truth, I dare to hope
He hath half triumphed o'er his ill-starred passion!—
And looked with eye of feeling on thy Friend!—

Cos.
A gleam of joy in midst of all this gloom!
A vale of peace midst mountain-peaks of storm!—

Fio.
It seems—Costanza—I confess my pride
Could never suffer me to help thee thus—
But it doth seem to me wer't once made known
To young Lorenzo!—that thy Heart shrinks from him—
He could not for one moment longer urge
His suit to thee, but would withdraw his claim!—

Cos.
Alas! I know not!—

Fio.
If I thought not so,
By all the thrones that blaze in all the Heavens—
By all the hosts of all the Heaven of Heavens—
I would unteach the lesson of this love
To every feeling of my woman's Soul—
Would blot his image from my Spirit's mirror!—
Aye! from my height of Heart would hurl him down
With sovereignty of spurning and all scorning
To the descent and dust beneath my feet,
Defying and denying—leaving,—loathing!—
Though I have worn thee in my very Soul,
Lorenzo!—loved beyond what thought can image!—
I would not soil that Soul again with thee—
I would not dim my thoughts with thee or thine!—
Oh! fallen from honour—fallen from noble fame—
If this indeed could be the hateful truth!—

Cos.
I cannot think it, yet I fear—I fear—
My thoughts, that once all brightened into hopes,
Now tremble into terrors—of themselves!—

Fio.
Sweet Saints! how pale thou art!—the very lily
Were blooming near thy cheek!—call Monna Laura—
Her cheerful prattle evermore was wont
To please thee and beguile—I'll seek for her!—
[Exit Fiorilina.

Cos.
To please me—yes!—it needed little then—
Now it needs much—yet but one thing could do it—
Thy Presence, oh! Algarves!—

Re-enter Fiorilina with Laura.
Lau.
Dearest Lady—
Oh! art not ill? it is thy ghost be sure—
So pallid and so changed!—Ah! well-a-day!—
'Tis all for nothing, this!—I know, for nothing!—
Since well I know it is for nought but love—
And love is nothing—though for that, 'tis true—
Myself too am entirely broken-hearted!—

Fio.
How, Laura!—thou, the gay, the free, the blithe!—

Lau.
Ev'n so!—Signora!—broken-hearted, blighted—
Deserted by the admirer who professed
To worship me, and swore his love should last
While stars were visible in yon clear sky!—

Fio.
Then the first cloudy night his love should cease!—

Lau.
(dejectedly.)
It ceased—or changed—and, Lady, 'tis your maiden—
Even yours that now my false-souled Love adores!—

Fio.
Indeed!—and who may be this sad inconstant?—

Lau.
Rodriquez, follower of my Lord Algarves!—

Fio.
And he is faithless!—

Lau.
I have cause to fear it!—
Alas! I am most sad!—one cure alone—
One only cure remains for me!—

Fio.
And that?—

Lau.
Must be to choose another Love at once!—

Fio.
Good!—better far than broken Hearts and dyings!—

Lau.
Yet 'tis a loss—in his own country now,
He was a great Signor, he swears to me,
A Torreadore—a mighty Cavalier
He saith, with gold and scarlet to his wear;
And often did he promise me, whene'er
We two were wedded, I should have,—but think!—
A Count unto my Cousin!—much I marvelled—
But more of wond'rous still did he disclose,
Assuring me his family of yore
Were of the highest grade—and as he said—
It sounds most strange in sooth—of real blue blood!—
He told me that it meant of mighty rank.
But what think ye, Signoras?—for myself,
I think old Raphaël Reggio—he, the same
That married to my aunt three years ago,
The rich Venetian goldsmith, must be too
Of this blue blood, at least his nose looks like it—
'Tis ever very purple towards the tip—
Ah! my wild tongue runs on, and thou, dear mistress!
Art silent, cold, and moveless as a statue—
What can I do for thee?—

Cos.
But leave me so!—
And would I altogether could be such!—

Lau.
Nay, Lady!—grief's immoderate o'er-indulgence—

Fio.
(smiling.)
Spare us, good Laura! these long words!—they're vulgar!—

Lau.
How? vulgar?—

Fio.
Surely!—since beyond your station.
Pretension is Vulgarity's own essence!—
The peasant is not vulgar—for he lacks
The smattering twang of apish imitation—
But I forgive thee for that smile's dear sake—
I mark pale fluttering round Costanza's lip!—
Alas! dear Friend! 'tis smiling's very ghost!—
Poor dove!—and I must leave thee for a space—
I have some household duties to perform—
But ere the sundown will again be with thee!—
[Exit Fiorilina.

Cos.
And leave me, Laura!—I would try to rest—
Sleep long hath flown my eyelids—throbs my head—
My temples burn—nay! comes the Count again!—
Begone! good Laura!—'tis my Uncle's step!—

Enter Lambertazzi; and Laura goes out on the opposite side.
Lam.
I hear from Fiorilina, whom I met
Where joins the corridor with the entrance hall,
That thou'rt scarce well!—nay!—comfort thee!—take cheer!—
'Tis best for man he should not look beyond
The present moment, on his mortal race!—
'Tis good to think all the issues of this life—
Of Life and Death—are in the Eternal Hand!—
What most we fear, may yet come fraught with blessings—
The morrow that we shrink from, yet may shine
With rays the brightest that have ever blessed us—
Whate'er we think, believe, doubt, dread, and feel,
The Future is indeed an unknown Land—
No foot hath ever tried it—in an hour,
Its Deep Realities may laugh to scorn
Our calculations—reasonings—fears or hopes!—
No moment of its time hath yet been tried!—
Take cheer, Costanza!—deal I not right gently—
Too gently with thee, disobedient Child?—

Cos.
For which my heart's thanksgivings are thine own!—

Enter Silvio.
Sil.
Most honoured Madam, I am sent to beg
You would consent to honour with your presence,
The Lady Fiorilina's house—she finds
She scarcely will have time to wait on you,
But ill can bear to miss your company.

Cos.
Methinks, with your fair leave, my gracious Uncle,
I will at once consent—the free fresh air
May cool these throbbing brows, and work sweet change!—

Lam.
So do!—Costanza!—and take counsel good
With your own thoughts the while!—
[Exeunt Cos. and Sil.
Her lovely mien
Hath now a fixedness of pensive languor—
Her words are few—her movements calm and slow—
But in her eyes a purposed firmness sits,
That seems the interpretation of her silence—
I fear she will not yield unless all hope
Of him should die away by slow degrees—
As 'twill in truth if my new scheme succeeds!
This same bold Diego!—he will fail me not—
Though I have ne'er employed him, well I know
Where in high quarters he hath been employed,
And he knows I was privy to such business—
The “Gran Diavolo,” as he is surnamed
By the affrighted peasants near his haunts—
He will not fail me, and I need not fear!—
Look to thyself, Algarves!—scorpion!—yes!—
The storm is brewing that shall break o'er thee
When least thou shalt expect it!—thou shalt fall—
Shalt vanish darkly from the haunts of man!—
For thou and I, with our unmeasured hate,
There is not room in all this sunny Realm—
'Tis well for thee if in the World there is!—
In some lone spot divided from thy kind,
Shalt thou yet count thy weary days and hours,
And spend thy life in wishing for its end!

[Exit.

Scene III.

—An Inn near Florence.
Enter Inez.
Inez.
Not for much longer shall concealment mask
My hopes, my fate,—the end draws near at length,
And my high vengeance shall be crowned and finished!—
At times I fear I have carried it too far,—
Beyond the prudence that should guide our course,
But yet methinks it can but end in good—
A generous vengeance—and a guiltless triumph—
Needs must I watch what passeth, anxiously—
Philippa doth inform me that her Son
(Who came in secret yesternight to see her,)
Assures her day by day Alphonzo seems
More utterly absorbed in this deep love
For fair Costanza—'tis as I would have it—
She is a being, faultless e'en as far
As mortal can be in this dubious world—
A rose of beauty—and a star of honour!—
Stay!—did not good Philippa something hint
Of strange discovery she had lately made?—
I scarce know why my heart—of late so buoyant—
My winged heart sunk—down—down ev'n while she spake,
Till I avoided questioning her more closely;—
Yet I will do so!—What! who waits?—Philippa!—
Enter Philippa.
Thou spak'st, Philippa, of discovery strange,
Which thou by chance hadst made! what was't, good nurse?—

Phi.
No less than this—and I could stake my soul
That I am not mistaken—not at fault—
Thou know'st, dear Mistress, that my son Rodriquez
Came late yestre'en to see me;—I returned
With him to Florence, lengthening thus the time
Of our glad meeting—'tis a dear good boy!
Now, when we neared the town, we met o' the sudden,
Two mounted, mettled, fair-garbed Cavalieri—
And never credit me again, nor think
Mine old head yet contains two likely eyes,
If one was not the young Count Alessandro—
The noble heir of Andrea Lambertazzi!—

Inez.
Thou dream'st!—so many years have wheeledand vanished
On their swift rounds since thou beheld'st the boy—
He must be now so changed—

Phi.
Aye! Mistress!—true!—
But like all children lost or stolen methinks,
Had Providence ta'en care to place a mark—
A most conspicuous one upon his person.
On his right cheek a dark peculiar mole—
Forth jutting—of a crescent shape is seen—
So oft have I remarked it in past days,
Its shape, position, prominence, and colouring,
That I feel sure my shrewd conjecture's right!—

Inez.
To none disclose—I pray you—your discovery—
Let none of these suspicions be imparted!—
For ever buried in your breast retain
This secret I implore you!—

Phi.
Troth! I will—
By St. Iago!—I can see no reason
For publishing such secrets to the world!—
My Son informed me that the youth was rich—

Inez.
Thou didst not tell thy Son?—

Phi.
Not I—i' faith!—
Why should I?—well! the youth hath got a name—
A house and noble fortune for his own—
And wherefore should he change himself and be
Another man?—no! no!—let well alone!—

Inez.
Right—right, good nurse!— (Aside.)
'Tis so beyond a doubt!—
I did suspect it!—now 'tis clear as day—
All circumstance corroborative confirms it!—
All proof conclusive stamps it down for truth!—
The Sforza in repentance for his crime—
(Yet kept by shame and long-enduring hate
From doing ample justice to the sufferer)—
Left all his wealth unto the kidnapped victim!—
(Aloud.)
Philippa! find the worthy Priest, and send him
Straight to my presence—I would ask his counsel!—
[Exit Philippa.
'Tis so!—'tis so!—and I must do this wrong—
Even for the sake of one supremely dear,
And shroud this secret in my silent bosom!

Enter Jeronymo.
Jero.
Thou sendedst for me, my Daughter,—I am here!—

Inez.
Aye! Father!—still for thee—for thee I send
When aught perplexes,—aught disturbs my peace—
And well I may! thou Friend of Friends!—

Jero.
Disclose
What now disturbs thee.

Inez.
(Aside.)
Shall I tell him? no!—
At once would he undoubting point my path—
The path of duty and the righteous course—
And I dare make not now the sacrifice—
Heaven pardon me!— (Aloud.)
I fear, oh! reverend Father!
Lest Andrea's rightful heir should yet be found—
My mind misgives me,—think you that Count Sforza,
When he restored my Son—(made known to him
By good Philippa!)—sent the other child
To distant lands, or kept him near his person?—

Jero.
In truth, I nothing can divine of this;—
But, noble Lady—why should this disturb thee?—
Thou shouldst not grieve if that poor youth was found—
But rather far, rejoice that Heaven should thus
Make manifest its power and gracious will,
In rendering to the oppressed one, back, his rights,
And taking part with the Innocent and the Injured!—
Let no weak fancied interests bar from this—
From this strict feeling of straightforward duty—
No narrow hopes built up on dubious grounds!—
Too much we strive to stand alone—and singly
Would reap that Happiness—a thing to share—
A thing for fellowship—or nothing!—Think—
As well on thy sole shoulders to support
The general work and business of the World—
Unaided by the means and minds of others,—
As wear thy Happiness within thy Soul,
In unassociated close singleness!—
Or ev'n i' the narrowness of nearest ties—
Some few receiving, and excluding myriads!—
Large liberal thoughts must make us, what we are,
But live not up to—and scarce seem to be—
A part of All, that breathes!—Be sure—most sure,
That Happiness is like some mighty Feast!—
Partake with others—or thy Feast is failure!—
It is a Public Banquet—Heaven-ordained!—

Inez.
(aside.)
My Conscience prompts me, but my heart forbids!—
(Aloud.)
Father! thy late long watchings—self-denial—
Thy zealous offices by death-bed sides,
Have much reduced and weakened thee—thou art changed—
I pray thee take more leisure for repose!—

Jero.
Nay! Daughter!—Duty's labours are delight—
I need no rest!—

Inez.
Thine altered mien reminds me
Of that eventful time, when I was called
To thy sick couch—thy deathbed, as 'twas thought!—
To hear the secret then divulged to me!—

Jero.
And I well think, my Daughter! from that hour—
I gradually amended—throwing off
The leprous burthen that oppressed my Soul,
And seemed to rack my frame as well,—as though
Immedicable its sharp sickness were,
While yet that spirit-malady remained!—
Thank Heaven!—the whole extent of that black crime
Was spared my shuddering conscience—what was done—
Enough distracted it, and agonized!—

Inez.
Thou wert the Father made of my new Life!—
Oh! ne'er shall I forget the o'erwhelming joy
Which rose e'en like a Sun, from Misery's midnight!—
I felt created o'er again that moment!—
Shame, like a poisoned garment, had clung round me—
The festering infamy had wrung my feelings—
And maddening self-reproach and self-abhorrence,
Had shut my Life in, on one hideous thought!—
Oh! never Prisoner from his gyves released—
(Though years had bedded these, and driven them deep
Into his curdling flesh,) led forth to gaze
Once more on Heaven and earth, and all their pomps—
Their mysteries of great beauty, and their triumphs—
(Profusion of enchantments!—and to him
Then seeming miracles of that Hour's making!)—
So gloryingly took gladness to his Soul—
As I—that heard thy tidings with such depth—
Such awe of happiness—as changed my nature!—
From that deep hour, I was another being!—
(The happiness indeed was of that kind
Which brings a solemn mood, and not a mirthful.)
I had been ever, both in joy and sorrow—
A child of impulse—an elastic being—
Ruled by the unfixed complexion of the moment!—
But after that great shock of solemn gladness—
My thoughts took shapes at once, when they arose,
Within my mind, which they retained for ever,
As though Life's roots had deepened, and its shoots
Had hardened—strengthened—from that sovereign hour!—
Thenceforward!—Oh!—thenceforward all appeared
Of moment—all of meaning to my Soul!—
No more with shifting hues the hours past by—
Nor shifting shadows—nor scarce-'stablished forms—
All was as though it was for everlasting!—
Oh! Father!—thou wert, as it were, the Parent
Of this—my Soul's new life!—

Jero.
And thou, dear Daughter!—
The kind Preserver of my Mortal One—
From that same hour thou ne'er relaxed'st thine efforts—
Ne'er paused in thy kind offices of help—
The gentlest nurse that ever sufferer had—
The enfeebled spark of life by thy mild breath
Was blown—and blown, once more into a flame,
And still it shall be consecrate to thee,
And thy best weal for evermore!—Now say!—
Hast guarded well, with care that they require,
Those papers I committed to thy hands?—
Detailing all the circumstance attending
That dark conspiracy 'gainst trusting Virtue—
And how, when entering on the eleventh hour,
Compunctious tremblings spoke the awakening conscience—
And checked performance of the deed designed—
(Though still pretended to be carried through)—
Hast guarded well the scroll?—

Inez.
With strictest care
The papers are preserved, like life-dear treasure!—
No more!—I must be gone!—I must to Florence!—
Wilt wend, kind Father! thitherwards with me?

Jero.
Right willingly, if such may be thy wish!—

Enter Philippa with a letter.
Phi.
For you, these sealed communications, Madam.
[Exit Philippa.

Inez.
(reads; starts.)
While I possess myself of the contents
Of this brief letter, prithee wait awhile,
But some short minutes, in th' adjoining room,
Where, Father, I will join thee speedily.
[Exit Jeronymo.
The scheme is good—myself will countenance it!—
I like this scheme!—a private marriage!—aye!—
Then will I break the seal of secrecy—
Present the united children to their sire—
Reveal the wild and wonderous secrets all—
(All, all, save one,) and wake o'erwhelming marvel—
Till all lies hushed in utter Happiness!—

[Exit.