 | Bruce |  |
SCENE III.
—Another part of the Wood of Drome. The Earl of Buchan alone.Buchan.
God help me and all jealous fools, I pray!
The plagues of Hades leagued in one raw scourge
Might minister diversion to my soul,
Assailing through my flesh. No thought at all
Of starry space or void eternity;
Nor love, nor hate, nor vengeance, nor remorse—
My cousin's murder!—I've forgotten it!—
No sound of horns crackling with riotous breath
The crisp, rathe air; no hounds; no beckoning tunes
With notes of fiery down; nor singing girls
Whose voices brood and bound; nor chanting larks,
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Nothing but torture unendurable
Wrought in the flesh has power on jealousy.
Slay him with agonies? A passing swoon!
I'll kill my wife!
Her blood is Lethe if oblivion be
Save in more high-strung anguish of my own.
Enter Fife.
Fife.
What is it? You have news.
Buchan.
They are together—
The outlaw and your sister. They're at hand—
Three miles away—no more. A trusty spy
Told me just now.
Fife.
Is there a band?
Buchan.
Some score.
Fife.
Then we will take them.
Buchan.
Yes.
Fife.
About it straight.
[Goes.
Buchan.
I'll follow—Ho!
Enter Spy.
I thought you still were near.
I haven't thanked you yet. [Gives money.]
How did she look?
Was there about her not a thievish air,
A truant aspect, frightened and yet free,
Shame-faced, but bold, and like an angel lost.
Spy.
Who, my good lord?
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Buchan.
The queen—the outlaw's wife.
Spy.
O no, my lord! She laughed, as she rode past
Where I lay hid, at something gaily said
By my good lady, your good lordship's wife.
They both looked happy, riding in the sun.
Buchan.
Aye; that will do.
[Exit Spy.
I'm coming, Fife.
Fife.
Stay yet.
Why did you try to lead him off the scent?
You meant my sister when you questioned him.
Tell me, what makes your jealousy so strong?
You never were in love with her I think.
Buchan.
Nor am not now. I think—I know—I feel
What I have heard: true love is never jealous.
I am like other men; I love myself.
I cannot speak. I mean to act. Come on.
[They go out.
| Bruce | |