University of Virginia Library

ACT V

SCENE I.

—An Open Space in the Wood.
Enter Felice, Bruno and Torello.
Felice.

Do you remember what you must say?

Torello.

I think so.

From Thessaly, that land of incantation,
Tetragrammaton,
Come Hecate and hear my supplication—

Felice.

Shemhamphorash.

Torello.

Shemhamphorash.

Felice.

You must speak this word very loud; its virtue is
great; and the greater mouth you give it, the stronger its
power. Shout it again exultantly; for with this word
properly spoken, a world might be created.

Torello.

Shemhamphorash.

Felice.

Pronounced in a most redundant ore rotundo. No
witch that ever culled simples with a brazen knife by moonlight
could resist such a summons.

Torello.

Will she indeed come forth to this?

Felice.

Like a cat from the water.

Torello.

What shall I say then?

Felice.

The witch will question you and you must answer
her.

Torello.

What questions? Will she use a book? I could
never learn catechism.

Felice.

Answer anything. It matters little what, so it be
spoken reverently. This is the stone; place one foot on it;
take off your hat; hold your sword high above your head;
place your other hand upon your haunch: now, begin ‘From
Thessaly.’

Torello
[prompted by Felice].
From Thessaly, that land of incantation,
Tetragrammaton.
Come Hecate and hear my supplication,
Shemhamphorash.
On broomstick ride to grant what I shall ask,
Tetragrammaton;
Simple to thy skill will be the task,
Shemhamphorash.

Enter Scipio dressed like a witch.
Scipio.

Thou comest to know if she whom thou lovest will
be thine. Swear by oak and ash and thorn to perform what
rites I shall direct, and thou shalt know.

Torello.

I swear.

Scipio.
The oak is Jove's tree; thou hast sworn by Jove:
Mars' lances, Cupid's arrows are of ash;
To witness therefore hast thou summoned them:
The thorn is Mercury's; he binds thine oath.
Among the flags that, like a rushy curb
The streaming brook rein to an ambling pace,
With hands fast bound and eyes from light swathed close,
In upright patience shalt thou take thy stand.
If she thou lov'st loves thee, fate drives her here
Thy bondage to release, or rather change
To wedded slavery in rose-linked chains
That shackle willing lovers mutually

Torello.
What if she come not?

Scipio.
Why, some other then,
Or man, or maiden will enfranchise thee.
If man, thy doom of single life is sealed;
If maid, in her behold a wife revealed.
Jove, Cupid, Mars, Mercury bless this rite;
Fail in the least, they curse thee from to-night.

[Goes out.
Torello.

Need I do this? Stay! Gone—without a gift,
too! An inhuman witch! [Aside.]
Am I mocked, I
wonder? That can hardly be. I must go on: it were
cowardly to be afraid. Yet would I watch these two.—Well,
sirs, you heard the witch.

Felice.

It is a strange ceremony. Having sworn, you
cannot evade it.

Torello.

Tie my hands and bind my eyes.

Felice.

It is a most infallible test. I knew a knight who
was scarce in the water before his mistress came and unbound
him.

Torello.

Do you laugh?

Bruno.

Who? I? No; I am as solemn as a hangman.

Torello.

How deep is this stream?

Felice.

It cannot reach above your knees, being so shallowed
by its width. Are you ready? Come along, then.

Having pinioned and blind-folded Torello they lead him into the stream.—Celio and Sylvia enter, and pass into a grove.
Bruno
[Aside.]

Two mayers.

Torello.

Is there any one coming?

Felice.

You must not speak. We will withdraw among
the hazels. Let faith and courage console each other, and
your spirit may have that comfort which your body lacks.

Re-enter Scipio.
Scipio.

How do you like the leeches' element? Have you
made the acquaintance of any insinuating eels?

Felice.
[Aside.]

Hush! you must treat it solemnly. It
is a dull nose that cannot scent hartshorn. He begins to
sniff.

Torello.

Leeches, eels! I pray you, how stand I for
getting out should any evil thing attack me?

Felice.

Your back faces the only safe way; the stream is
deeper before you than on your right; to the left the muddy
bed would smother you; you stand on a stone. Cry on us
if you are assailed.

Torello.

I will. Go not far away.

Felice.

A speedy deliverance to you.

[Felice, Bruno and Scipio withdraw to the back of the stage.
Torello.

Thanks.—Lord, lord, what love will make a man
do! Here am I—Eulalie, when thou findest me thus thou
wilt love me.

Felice.

Now, if we had a leash of hounds to loose on him,
or a troop of charitable imps to pinch him for us.

Enter Cinthio and Faustine.
Bruno.

More noctambulators.

Felice.

This is the prince's shepherd, and his sweetheart:
if they observe Torello, they may help our plot.

Cinthio.
Bright-pinioned night now slacks her onward flight
And hovers towards its mid stage, to alight,
Furling her wings, one instant on the earth,
Ere emptying heaven for Aurora's birth,
That gladdens every morn. Here will we rest
Till night has sped a little further west.
O that we might recline between her wings,
And sail for aye her heavenly voyagings!

Faustine.
I would we might, but we must navigate
A vessel and an ocean less elate.
How far are we from thy Sebastian's boat?

Cinthio.
An hour will take us where it lies afloat.

Faustine.
Is this the forest's most secreted spot?

Cinthio.
Yes; none save shepherds visit it. Do not
Fear anything; and we will reach the shore
By pathways that are their peculiar lore.
Enter Rupert and Eulalie.
The prince and his beloved!

[Cinthio and Faustine conceal themselves.
Rupert.
Sit, Eulalie; this tree-trunk bids us rest.
Hush! hark! the nightingale, the lover's bird,
The throbbing pulse of night, panting its joy.
About this season he expects his mate,
And spends all day and night in rapturous toil
Upon a bridal-song to greet her with.
I think those twinkling midnight birds up there,
The stars, that seem to nestle in the leaves,
Utter such dulcet strains could we but hear.—
Now, tell me softly; did'st thou dream to-night?

Eulalie.
Thou should'st have first inquired if I did sleep.
Whether I slept or not, I dreamt a dream,
The most entrancing and most lovable.

Rupert.
Did'st thou indeed! What was it all about?

Eulalie.
I laid me on my bed, and couched the rose
That thou had'st given me in my bosom. Then
Its odour, packed with semblances of bliss,
Far-off delights, remembrances of songs,
And nameless sweets, all woven in a charm
Of strange awakening scent alone bestows,
Grew brightly visible; and in that halo
Sleep realised a shining rainbow crowd
Of gay unearthly beings, who, to notes
That never lark or nightingale imagined,
Tripped in the mazes of a wildering dance—
A poem in mute show.—Hark! some one comes.

[Rupert and Eulalie retire.
Re-enter Celio and Sylvia. They seat themselves on the tree vacated by Rupert and Eulalie.
Torello.

Sweet voices! Methought I heard Eulalie's. O,
come my love! Shemhamphorash.

Sylvia.
Had any one save thee told me this tale
Discredit would have paid his waste of breath.
So dark that grove is, and its air so full
Of night's fantasticism, thy whispers low
May have been rounded to a meaning big
With sense that had no birth in thy intendment.
Did'st thou not tell me of a peopled star?
If there be such a jewel in the heavens,
Point out its light.

Celio.
That magnate brilliant,
Gleaming, opalesque, red, white, and blue,
Quivering and shuddering in its loveliness,
That star's inhabited.

Sylvia.
It is, indeed,
A bright, first-water sphere. And in it dwell
Oberon and Titania, and their elves.
Did'st thou say that?

Celio.
I said it, and it's true.

Sylvia.
King Oberon, a many years ago,
Divining that this grass-green, sea-green earth,
This emerald that sets off the golden sun,
Should be by mankind sadly under-priced;
That this fair hanging garden, swung for elves
And men to revel in, this glorious stage
In heaven's theatre, so gallantly
Hung out and decked for elves and men to grace,
This temple, wherein all might minister,
Should be o'er-rioted, abused, profaned;
That this globe, frescoed round by Nature's art,
Should lose its beauty in the sight of men—
Men's eyes being jaundiced by a golden lust
To prize much more the hills' bright excrement,
Than their elate and sun-gilt brows of strength;
That men, like children wearied of a toy,
Would spoil its loveliness, in pieces rending
To put it to some use, or ravish out
The useless secret of creation: he,
The fairy king, slow-winged and sad of heart,
Searched out a new home from the host of heaven,
And chose that star for him and his to dwell in.

Celio.
I said so.

Sylvia.
And, beside, that this strange science
Impart to thee a darling fairy did—
One of a company that roam the earth
To happy and inspire such clay-clad souls
As recognise their heavenly geniture,
And separate them from the loathly world:
And that this spirit visits earth to-night
To revelate some pleasure new to thee,
Which thou, sweetheart, art going to share with me?

Celio.
Hark to that singing! 'tis the fairy's voice.

Rupert.
We overheard you here unwillingly,
But with wills well inclined would now remain.

Celio.
That's as the fairy pleases. Here he comes.

Cinthio
[To Faustine].
All are engrossed: no fear of our discovery.
We'll wait awhile, then slip unseen away.

Felice
[To Bruno].
Here be miracles about to be.

Enter 1st Fairy.
1st Fairy.
Song.

Celio.

He smiles; our number does not anger him.
List; he will tell us now unheard-of news.

Torello.

Felice, Bruno! are you by?

Felice.

We are here. Whisper softly, or you may break
the spell.

Torello.

Who are those that talk and sing?

Felice.

I hear no talking and singing. The charm is
acting: these voices which we cannot hear herald the
approach of your deliverer.

Torello.

I hope so; but perhaps it is my imagination.
Have you really heard nothing? There were first several
who spoke, and Eulalie's voice among them, and then an
angel sang. O, that some one would come! It is horribly
cold standing here.

Bruno.

Patience, patience.

Scipio.

Patience, sir, is a great virtue.

Torello.

But love is a greater; for were I not in love, I
would have no patience.

1st Fairy.
The pleasance of our starry residence,
In human, bald speech inenarrable,
Transcends your dreams of Arcady and Eden.
Yet every year we all descend to earth,
Because our memories are steeped in joy,
Which was our ancient mundane element
When men were heroes and the world was young,
And life was laughter, love, and noble spleen:—
Alas, for you, poor actors! in Heaven's sight
Ye play an after-piece abjectly low!—
Also, because there are—how few they be!—
Who love true riches and despise the false,
We leave our unimagined paradise
Upon the first night that fair Pleiad, May,
Begins her soft ascendance o'er the year,
And bringing summer with us, visit earth.
Even now I see our elfin nation come,
Descending like a shower of frosty snow
For lightness, and for loveliness like Iris
Speeding in rainbow colours through night's gloom.
Look how the lightning or the light doth pass:
So have the fairies travelled from their star;
They left a minute since, and here they are.

Enter Oberon, Titania, Puck, and the Fairies. The Fairies dance and sing.
Song.

Eulalie.
This is the harmony that filled my dream.

Rupert.
Perfumes of lilies, roses, violets—
Sweeter far than they: such a rich gust
Of warmth and scent they flood the air withal.

Celio.
That is Titania with the golden hair,
And wreath of moon-flowers pale, which shows, methinks,
Like lightning round the sun.

Sylvia.
And see, her robe!
It's a new colour. O, it aches my eyes!

Rupert.
And Oberon's a king, a very king.

Eulalie.
My dream—this is my dream!

Rupert.
And to thy dream
I'll tell thee how I played god Morpheus.
But now with these good neighbours let us talk.

Eulalie.

No; let us feast our eyes and then our ears.

Torello.

More music and voices! This is no imagination:
it is the charm's doing. I will say it again profounder.
Shemhamphorash.

Rupert.
Moonlight and madness! What a howl was that!

Celio.
What stands in the mid-stream?

Sylvia.
A man, bound, blinded.

Eulalie.
It is Torello, sure.

Rupert.
And I see two
Who know full well how he comes in this plight.
What's Puck about?

[Puck liberates Torello.
Torello.

O hell! art thou the devil? Felice, Bruno, take
this imp away. Ha! what sights are here? Angels, and
fairies, and Eulalie and Rupert! Perdition! O perdition!

Felice.

Be calm. Who unbound you?

Torello.

This little grinning demon.

Felice.

Where?

Torello.

Here, on my shoulder. Do you not see him?
And all this crowding crowd, and Rupert and Eulalie? Do
you not? Do you not see them? Ah me! you cannot; for
it is a vision. I will not suffer it. My doom is sealed.
Farewell, fair Eulalie, farewell. Avaunt thou hairy fiend!
Thou shalt not have me. O, you pinch me! Oh! oh!

[Torello runs out tormented by Puck.
Puck re-enters shortly.
Rupert.

This is the wildest prank; we'll hear its source
another time.

Celio.

Should not our queen of May interview the Fairies?

Rupert.

Well bethought.

Eulalie.

Then I'll begin with thee. What elves are these,
Thou seem'st to lead in ordered companies?

2nd Fairy.
That the fairy army is,
Clad in rose-leaves, bravely worn;
Pollen far outshines gold lace;
Their helmets bright are husks of corn;
Quivers of the adder's slough;
Bows of legs of spiders slain;
A cob-web string is strong enough
For a spear-grass arrow's strain,
With the sting of hornet tipped,
In the dew of hemlock dipped.

Eulalie.
And what are you, ye varied, restless ones?

3rd Fairy.
We the fairies are who sleep,
Blanketed and pillowed deep
In the golden, blooming folds
Of nightly-cradled marigolds.
Some with evening's blushes meek
Tinge the peach's downy cheek.
Feathers stolen from butterflies
Make our pencils: all the dyes
Of all the flowers we fairies know
How bright daffodils to gild
In the saffron sunrise glow;
To launder lilies in the snow;
When midnight all the air has filled
We dip in purple gloom the pansy;
When Cupid over-rules our fancy
For our loves we make incision;
The daisies with our blood we dight,
Loosened from its veinèd prison;
When we haste upon our mission
In a moonless, starless night,
Fireflies, glow-worms lend us light.

Eulalie.
Come hither, little brownie, dark and green.
I prithee, tell me what thy fellows bin.

4th Fairy.
Wood-elves they, in russet dressed,
And they love the lindens best.
Hark, they hum our antique rune!
A human fiddler learned the tune,
And played it at a merry-making:
Still he plays; the clowns still dance
In a jolly, jigging trance;
For them to rest there is no waking,
Till that fiddler learn to play
Backward our elfin melody.

Eulalie.
And what are ye so beauteously dressed?

5th Fairy.
River-spirits, golden-tressed,
With blue eye, and light-blue vest.
None can sing so sweet as we,
Joyfully or mournfully;
And our chant is ever ringing:
Such a spell is in our singing,
Every listener hears aright
His own thought from the water-sprite.

Eulalie.
And ye?

6th Fairy.
We are sea-nymphs, sea-green-haired,
Liquid-voiced and liquid-eyed.
We will float with bosoms bared
On old Neptune's happy tide;
There our filmy smocks to bleach
In the sun, and soft west wind;
Mortals, gazing from the beach
Think them foam-crests, fairy-blind.

Eulalie.
And ye, the fairiest of all the fairies?

7th Fairy.
We are most ethereal sprites,
Draped in merging rainbow lights.
Perfume is our dainty food;
Ever varying is our mood.
Sometimes in arose we shine;
Now a girl's face make divine
For her sweetheart, lying hid
In her blush, or her eyelid:
Unfelt we swing upon a hair:
To be lovely's our sole care.

Sylvia.
Titania waves her wand. O, will she speak?

Titania.
All manner of delight attend your loves;
That you are lovers tasks no intuition;
And we rejoice to think Cythera's son
His ancient craft plies with unbated skill,
Though there be some who hold he fled long since
For ever from his earthly hunting-ground,
While a usurper courses his preserves—
A hideous dwarf, disguised, who blindness feigns
And shoots forged bolts that are indeed of gold,
But cast in Hades, of no heavenly ore,
Lacking love's temper, and sweet-poisoned barb.
Truth has its part herein, sad sooth to tell;
For many a fight has Cupid with his foe,
And much the issue of their war is feared
In skyey quarters: well it is for you
That ye are lovers orthodox and true.
Every good wish is in this that I say—
May you be lovers till your dying day.
Wilt thou say something to them, Oberon?

Oberon.
Bless you, fair lovers—benedicite.
Kind damsels, let me kiss you.

Titania.
Nay—why, then,
If thou wilt kiss the maids, I'll kiss the men.

[They do accordingly.
Oberon.
Mortals, farewell for ever and a day.
To-night we fairies wend the wide world round;
And this our visitation each new May
To summer sweetness mellows air and ground.
The winds kiss from our lips a perfumed spoil,
And store the pillaged wealth in woods and bowers;
Each fairy footstep swift impregns the soil,
And in our wake we leave a foam of flowers.
In orchard blossoms from our odoured hair
We shake rich drops that flavour all the fruit;
Nor lacks the grain our much-availing care!
Each thing is blessed where comes a fairy foot:
We bless all bridals true, all love that's chaste.—
Now, fairies, to the sea with utmost haste!

[Oberon, Titania, and the Fairies go out.
Puck.
Every trick that erst I played
On horse or ox, on man or maid,
On jealous husband, grandam old;
On timid wight, or braggart bold,
On lazy slut, or busy lass—
To whom I through the keyhole pass,
Pinching slattern black and blue,
A tester dropping in thrift's shoe—
To-night I merrily repeat,
And all sight and hearing cheat.
Willy-wisp, spoorn, hag, or faun,
Urchin, changeling, pixy, pan,
All these shapes and names I bear,
Pressing like a dread nightmare
Full-fed losels, half-awake,
Rustling like the fierce fire-drake,
Shouting loud the whole night long
Witching spell or laughing song.

Voice.
Come, come, come along!

Puck.
Hark! 'twas Oberon who cried
From the sandy wet seaside.

Voice.
Come, come, come away!

Puck.
I'll be with you, princely fay,
Ere again those words you say.

[Goes out.
Eulalie.
Hush!

Felice.
This sport is o'er. We must go seek Torello.

[Felice, Bruno, and Scipio go out.
Cinthio.
Come, Faustine; this bright mask is played and done.
Fair pioneers, we'll follow you anon.

[Cinthio and Faustine go out.
Enter Green and Ivy, tipsy.
Ivy.

By the light of Hecate's lamp—lamp, lamp? What
rhymes with lamp! Scamp? cramp?

Green.
Damp.

Ivy.
Damp? Good.
There! that's genius!

Sylvia.
O Celio, come! I cannot bear these fools.

Celio and Sylvia go out.
Ivy.
Here be people!

Green.
And here be more!

Enter Alardo, Guido, Martha, Onesta, and Mayers, with Cinthio and Faustine, guarded.
Eulalie.
Mother, what do you here?

Martha.
You'll see anon.

Onesta
[to Faustine].

O, my lady, you must not blame
me! I could not help it. My lord your father—

Guido.
Peace, well-named hypocrite! [Aside to Alardo.]
This is your son,
With that low maid on whom he would devolve
The varied riches of his royal blood.

Alardo.
Refer to his decree your daughter's case,
Thereby to see how far his judgment's warped.
[To Conrad.]
Reveal not yet your parentage, I pray.

Rupert.
Why, how now, Guido? Sir, what mean you thus
With all this mob to break upon us here?

Guido.
My gracious prince, these two but now confessed—
What fear of torture from my daughter's maid
Had riven ours already—that to-night,
Faustine, having 'scaped by practices most vile,
Meant with this silly shepherd to elope,
He having stolen her heart from me, her sire;
Though by what means they interchanged their loves,
How spake, how saw each other, passes skill:
And both with fixed intent to rob your land
Of their two bodies and hidden wealth of issue,
In that same ship, whose captain is Sebastian
(Riders we have despatched to fetch him here),
Purposed themselves to carry off—fine caskets
Of so high value and unpriced contents,
All to your grace, and all to Belmarie,
And a fair moiety to me, belonging.
This knowing, and that, until time should serve
They here did hide, thinking the wood more safe
Than our exposed and pirate-haunted shores,
I, with these lords, came hither. On the way
We trained along with us these unbid Mayers,
Who must excuse themselves if they offend;
Though for their help in finding out this haunt,
Subserving thus the law, they might be shrived.
A strange and most sweet music led us on;
And we supposed to find the minstrels here,
And know from them of those love-guided truants.
In perpetration of their triple crime
We caught our night-errant lovers. Upon them
Immediate justice I do here demand
In your name, mine, and in that of the land.

Rupert.
Which thou and it and they shall surely have.
Stand from the shade, ye social rebels. What!
My Cinthio! thou should'st have trusted me.—
This is the final doom that I decree.
Guido, take thou thy daughter in one hand,
Her lover in the other. Mother mine,
Here is my hand and here is Eulalie's.
Lord Guido, thou next best blood to the throne,
Surrender here into this shepherd's arms
Thy well-beloved and only daughter, Faustine.
Good Martha, of the very lowliest stock,
On me, King Rupert, thy sweet child bestow.
I now revoke my first decree, and take
That title, which is mine, to make this right;
For kings are higher than all laws but love.
Do as we bid, lord Guido; join their hands,
As Martha now unites my love's and mine.
Do it, I say; or else by Hymen's torch
I'll marry thee to Martha, and so make
Three marriages, by which a king becomes
A peasant's husband, and a subject's son;
Obtains a mother—a poor fisher's widow—
Who brings with her a lordly father-in-law,
A gentle sister, and a simple brother:
Thus I, a king, beget more new affection
Than love, which not incites this my election.

Alardo.
Rash boy, forbear.

Rupert.
My father!

Alardo.
Yes, Rupert.
No ghost, in health, and likely long to live.
Leave go her hand; and you, girl, let his go.
Woman, be you more careful of your child.
We wait to be obeyed.

Rupert.
I'll not obey:
I owe no duty, know no king, but love.

Eulalie.
Farewell, dear Rupert. Rupert and farewell
I say now finally: yet kiss me once.
My dream dispels before your father's frown:
Those fairies which we saw we did not see;
I am still half asleep: when I awake
My cheated eyes will weep their own deceit,
Viewing my chamber's walls so falsely real.
Go to your father, prince; I'll to my mother.

Faustine.
I have no father, and I have no king
Save thee, my Cinthio, and my dearest love.
I see her heart is almost split in twain;
But if they rive my body from thine arms,
My heart entire will stay there: I shall die.

Alardo.
I had forgot: you two need not to part;
Conrad will speak the barrier away.

Cinthio.
I do remember now two soothsayers.

Rupert.
I see them in my father and this lord.

Conrad.
You see aright. Shepherd, thou art my son.
I here have watched thee with a lynx's eyes,
And noted every motion of thy limbs,
Thy heart's each flutter and thy tongue's each word,
And every act; and in thy very sighs,
Thine eye's upturning, there is limned past doubt
A faithful copy of thy heaven-homed mother.
But let me see the chain that's round thy neck.
Thou art my son!

Cinthio.
My father!

Guido.
Go, Faustine,
Go to him. Royal sir, my word is proved,
That women are but governed by their bloods.

Alardo.
And dogs, and men, and angels I presume.—
But what to do with my sad son I know not.

Martha.
I'm going to disown thee, Eulalie.
Please it your gracious highness and fair prince,
This gentle lady is no child of mine.
Her parents both were noble: how they died,
And she, an infant, of her heritage
Was cozened by an uncle, I'll make plain
By names, dates, papers, birth-marks, jewellery.
I reared her as my own in low content,
And meant not to destroy her happiness
By telling her of her nobility,
Till she might claim her land with power to take.

Alardo.
Prove what thou sayest, and they may wed to morrow.

Rupert.
Thanks, gracious father. It is true, I know.
What, Eulalie! hast thou no energy?
Art thou struck dumb? Wilt thou not spring to me?
How! Would'st thou have me woo thee o'er again?
A high delight! Then high-born maid, be coy.

Eulalie.
O no, I need no wooing; but I fear
Thou'lt love me in a manner different.
A lady I would be to marry thee;
But with thy former love, pray love me still.

Rupert.
With that, and every kind of love, I will.
Thou art—O what thou art I cannot say!
I love thee, nor can tell how lovingly.

Ivy.

I'll make a ballad of this, a proper ballad—a ballad
that would draw tears from a frog in the heart of a rock. By
Hecate, I will!

Enter Officers with Sebastian.
Officer.
This is the captain we were sent to take.

Alardo.
Canst thou say aught by way of an excuse?

Sebastian.
King, I behold such happy faces here,
Glowing like stars in the grey morning air,
That I have little fear to say, I cannot.
It seems indeed that every star of heaven
With most auspicious aspect earthward turns.
I bring such tidings as will raise your brows
Much more than this new amity I see
Constrains surprise in me. Your appetites
Shall, when they have fed full of wonderment,
Fall to a second feast of happiness,
Admiring, welcoming and hearing told
The ships, their crews, and unconceived escapes.

Alardo.
What ships, crews, 'scapes?

Sebastian.
Those galleys four, ornate,
With all the gallant, living human freight
That sailed forth in the five, with wealth untold
Of bullion, spices, silks, and rarities,
Gathered in many lands and many seas,
Are in the harbour safe arrived but now.

Alardo.
I cannot speak. Kind Heaven, my knees I bow.

Mayers.
Long live the King! Long live Prince Rupert!
Long live our May-Queen!

Green.
Let us to the shore.

Ivy.

Ay, that's the word! Come, lads and lasses! There
shall we have sight of ships we thought never to see, and
shake hands that we thought death had shaken, and hear
voices that we thought were singing with mermaids. O,
there will be kissing and embarrassment, and sobbing and
lacrimony! I will end my ballad with it.

Cinthio.
Sebastian, all our voyaging is past.

Sebastian.
And paradise attained at home at last.

Ivy.
Good captain, lead us on.

Sebastian.
I pray you, wait.

Ivy.

Sir, we have waited a year and a month, and can
tarry no longer. Come.

Mayers.
Away, away!

[Green, Ivy, Sebastian, and Mayers go out.
Alardo.
Behold, the blinking dawn with sleepy eyes
Peers from her cloudy lattice in the skies,
Early astir to see if it be time
For Phœbus to awake and make day's prime.
Be glorious in thy rising, day-god bright,
For thou wilt usher us to that delight
We hardly dared to pray for: mark this day
With thy most splendid, most benignant ray;
For fate has blessed it, and time seems to make
A new departure—yea of life to take
A fresh lease: so, henceforth, our years shall date.—
Follow us lovers linked in hands and hearts
Like true love-knots that strength or skill ne'er starts.

[Alardo, Conrad, and Guido go out.
Martha.
Eulalie!

Eulalie.
Dear mother!

Rupert.
And mine too.

Cinthio.
Now, let us wash our faces in the dew.

Rupert.
O, I forgot th'observance of the day.
All hail my mistress and my Queen of May!

Eulalie.
I am afraid that all our joys but seem,
And I shall yet awake out of a dream.

Rupert.
Have no such fear, my love.—Behold us, then,
Two happy maidens and two happy men.
Lo, wakened by the lark, his bellman true,
Armed with a torch that merrily doth shine,
Arrayed in saffron of the deepest hue,
The sun, like Hymen, comes with smile benign!
As long as his resplendent light shall burn,
May our love-tides increase, but never turn.