University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A grove of pines, and the sky of morning, before sunrise, seen through them. Enter Romiero and Guzman, from a thicket at the bottom of the stage.
Rom.
The dull light through yon bank of misty clouds
Hath changed its tanny hue for silver grey;
'Tis near, 'tis actually, 'tis past the time.

Guz.
Have patience; for the sun, I guess, is still
Behind the eastern hills.

Rom.
Should they escape!—Some cursed emissary,
Upon the watch, perhaps, hath given alarm.
Should they escape us by some other path!—
It must not be: I will look out.

Guz.
(drawing him back to the thicket as he is about to advance).
Keep still.
I see them now; but let us be conceal'd
Till they are nearer.

Rom.
They move tardily,
With their damn'd dalliance.—So very fond
That they forget the peril of their state,
Lost in the present bliss.—
Ay; smile with lips which shall, within an hour,
Be closed in death; and glance your looks of love
From eyes which shall, ere long, in coldness glare
Like glassy icicles.

Guz.
Stay; rush not on them now.

Rom.
See that! see that! her hand, and then her lips!
Shall I look on, and give another moment
To such abhorred transport.—Where's my weapon?

[Snatching his sword from Guzman, who attempts to remove it.
Guz.
Be not a madman in thine ecstasy,
And foil thine own intent.—See, they advance.

Enter Maurice, leading Beatrice muffled in her mantle.
Maur.
Come, sweetest mistress mine, move we more quickly;
Our horses wait us some few paces off;
And by the baiting hour, when labouring hinds,
Under some tree, sit round the loosen'd scrip,
Holding on homely fare a merry feast,
We will, like them, in all security,
Enjoy a welcome rest.

Rom.
(rushing forth).
Which shall to doomsday last, thou damned villain!

[Draws fiercely upon him, while Beatrice runs away. They fight, but she presently returns and rushes between them, favoured by Guzman.
Rom.
Forbear, thou shameless woman.—Beatrice!

Bea.
It is, my lord; and O have pity on me!
It is myself who am the most to blame.
Pardon my dear, dear Maurice.—Yes, you will.
Your look of strange amazement, changed to joy,
Emboldens me—Our hearts have long been join'd;
O do not sever us!

Rom.
No, simple girl:
Sever ye! by the holy rood I will not!
I am right glad that ye are so united.
Stick to it then; be thrifty of your love,
To make it last; be doves in constancy.
Good sooth, young fools! I will not sever ye.

Bea.
(kissing his hand).
Thanks, noble, kind Romiero!

Maur.
Thanks for this frank and unexpected pardon!
I fear'd, my lord, that you might deem it right
To thwart my suit with Beatrice, who lived,
Protected, as her friends might haply think,
Beneath your roof.

Rom.
And thou thoughtst justly too.
In cooler blood so ought I to have felt.
Beshrew me! whither fled my wits the while?
I have most freely given what is not mine. (To Guzman.)

Do thou, my friend, untie this ravell'd knot. (Turning again to Maurice.)

I'll plead thy cause, at least, and prove, perhaps,
A powerful advocate.—Speak to them, Guzman;
And promise in my name, without reserve,
All that my honour warrants. I, meantime,
Must make my peace where I have need of pardon.

[Exit in eager haste.
Maur.
How placable and kind beyond belief!
Would I had fairly own'd to him my love,
Since he is thus inclined! But he appear'd
Hostile, and stern, and fretful at my stay,
Unreasonably prolong'd. I had not courage
To risk my happiness, which his caprice,
Stern sense of honour—call it as you please—
Might in a moment blast.

Guz.
I blame thee not; hadst thou at first declared it,
Thou wouldst have found him hostile.

Maur.
Then, pray, Don Guzman, what strange freak hath changed him?

Guz.
That he is changed, is your good luck; improve it,
Without inquiring why you are so favour'd.

Maur.
And so we will, sweet Beatrice; we will
Delay our happiness, to make it surer.

Bea.
Yes, Maurice; run no further risk; we'll both
Return again and bide within the castle.

Guz.
No; be advised. (To Beatrice.)
Do thou return alone;
Some foolish freak may yet disturb his mind.
I know he'll favour Maurice most when absent. (To Maurice.)

Dost thou not comprehend me?

Maur.
Not very clearly: jealousy of one
Whose love is fix'd on an acknowledged mistress,
So fair, so lovely, were absurd—impossible.

Guz.
Nay, only say absurd; for there be husbands,
Ay, lovers too, who, should you cross their way,
New-mated with the Queen of Love herself,
And their own dame or mistress were in form
Black as an Ethiop, would ne'ertheless
Suspect you of designs against their peace.
Then wonder not, Zorada being fair,
If fanciful conceits disturb his brain.

Maur.
But I'll be circumspect.

Guz.
Go, foolish boy!
Thy very shadow on the wall will show
Some indication of sinister wishes.
School thou the substance as thou wilt. Go, go!
And be assured I'll prove thy friend when absent,

Maur.
(to Beatrice).
And must we part?

Bea.
We shall not part for long.

Maur
No, not for long, sweet maid: beneath thy window
I'll hold my midnight watch; and when thy casement
Moves slowly on its hinges, I'll look up,
And see thy beauty, by the moon's pale light,
Sending sweet smiles to bless me.—
When thou walkst forth, I'll in some thicket lurk,
To see thee pass—perhaps to touch thy robe.
Wilt thou not give me, dear, before we part,
Some token of thy love?

Bea.
Yes, gentle Maurice, thou shalt have a token,
Which every hour thou'lt look upon, and think
How dear, how true—

Guz.
I'll leave you for awhile
To settle all this nonsense as you will;
That done, we'll meet again in yonder alley,
And I'll conduct the lady to the castle.

[Exeunt severally.