University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

—A Plain.
(Shouts heard from a distance; alarums, and the clattering of arms.)
(Enter Lysius and Janira.)
Lysius.
Stand here, Janira: they'll not pass this way.

Janira.
Oh brother! Is it not a splendid sight?

Lysius.
Yes,—for a mimicry.—Look—look!—they fly!
Perseus the first to run;—Demetrius
The foremost to pursue. By Jupiter!
It waxes almost to a real strife,—
Wanting but real weapons.

Janira.
Glorious youth!
How beautiful he looks!

Lysius.
Ha! see—the king
Makes signal to desist— (Shouts are heard.)


Janira.
How rapidly
The storm is hushed!—I saw Demetrius,
With arm uplifted for a sudden blow,—
Yet, on the instant, did he check himself,
And let his sword fall dead.

Lysius.
He seems incensed.

Janira.
Dear brother,—to Demetrius bear my ring:
He must my husband be,—or I'll have none.

Lysius.
The king's against him. If you'd wear a crown
Send me to Perseus.

Janira.
Were that crown more rich
Than Jove's own diadem of living light,
With Perseus I'd not share it. Scarce a word,
A look with each I've changed,—yet inly feel
That life with one were bliss,—with th' other woe.

Lysius.
So fixed?

Jan.
Even so. Whether for good, or ill,
My lot is cast!

Lysius.
Then will I bear your ring.

[Exit.
Jan.
One hath my love,—the other my contempt,—
Almost my hatred. Is not this a fault?
I know not that;—but 'twere, I'm sure, a fault
To give my heart to one; my hand to th' other.
He has received the ring.—He kisses it—
He comes—Oh heavens! what shall I say?

(Enter Demetrius and Lysius.)
Dem.
(kneeling).
Bright princess!
When the sun shines upon us, then we bless
His cheering beams,—as now your dearer rays
I worship, that have cast a golden light,
Where darkness was before,—in this poor heart.

Jan.
Nay, prince—this glittering flattery . . .

Dem.
'Tis truth!

Jan.
Bespeaks more show than worth.

Dem.
By heavens 'tis truth!

Jan.
By heavens 'tis flattery! How can you love
What, till a few hours past, you had not seen?
There is no reason in such love methinks.

Dem.
Oh! ask me not a reason why I love:
Ask why I like the perfume of the rose;—
The singing of the pensive nightingale;—
Ask why the gorgeous canopy of Heaven
Is glorious to my eyes;—or the great voice
Of the vast ocean music to my ears;—
I cannot tell you:—neither can I tell
Why I do love you:—yet I so do love
That, to express it, I can find no words
But what seem laboured, forced,—beyond the mark—
Yet are, indeed, far tamer than my thoughts.
I pray you deem me not that worthless thing,
A common flatterer.

Jan.
You make amends.
But pray you rise, for frowning looks are on us.
The king and Perseus stand in talk together,
And we're the matter of it.—Pray you, sir.

Dem.
First on that hand let me a kiss impress,
And seal it mine,—thus—thus.—Now, king or prince
May smile or frown, 'tis one. (He rises.)


Lysius.
The king comes here.
Let's meet him.

Jan.
But his face, methinks, is dark.

Dem.
Midnight itself would brighten like the morn,
Shone on by thee. Come on,—and have no fear.

[Exeunt.