University of Virginia Library

SCENE XII.

Lady and Baudron.
LADY.
Can'st thou, old man, to changeful life inured,
Teach me the art to keep in even flow,
The method of my thoughts. I feel myself,
Like one forced far by currents from the shore,
In some small bark, that the great billows toss,
On the white curling of their mighty mains;—
No will of mine availing.

BAUDRON.
Happy they,
Who as they toil along the flat low sands,
To pick their pittance from the tide's refuse,
Can see, unwishing to partake the voyage,
The cheer'd departure of the gaudy ships,
Whose swelling sails advance to meet the sun.

LADY.
Thy pale morality would better suit
The meek dejection of a pining fair,
That mourns her high-born lover's faithlessness,
Than the stern grief of a devoted queen.
I pray thee, Baudron, vex my heart no more.
My fancies thicken as the tumults rise,
And whirl in frantic eddies to despair.