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SCENE I.
—Before Euphrosyne's Palace.Enter French Lords and Attendants.
1st Lord.
This is a spacious mansion, but retir'd,
Heavy and dull, as if no liquid wind
Of the blue airy Summer ever danc'd
Loosely within its halls: it is a place,
Where straggling airs behind the tapestries crawl,
And figures stalk along the highway lobbies.
2d Lord.
Pause—rather say that in three minutes' space
We'll see a glorious vision issue forth
From this dull shrine.
3d Lord.
But pray what share have we?
For look—these windows—are they hung with flowers?
Or have we caught one glance of hurrying face,
Of thing—of beauty—of sixteen—of eye
That comes to peep again?
2d Lord.
For they have seen
Young Luneville once, and they must see again—
Here comes my lord.
3d Lord.
Now for an aching eye!
Enter Montmorency.
Montm.
Why stand ye here at pause? what see my lords?
3d Lord.
No carrion shape, nor sight of ugly death,
As my lord seems to see.
Montm.
Would I had seen her
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Hands eagerly clutching the slipp'ry polish,
Shuddering and shrinking o'er death's misty jaws,
Rather than this.
1st Lord.
What means my lord?—than what?
Montm.
Ye men of France, ye lose your time; go home.—
Why stand ye here? Away! we need you not.
Would ye a tale? Then have I seen grim death
Within these minutes seizing a proud woman.
I pass'd the dead-room on and on, through all,
And found her not.—Now let each write conjectures,—
“It may thus and thus;”—But no, 'tis thus;—
She now is whirling in some dreadful plot,
Gone over night: and I may sit me down
Upon the bank until the pool refund;
Then bless my stars for a wreck:—where is my bride?
Are ye not satisfied?
1st Lord.
Too much, my Lord.
3d Lord.
If we can't win her back.
Montm.
Why stand you then?
It is a pause, this pause—unnatural
As death itself. Some take the way o' the sea.
Leave me alone: Or if you will—then swear
Not to desist though you should grope through cold
And barren darkness of the polar hills.
Where art thou, girl?—
[Exit Montm. French Lords and Attendants follow.)
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