University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

—Outside of a Cottage. Sunset.
Frederigo
(alone).
Oh! Poverty, and have I learnt at last
Thy bitter lesson? Thou forbidding power
That hast such sway upon this thriving earth,
Stern foe to comfort, sleep's disquieter;
What have I done that thou should'st smite me thus?
An open hand had I in happier times,
And when the feathered Fortune bore me high,
I scattered gifts below.
...... 'Tis the set of Sun!
How like a hero who hath run his course
In glory doth he die! His parting look
(Too beautiful for death) lights up the west
With crimson, and deep dyes the wandering clouds
With every tint that makes the rainbow fair.
Bright King! not unattended dost thou leave
The world that loved thee: Earth, and all her crowds,
Which late were joyous, pay dumb homage now;
Unutterable stillness, golden calm,
The winds and waves unmoving.
Sometimes one lonely note is heard, which marks
And makes more rich the silence; nothing more!
Thus, in great cities, the cathedral clock
Lifting its iron tongue, doth seem to stay
Time for a moment, while it warns the world
(Sweet sound to those who wake, or watch till morn,)
“Now goes the midnight.” Then I love to walk
And hear that hoarse slow-fading clang grow sweet,
As upwards to the stars and mighty moon
It bears calm tidings from this dreaming globe.
Ah! why may not the poor man ever dream!
A step? who's there? A lady? O, Giana!

Giana and her Maid enter.
GIANA.
You have cause to be surprised, sir.

FREDERIGO.
No, dear lady;
Honoured I own, that my poor dwelling should
Receive so fair a guest.

GIANA.
You have forgotten
The past times then?

FREDERIGO.
No, no; those sweet times live,
Flowers in my faithful memory, kept apart
For holier hours, and sheltered from the gaze
Of rude uncivil strangers; they are now
My only comfort; so lest they should fade
I use 'em gently, very gently, madam,
And water 'em all with tears.

GIANA.
Your poverty
Has made you gloomy, Signior Frederigo.

FREDERIGO.
Pardon me, madam: 'twas not well, indeed,
To meet such a guest with sorrow: you were born
For happiness.

GIANA.
Alas! I fear not so.

FREDERIGO.
Oh! yes, yes: and you well become it; well.
May grief ne'er trouble you, nor heavier hours
Weigh on so light a heart.

GIANA.
You well reprove me;
Light and unfeeling.

FREDERIGO.
Yet I meant not so.
Giana! let me sink beneath your scorn
If ever I reproach you: what am I,
Outcast from Fortune, all my father's gifts
Lavished and lost by folly—

GIANA.
'Twas for me.

FREDERIGO.
Oh! no, no: I had many faults
Whose burthen rests with me: then what am I,
That I should dare reproach you? As I am,
Know me your truest servant; only that;
And bound to live and die for you.

GIANA.
No more.
Let us enjoy the present.

MAID.
My lady, sir,
Is come to feast with you.

GIANA.
'Tis even so.

FREDERIGO.
I am too honoured: Can you then put up
With my (so poor a) welcoming? If the heart
Could spend its wealth in entertainment, I
Would feast you like a queen: but, as it is,
You will interpret kindly?

GIANA.
Oh! I know
I come to a scholar's table. Now we'll go,
And rest us in your orchard for a while.
The evening breezes will be pleasant there:
For a short time, farewell.

FREDERIGO.
Farewell, dear madam:
I hope you'll find there some—ah! 'ware the step.

GIANA.
'Tis but an awkward entrance, sir, indeed.

FREDERIGO.
You'll find some books in the arbour, where you rest.
They are books of poetry. If I remember,
You loved such stories once, thinking they brought
Man to a true and fine humanity.

GIANA.
You've a good memory, signior. That must be—
Stay, let me count: ay, some six years ago.

FREDERIGO.
About the time.

GIANA.
You were thought heir, I think,
Then, to the Count Filippo: you displeased him:
How was't?

FREDERIGO.
Oh! some mere trifle: I forget.

GIANA.
Nay, tell me; for some said you were ungrateful.

FREDERIGO.
I could not marry to his wish.

GIANA.
Was it so?

FREDERIGO.
Thus simply: nothing more, believe it.

GIANA.
I did not know it. Not marry to his wish!

[Exit.
FREDERIGO.

BIANCA.
On what, sir? There
Is scarce a morsel: fruit perhaps—

FREDERIGO.
Then I
Must take my gun and stop a meal i' the air.

BIANCA.
Impossible. Old Mars, you know,
Frights every bird away.

FREDERIGO.
Ah! villain, he
Shall die for't; bring him hither.

BIANCA.
Sir? What can you mean?
Our falcon?

FREDERIGO.
Ay, that murderous kite. How oft
Hath he slain innocent birds: now he shall die.
'Tis fit he should, if 'twere but in requital;
And he for once shall do me service. Quick!
I'll wring his cruel head, and feast my queen.
Worthily.

BIANCA.
He is here, sir.

FREDERIGO.
Where? vile bird!
There—I'll not look at him.

BIANCA.
Alas! he's dead:
Look, look! ah! how he shivers.

FREDERIGO.
Fool! Begone!
Fool! am not I a fool—a selfish slave?
I am, I am. One look: ah! there he lies.
By Heav'n, he looks reproachingly; and yet
I loved thee, poor bird, when I slew thee. Hence!
Bianca exit.
Mars! my brave bird, and have I killed thee, then,
Who was the truest servant—loved me so,
When all the world had left me? Never more
Shall thou and I in mimic battle play,
Nor thou pretend to die, (to die, alas!)
And with thy quaint and grave-eyed tricks delight
Thy master in his solitude. No more,
No more, old Mars! (thou wast the god of birds,)
Shalt thou rise fiercely on thy plumed wing,
And hunt the air for plunder: thou could'st ride
(None better) on the fierce wild mountain winds
When birds of lesser courage drooped. I've seen
Thee scare the plundering eagle on his way,
(For all the wild tribes of these circling woods
Knew thee and shunned thy course,) and thro' the air
Float like a hovering tempest, feared by all.
Have I not known thee bring the wild swan down,
For me, thy cruel master: ay, and stop
All wanderers of the middle air, for me
Who killed thee—murdered thee, poor bird; for thou
Wast worthy of humanity, and I
Feel with these shaking hands, as I had done
A crime against my race.