University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

—A Street in Murcia.
The Count of Ortiz and Mordax enter, as from a Tavern.
COUNT
(singing).
Wine! wine!
The child of the grape is mine.
We'll nurse it again and again,
Until it array the brain
With wit, or until it expire
In hot desire,
And then we'll drink again, &c.

MORDAX.
Count!

COUNT.
I am well, quite well: the air blows fresh.

MORDAX.
If ever you should go to Lapland (mark!
To Lapland, where lean witches sweep the moon),
I'll lend you a broom to ride on.

COUNT.
Ha, ha!—well?

MORDAX.
I will, by Sathan! You shall be equipped
With expedition for a northern journey.
But speak,—and ere the morning stars look pale
We'll breathe above the Baltic.

COUNT.
Ha, ha, ha!

MORDAX.
I'll take thee there upon a goat's back flying:
Look! amongst all those lights. Dost see'em twinkling?

COUNT.
Away! I could not do an impious deed
Before the eternal splendour of the stars!

MORDAX.
Ho, ho, ho, ho! Now 'tis my turn to laugh.
By Momus, you jest well. Didst ever hear
Of Agaberta, that most famous witch?

COUNT.
No.

MORDAX.
Thou shalt see her. She shall give thee philtres,
So thou mayst change to air, or walk in fire.

COUNT.
Peace, peace! no more. The place seems full of frenzy.
Millions of sparks go dancing through the air:
My brain grows sick and dizzy. How is this?
An armèd phantom seems to gaze upon us!

MORDAX.
That is my master.

COUNT.
What, you piece of cloud?

MORDAX.
Ay, sir, you lofty gentleman. Folks say
He was a gambler once, and dared a stake
Such as before or since was never won.
He lost, indeed—

COUNT.
'Tis gone!

MORDAX.
He came to show
How tenderly he watches over us.
Hark! there are footsteps coming: This way, sir.
They must not track us. Hush!

COUNT.
How the wind wails!

[Exeunt.
Don Ferrand and Inez enter.
DON FERRAND.
Look! where they go, well mated, (rake and knave),
The tavern brawler, and his crookèd friend!

INEZ.
Uncle,—beware!

DON FERRAND.
If the fierce devil still
Sends out his brood to blacken this fair world,
That slave is one; he with the dusk brute visage,
And shuffling gait, and glittering scorching eyes.

INEZ.
But Manuel, sir, has nought in common with him.
The Count of Ortiz, be whoe'er his mates,
Owns something still, methinks, which asks respect.

DON FERRAND.
So! so! You love him still? You, Melchior's daughter,
With half a kingdom for your dowry. Good!

INEZ.
I love him?—Well, I love him. What must follow?

DON FERRAND.
Nothing; all's said: The worst extremity
Of baseness and enduring grief is touched.

INEZ.
Speak gently, sir; and speak more nobly too,
Of one who (though now fall'n) was good and wise:
Valiant he is, sir, and a peer of Spain;
And on his brow wears his nobility!
Why do you scorn him, sir? He ever spoke
Kindly of you: and when my father's fame
And tottering greatness asked for some strong help,
He pledged his honor for his truth, and saved him.

DON FERRAND.
That story wants but truth. If time be given—

INEZ.
If time be given, he'll force the world give back
Its bright opinion, sir, and show him honour.
Oh! then (if he return, and stand redeemed
From his wild youth and be—what he may be)
Soon shall the poor maid cast her mask of pride,
And look, once more, love upon Manuel!

[Exeunt.