Chapter I: Front Matter (1)

POETICAL WORKS
of
ROBERT BRIDGES

Volume IV

[Colophon]

London
Smith, Elder & Co.
15 Waterloo Place
1902

OXFORD: HORACE HART
PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY

_POETICAL WORKS OF
ROBERT BRIDGES_

_VOLUME THE FOURTH
CONTAINING_

_PALICIO_ _p._ 1

_THE RETURN OF ULYSSES_ 161

_NOTES_ 301

LIST OF PREVIOUS EDITIONS

_PALICIO._

1. _PALICIO. A Romantic Drama in Five Acts in the Elizabethan manner._

Η καὶ ΠΑΛΙΚΩΝ εὐλόγως μενεῖ φάτις;
Πάλιν γὰρ ἵκουσ’ ἐκ σκότου τόδ’ ἐς φάος.
Æsch., _Ætnææ_, _frag._

_Published by Ewd. Bumpus. London, 1890. 4to. pp. 37-70._

_RETURN OF ULYSSES._

1. _THE RETURN OF ULYSSES. A Drama in Five Acts in a mixed manner._

Ἃ μὲν ἐποποιία ἔχει, ὑπάρχει τῇ τραγῳδίά
ἃ δὲ αὐτη, οὐ πάντα ἐν τῇ ἐποποιίᾳ.
Arist., _Poet._ 12.

_Published by Ewd. Bumpus. London, 1890. 4to. pp. 71-100._

PALICIO

A ROMANTIC
DRAMA

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

_HUGO_ _Viceroy of Sicily_.
_LIVIO_ _his son, lover of Margaret_.
_MANUEL_ _Chief Justiciary, betrothed to Constance_.
_PHILIP, Duke_ _Spanish commissioner_.
_FERDINAND_ _his secretary_.
_BLASCO_ _a Sicilian count_.
_MICHAEL ROSSO_ _a surgeon, lover of Margaret_.
_GIOVANNI PALICIO_ _brigand_.
_SQUARCIALUPU_ _his lieutenant_.

_MARGARET_ _sister to Manuel_.
_CONSTANCE_ _daughter to Hugo_.
_LUCIA_ _servant to Margaret_.

_Brigands, soldiers, messengers, servants._

_The scene is in PALERMO, and sometimes in the hills above MONREALE._

_Time, Spanish occupation of Sicily._

PALICIO

ACT · I

SCENE · 1

_Palermo. Reception-room in the Palace._

_BLASCO and FERDINAND._

_BLASCO._

Have you not been in Sicily before?

_FERDINAND._

Never.

_Bl._ And, sir, what think you of Palermo?
Have you as fine cities in Spain?

_Fer._ Your city,
Approached by sea or from the roofs surveyed,
Smiles back upon the gazer like a queen
That hears her praise. Nearer to speak I’ll grudge not,
When I may nearer know: but since we came
There’s been no hour a stranger might dare shew
His face in the streets.

_Bl._ The time is now unquiet.

_Fer._ Rather I’d say government given over 10
To murderous bandits, who range up and down
Unchecked: to whom the king’s commissioners
Were just the daintiest pricking. If I may brag
Of home, our cities are more orderly.

_Bl._ ’Tis a hot-blooded race, sir, full of stirrings,
Subject to fermentation, and like good wine
Ever the better for it.

_Fer._ But can you tell me
The real cause of these disturbances?

_Bl._ Nothing is easier, sir. Your viceroy, Hugo,
This is the point, is plunged in disesteem. 20
He has lost the fear and won the hate of the people.
Already, ere ye came, the news ye bring
Of the king being dead, was buzzed. Since at his death
His viceroy’s office falls to ground, our townsmen
Seize on this interval, wherein they hold
He hath no jurisdiction, to discredit him,
Kill him maybe, if nothing else will hinder
His reappointment. They but make the most
Of their occasion: that is all.

_Fer._ But how
Can a mere handful of such ruffians hold 30
The city, when the loyal troops are his?

_Bl._ ’Tis known to the people that their cause hath found
An ear in Spain: and here among the barons
Are many who wish well to the revolt.
Should Hugo push to extremes he might discover
Most potent enemies. Remember, sir,
’Twas a street scuffle in this very town,
That drave the French from Sicily.

_Fer._ The thought
Brings me no comfort.

_Bl._ Wherefore ’tis his policy
To meet the present rage by such concessions 40
As may be popular, and to give forth
The king is ill, not dead. ’Tis for this reason
No mass is sung nor mourning liveries worn:
To-night’s festivity, such as it is,
Hath only this pretence.

_Fer._ Are the two ladies
His daughters both?

_Bl._ The taller and the fairer,
The lady Constance, is his only daughter.
Your fine duke Philip, who comes now from court
With such a mightiness, was once her lover.

_Fer._ That doth not single her.

_Bl._ But then it did. 50
She was his first. ’Twas when duke Philip’s father
Was viceroy here; Hugo was then chief justice,
And Manuel, who succeeded him, was only
Young Philip’s tutor;—he succeeds moreover
Now to his pupil’s leavings, and will marry
The long-forgotten Constance.

_Fer._ ’Twas the other
I asked of, in white satin, she who sat
On Philip’s right at supper; who is she?

_Bl._ That, sir, is Margaret.

_Fer._ And who is Margaret?

_Bl._ Sister to Manuel.

_Fer._ She far outshines 60
Her future sister.

_Bl._ They that can see have thought it:
And, sir, ’twill tax your better wit to add
A tittle to her full accustomed homage.
Your broken heart were but a pinch of pepper
Sprinkled on porridge. Now for full two years
Her reign hath made a melancholy madness
The fashion ’mongst our youth.

_Fer._ I should much like
To be presented.

_Bl._ O, sir, at your will.
Judge for yourself. See, here they come. (_Aside._) A moth!

_Fer._ (_aside_). A very civil fellow.

[_They retire to back._

_Enter_ R. _Hugo_, _Philip_, _Manuel_, _Margaret_,
_Constance and Livio_.

_HUGO._

I am sorry, your grace,
We make so small a party. For our poor 71
Reception, and for all shortcomings else,
Accuse the occasion.

_PHILIP._

I think, your excellence,
I cannot play the guest. This house was once
So long my home, that here I look to find
As little ceremony as I fear I have shewn.

_Hu._ So should it be. Make it your home again.

_Ph._ I shall forget I have ever been away.

_MANUEL._

Five years.

_Ph._ Ay, but five years of wandering,
Such as can but endear one’s home the more. 80
My memory still would serve me to walk blindfold
From any point of the city to these doors.

_Man._ What is your memory for our studies, Philip?

_Ph._ Too slippery for my profit. Yet the pleasure
Lives very brightly;—nay, I could but name
One deprivation I have more regretted.

_MARGARET._

But now
My brother has a new philosophy.

_Ph._ Ah! If you share the secret, and I be thought
Worthy of initiation, may I hear it?

_Mar._ And welcome. Manuel, in his deep research
For the first cause and harmony of things, 91
Hit upon both together—they are one:
’Tis love. And now, since I profess it not,
And since ’twas learnt of you...

_Man._ (_to Mar._). Hush, sister, hush!

_Ph._ I am very proud of such a pupil. (_Aside._) Since
He has learned my love so readily, it may be
That he may catch my jealousy—

_Hu._ Come, duke,
Sit here by me. There’s more to talk of. Livio,
Fetch us the papers.

_Philip crosses to_ L. _and sits by Hugo_.

_Man._ (_crossing to_ R.). They must grant us, Constance,
A moment now. All day I have been away, 100
And yesterday I saw you not at all.
Can you forgive a lover so remiss?

_CONSTANCE._

I fear I half deserve your fear.

_Man._ The time
Can be but short, but it shall make amends.

[_They talk together._

_Bl._ (_coming forward with Fer._). Fair lady Margaret,
Count Ferdinand of Vergas; I present him
At his desire.

_Fer._ Your ladyship’s true servant.

_Mar._ I am much honoured.

_Fer._ Lady, ’tis worth the pains
To cross from Spain to see you.

_Mar._ From that I guess
That you are a better sailor than the duke. 110

_Fer._ Nay, you judge wrong.

_Mar._ Have you then ate no dinner?

_Fer._ Now if I had not, I’d blame your stormy town
Before the sea for that: since we left ship
We are cabined in this house; to pass the door
Were to leap overboard in a whole gale.

_Mar._ I fear this is no country for you, sir,
If noises in the street keep you indoors.

_LIVIO._

Take warning, count; Sicily’s fairest rose
Blooms on an angry plant.

_Mar._ But we can boast
Of warriors that for fragrance shame the rose. 120
(_To Liv._) Is’t musk to-day?

_Liv._ (_to Fer._). I told you.

_Enter Messenger_ R., _crosses to Hugo_ L.

_MESSENGER._

This paper, sire, is posted thro’ the town.

_Hu._ Eh, eh! what have we here? [_Reads._

_Citizens of Palermo, King Pedro is dead. God rest his soul! The office of Viceroy being vacant, the Parliament of townsmen, assembled in the church of San Lorenzo, have this day elected Manuel to be your viceroy, in place of Hugo. Death to Hugo! Long live the king!_

Why, Manuel, what’s this parliament?

_Man._ I know 130
No more than doth your excellence. But ’tis plain
That they are orderers who put on a dress
Of regular authority; they use
The senatorial voice, and over all
They have now usurped my name to have it thought
That I have set their hatch.

[_Shouts without of “Death to Hugo! The Despatches!”_]

_Ph._ Here comes the parliament.

_Hu._ Now this is what I feared. Manuel, I pray you,
Go to the balcony, you have their ear;
Use then your credit.

_Man._ What, sire, shall I say?

_Hu._ Well, you should know. 140

_Liv._ (_to Man._). Look, if they ask to hear
The last despatches, gull them with some paper;
Which while you show, you make as if therefrom
You read the king’s not dead.

_Ph._ (_to Liv._). Nay, Livio:
The word is wanted for a troop of horse.
My father never would have brooked this insult
From such a mob.

_Liv._ Our soldiers are not idle.
They laid hands yesterday upon the chief
And head of all, one John Palicio.
We have certain information that the rebels
Cannot be kept together but by him. 150
Hark! they are quiet now.

_Hu._ (_to Man. returning_). What is your charm
To win such meek obedience?

_Man._ They’re gone, your excellence;
But not from aught I said: for ere I spoke
Some rumour reached them, and the skirt of the throng,
That far beyond my hearing stood apart
In scattered groups, broke hastily away:
Then the next ranks shed off; and then the next
Loosened and followed them: till the voice came
To the very midst and huddle, where they pressed
With upturned faces; then all heads went down,
And with a cry they fled. 161

_Hu._ Whither?

_Man._ I think
To the prison, my lord.

_Enter a Soldier._

_Hu._ What now? give me thy matter.

_SOLDIER._

The prisoner Palicio is escaped.
He killed his guards, and fled beyond pursuit.

_Ph._ (_to Liv._). Why, is not this the man you spoke of?

_Liv._ Ay,
That is the man.

_Hu._ Let the patrol be doubled for the night,
And give not o’er the search. Alive or dead,
A hundred florins to whoever finds him.
Blasco, go see to it: he must not escape. 169

_Bl._ (_aside_). But if he be escaped, who’s viceroy
then? [_Exit with soldier._

_Hu._ This same Palicio, duke, is the chief rebel:
While he was caged, I could despise the rest.
But he’s a dangerous fellow; bred in the hills,
He is yet of noble blood and high descent:
A proud and lofty temper, that hath taken
A graft of wildness, and shot forth afresh
In base luxuriance. Tho’ yet unbearded,
Bandits and exiles own him; and the people,
Who hold such men in honour, can be drawn
But by his name to any enterprise. 180
’Tis he that with his bread-tax cry hath stirred
The commons to rebel, and be he ’scaped
Clear, as ’tis thought, there will be more ado.
I’ll not so much as vouch, duke, for your safety,
If you should sleep in the palace.

_Man._ Let the duke
Come to my house. What say you?

_Hu._ What say you, Philip?
They would not seek you there.

_Ph._ If ’tis your wish.
I would not bring you trouble. (_To Fer._) Ferdinand,
These papers must be copied: take them straight
Into your chamber. [_Exit Ferdinand._

_Hu._ ’Tis but truth, your grace, 190
We may be driven hence. The people’s cry
Is _Sack and fire the palace_.

_Mar._ See if Livio
Have not gone pale! Now, Livio, if you think
’Tis safer at our house, for pity’s sake
Spare your complexion and come back with us.

_Liv._ No doubt that sleep were sweeter, and all things else
Beneath thy roof, lady: and came there danger,
That my sword might protect thee...

_Mar._ The heavens shield us,
When we be left to that.

_Liv._ Didst thou not treat
All men with like contempt, I were much wronged:
But there’s none thou wilt praise. 201

_Mar._ Now, if I needed
A man to look at, I would pass my time
Searching for this Palicio. As for you,
When you can lead the people, and cut your way
Thro’ guards and prison walls, and get a price
Set on your head ... I’ll marry you.

_Man._ Come, sister,
This goes too far.

_Mar._ Why, no. Be generous.
If I be wrong, what makes you ill at ease
When this man’s free? Palicio is in prison,
And all goes cheerfully; you sit to feast, 210
You have no care, a joke will raise a laugh.
Palicio is escaped—hey! at that news
What blackness reigns! Forgive me, friends; I see
This man’s your master, and I like him for it.
Bravery I love, and there’s no cause so poor
It cannot justify.

_Hu._ If we should take him,
I’ll send him to you stuffed.

_Mar._ Is that a speech
One should forgive?

_Man._ Enough. We take our leave.
We pass by a private way, duke.

_Ph._ I come with you. 219
Good-night.

_All._ Good-night.

[_Exeunt Philip, Manuel, and Margaret._

_Hu._ (_to Con._). And you to bed.

_Con._ I pray there’s nought to fear?

_Hu._ Nay, nay. Good-night, child; sleep you sound.

_Con._ Dear father,
Heaven keep you safe. Good-night.

_Hu._ Fear not for me.

[_Exit Constance._

Hark, Livio.
I have learned somewhat from Philip: the Spanish court
Is open to my enemies. My best hope
If things go worse will be to sail for Spain
And face them boldly there. ’Tis an extremity
’Twere best to avoid: but since my hands are tied
I may be forced; and am so far resolved,
That if Palicio now should raise the town, 230
And come to attack the palace, I shall fly.
I have had a way cut thro’ the chapel wall,
Whence by a covered passage I can reach
The harbour, where I keep a ship prepared.
Thee I must leave. But let this news be spread,
That Philip is with Manuel; it may serve
To draw the people thither—his being here
Would have impeded my escape. And first
We’ll go the rounds, and see that at all points
The watch is strong and wakeful. Come with me.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE · 2

_Hall in Manuel’s house. Enter PALICIO in woman’s
clothes, bleeding, a dagger in his hand._

_PALICIO._

No one, no sound. Can I hide here I am safe.
I have given the curs the slip, if I can hide. 242
Safe ... But this wound, the blood runs like a river:
Unless they track me by it I am clear—so far.
A paltry stab. I’ll bind it round and tie it
To stop the blood—so, so. Now, where to hide?
For here is no protection; ’tis the house
Of the chief justiciary ... a doubtful ’scape
From prison here. Yet when I saw the wall
’Twas home; then, oh, my God! this flip-flap gear
Shackling my knees—Over! ha, ha! the fools 251
Will never guess that leap. But I must hide:
Slip out ere morn: or if not that, be bold,
Give myself up to Manuel. Is that hope?
Manuel the just. ’Twere best reserve that hope
Till others fail. Hark!—steps. Where can I get?
Behind this curtain—so. [_Hides._

_Enter Manuel, Philip, Margaret, and Servant._

_MANUEL_ (_to servt._).

Giuseppe, show the duke my room.
(_To Ph._) Taking us unawares o’erlook, I pray,
The want of ceremony. You will find all comfort
For sleep or wakefulness.

_PHILIP._

This is the flower 260
Of hospitality. Now, for old sakes,
I’d beg some meaner shift, to prove me mindful
Of ancient benefits.

_MARGARET._

O, be content:
My brother’s luxury will not o’erwhelm you
With obligation.

_Man._ Rest you well. Good-night!

_Mar. and Ph._ Good-night!

[_Exit Philip with servant._

_Man._ Margaret!

_Mar._ My brother!

_Man._ You did ill to-night.

_Mar._ Forgive me. I said in jest you had learned your love
From Philip. I was sorry.

_Man._ Nay, what’s that? 269
Yet ’twas ill said, and may have wounded Philip;
Though he must wish us to assume there’s nothing
’Twixt him and Constance: and now he’s our guest
We must not let our courtesy be tainted
By his own lightness; nay, the tales told of him
Are nought to us. He’s of a generous nature,
And not forbidding to what faults beset
His age and rank. But we make no man better
By lower estimation; an open kindliness
And trust may help him; let us use such toward him.

_Mar._ I will. But then what was’t I said?

_Man._ Ah! Why,
Your praise of John Palicio. See you not 281
’Twill injure me with Hugo? Our relations
Are tried by public matters: ’tis in the scope
Of private intercourse to ease the strain,
Or force the rupture.

_Mar._ Brother, I am very sorry.
I thought ...

_Man._ I do not blame your thought. I grant
These Spaniards are bad masters. First they wrecked
This island to possess it; then the prize,
Which kindness might have much enriched, is stripped
Even to the bone by cruelty and rapine. 290
Their viceroy too, this Hugo—a man who governs
But to be governor, and even at that
Fails like a fool. To see the folk misruled
More grieves me than to see the folk misled.
And if they have much cause to rise, there’s none
Hath more to lead them, than the native outlaw,
Whom you so praised.

_Re-enter Servant._

_Mar._ Then you forgive me, brother?

_Man._ Well, well, good-night!

_Mar._ Good-night! [_Exit._

_Man._ Giuseppe, prepare
The little room at the end of the corridor;
I will sleep there. I shall not want thee more. 300

[_Exit servant._

It matters not what happens, day by day
The rupture grows. ’Tis plain Hugo and I
Are foes at heart—and what a pitiful trick
To put the question of my marriage by,
Withholding his consent just for the thought,
That while my happiness hangs on his nod,
I must be closer bound to serve his interest,
Now, when his credit totters. Doth he not know
That honourable minds, thro’ very fear
Of their self-interest, are thrust away 310
Beyond their counter-judgment? Nay, ’tis clear
He falls, he falls; and were’t not now for Constance,
I’d gladly see him fall.

_Palicio comes forward._

A woman here!
Why, who art thou?

_Pal._ Hush, hush! I am no woman.

[_Lays his dagger on the table._

Draw not your sword. See here my dagger.

_Man._ Ha!
And bloodied freshly.

_Pal._ Let me bar the door. [_Goes to door._

_Man._ Why, can it be?—

_Pal._ I am Palicio.

_Man._ Thou here!

_Pal._ You see.

_Man._ From prison?

_Pal._ Escaped, thank God!
I skirmished with my guards, and being pursued
Came thro’ your orange garden. Here none will seek me. 320
Hide me!

_Man._ Thee, madman, here?

_Pal._ Ay, call me madman.
I am mad, and praise God for it ... if to hate tyrants
Be madness, I’m past cure: or if ’tis madness
To escape from prison ...

_Man._ Nay, neither. I blamed thee not
In these; but that thou thinkest to overbear
The troops of Spain with thy small brigand crew:
To escape from justice flying to my house,—
The chief justiciary.

_Pal._ What will you do?

_Man._ Return thee straight to prison.

_Pal._ First, I beseech you,
Help me to bind my wound.

_Man._ Art thou much hurt? 330

_Pal._ A thrust in the arm, a petty prick, which yet
Bleeds uncontrolledly.

_Man._ Undo it. It spurts.
Hold here thy hand, while with thy handkerchief
I bind thy arm.

_Pal._ Look you, ’tis lower down.

_Man._ Peace, man! ’Twill stay the blood to bind thee here.
Hast thou no other hurt?

_Pal._ Nay, none but this.
And see, ’tis staunched already. I must thank you,
Tho’ here your help should end. Call in the hirelings;
They’ll not be far. I will go back with them.
And yet ’twere pity; for ’tis certain death: 340
I have killed three of them. Manuel, I pray you—
I pray you, Manuel, crush not all my hopes,
My just cause. Give me a sword and a man’s dress,
And let me forth to try my fortune!

_Man._ Nay.

_Pal._ Then if I take my dagger and venture out ...

[_Takes it._

I’ll yet escape. Deny me not this chance.
See, I’ll not ask your leave, but only go. _Going._

_Man._ Giovanni, stay. Thou hast done me a great wrong
In flying here. Why didst thou choose my house?

_Pal._ ’Twas as I fled for life: the hue-and-cry 350
Came gathering faster round me: being still clear,
And seeing your wall, it seemed my safety lay
In that leap, could I make it.

_Man._ Thou’rt the last,
And only offspring of a noble stock.
The blood that I have staunched in thy veins,
Sprang from the heart of Sicily, and flows
Redder than mine, tho’ mine too once was mixed,
And not unworthily, with thine, and now
From my great grandsire’s marriage both our bloods
Are even as one, and thy blood on my hands 360
Is mine, and mine within my veins is thine.
I cannot send thee to thy death, Giovanni;
I may not shelter thee from justice: See,
Thou hast done me a grievous wrong.

_Pal._ Yet hide me awhile.
This house may be my prison.

_Man._ Thou hast this hope:
The king being dead ...

_Pal._ Is’t true that Pedro is dead?

_Man._ Ay, true enough.

_Pal._ Then are you free. I am safe.

[_Puts dagger in his bosom._

_Man._ I say this is thy hope. The king being dead,
Such offices as hold under the crown 370
Need confirmation. Now I do not say
Allegiance lapses; but, if I be quick
To guess the new king’s will, that he will change
Our viceroy—which I doubt not,—I may be bold
Now to withhold my duties from a servant
Discredited, contending that they hang
Upon my judgment, for my deeds to give
After-account. See, ’tis a subtle point
I strain for thee, rather than hurt the claim
Of kinship. Thou shalt be my prisoner 380
For these few days. By chance I have a room
Fit for thy lodging: there I’ll shew thee now,
And thence thou must not stir. I’ll bring thee food,
Look to thy wants, and try to cure thy wound.
Thou on thy part must lie as still as one
That hushes for his life. What, man; thou’rt faint
For loss of blood, and strain? Cannot you stand?
Stand up, or I must carry you. Indeed,
Carry him I must ... see, now, where be my keys?

[_Going, carrying Palicio._

ACT · II

SCENE · 1

_Hall in Manuel’s house. MARGARET and CONSTANCE._

_MARGARET._

Sweet, happy Constance, tell me why thou sighest. 390
What can’st thou lack?

_CONSTANCE._

I am not very happy.

_Mar._ Not happy, thou? Woe for the world! I thought
Love was God’s perfect recipe, to drowse
All mortal stings. Yet sainted marriage hath
One threat—the loss of liberty: is’t that?
It well may fright. To have been a girl with me
So long, and make at last the outrageous stroke,
And live as do our aunts! Were’t not my brother,
I’d kill the man.

_Con._ Margaret!

_Mar._ Well mayst thou sigh:
I can sigh for thee.

_Con._ I should love to hear thee. 400
Thou owest me sighs, for mine were thoughts of thee.

_Mar._ Because I love not? Hast thou forgot already
Life may be tolerable for a woman
Without thy joy?

_Con._ You treat poor Livio
Unkindly, Margaret.

_Mar._ Now, if that’s the grief,
We have threshed it out before.

_Con._ I shall not spare you,
Till you are kinder.

_Mar._ Yet if I were kinder,
And he should build a hope upon that kindness,
Until it proved unkinder than unkindness?

_Con._ He loves you well.

_Mar._ No better than the others;
Than Ventimiglia loves, or Chiaramonte, 411
Good Michael Rosso, or the impudent Blasco,
Or my new courtier Ferdinand.

_Con._ He loves
With all his heart. Life is as tedious to him
As to the dark and dusty wheel, which jerks
Behind the dial-face, until he see you;
When for his joy you give him but disdain.

_Mar._ Thou didst not tell him thou wouldst speak for him?

_Con._ Why not?

_Mar._ Now I, Constance, have something fresh:
A mystery.

_Con._ A mystery?

_Mar._ Yes, a mystery. 420
Guess what it is.

_Con._ How should I guess?

_Mar._ Indeed,
Guessing would never wind it.

_Con._ Then, prithee, tell me.

_Mar._ I died to tell thee ere thou camest, and now
I grudge it sadly. Yet, for the fresh mount
’Twill give thy thoughts, I’ll tell. ’Twas yesternight,
Just on the stroke of one ...

_Con._ ’Tis not a ghost?

_Mar._ If after all ’twere but a ghost!

_Con._ Come, tell me.

_Mar._ Thou wilt not breathe a word?

_Con._ No, not a word.

_Mar._ Thou know’st the casement of my bedroom looks
Across the court. There as I stood last night, 430
Watching the moon awhile, ere I shut out
The sleepless splendour from my dreams, I heard
A heavy step pass down the gallery.
’Tis Manuel, I thought, who goes to lie
In the little chamber at the back,—for Philip
Had his;—but, for some strangeness in the step
Pricked my attention, and to content my thought,
I lent my ear to the sound, until it reached
The door at the end: there, standing by the window
I saw him plain: ’twas he, but in his arms 440
A woman, fainting as I thought, or dead.
Her arms hung loose, and o’er his shoulder thrown
Her head fell back.

_Con._ A woman! art thou sure?

_Mar._ He could not carry a ghost. Besides, this morning
I watched him: he took thither meat and drink,
And locked the door, and strictly bade the servants
They should not enter.

_Con._ Hast thou questioned him?

_Mar._ I have not so much as let him speak with me.
He might forbid me: and, O my curiosity,
I must know more.

_Con._ What dost thou think to learn? 450

_Mar._ I have neither guess nor hope; I lay awake
An hour, and thought of fifty things, not one
Of any likelihood. In all romance
No lady in distress ere came at midnight
To the house of the chief justice. I could wish
This beauteous maiden were a young princess
Fled o’er the seas disguised.

_Con._ Then thou couldst see
What she was like.

_Mar._ Why, no,—how could I see?
I only saw that she was dark.

_Con._ Thou saidst
That she was beautiful.

_Mar._ Of course she is young 460
And beautiful. Why,—you are not jealous, Constance?

_Con._ Not jealous, no.

_Mar._ And the only pity of it
Is that she’ll prove in the end a poor relation
Fall’n to our care, or some more hapless girl
Left on the doorstep dying.

_Con._ In such case,
What were the need of secrecy?

_Mar._ I wish
I had never told thee aught. Why shouldst thou fancy
Impossibilities?

_Con._ What is impossible?

_Mar._ I fear now that the sight of thy old love,
Philip the false, hath turned thy happier trust. 470
Thou’rt changed.

_Con._ Nay, nay: I am not: and yet ’tis true
His coming is my trouble. [_Weeps._

_Mar._ Forgive me, sweetest.

_Con._ Margaret, you know I have none at all but you
To unfold my heart to: only you can tell
What I must feel at his return: you know
How far I loved, how much I was deceived.
His oaths of faith you heard from me, and shared
The joy of my delusion: and at last,
When he deserted me, you made your heart
The prison of my sorrows: you exhorted,— 480
O, you advised me well,—Be sure, you said,
Love that so breaks cannot be trusted more.
You bade me cast it off like an ill dream.
You found what life he led: how he profaned
His honourable passion in the play
Of errant gallantries. All that sad time
I leaned on you, and ’twas your friendship gave
The occasions whence my love with Manuel sprung.
You led me still, you gave me confidence;
Your comfort turned to joy, Manuel was mine. 490
When suddenly on some mysterious cause
He holds aloof: my joy is bid await.
O, Margaret, if you understood love’s joy,
How closely ’tis inwoven with fear to lose,
You would not wonder that I tremble, seeing
This shadow blot my sunshine, that my fear
Discolours every circumstance. To me
The common course of things on which men count
Is the only miracle, all chances else
As they are feared are likely. O, do not blame me.
Philip is like an evil spirit beside me 501
That stands to smile on what I dread to think.

_Mar._ Philip being false can give no cause to doubt
Of Manuel’s faith.

_Con._ I doubt him not: and yet
If I speak of my brother you only laugh,
But if you speak of yours ...

_Mar._ Round, round again.
Betwixt our brothers grant some difference.
Thy Livio is a boy of slender parts,
Led by his passions. Manuel is a man
Austere and stern; he is above suspicion. 510

_Con._ I do not doubt his truth, but find such sternness
Unkind to love. My brother’s love for you
Is simple: Manuel’s love hath some reserve;
A veil, behind which, since I have never seen,
I have dreamed or feared a terror lay: ofttimes
When I have been with him, a pleasant hour
Has ended suddenly, as if his spirit
Was angered, and withdrew: then in his eyes
Is nothing left but barren contemplation,
To which I am an object as another; 520
Until he sighs, as conscious of the change.
The disappointment of our marriage brings
Scarce a regret to him: I heard him speak
Late to my father of it, as ’twere a thing
He held indifferently. There is some secret
Which I would know: maybe this is a clue.

_Mar._ What is the clue?

_Con._ This lady.

_Mar._ O, thou’rt sick.
But I can cure thee, wilt thou do my bidding.

_Con._ What would you bid?

_Mar._ Give rein to jealousy,
Ay, spur it on to falling. Fear the worst, 530
Believe the worst. Thou shalt suspect my brother;
He trifles, loves this lady: choose your tale:
Thou wilt not doubt again.

_Con._ I do not doubt him.
Nay, I will bid him tell me all.

_Mar._ And so
Betray thy doubt to him. Be wiser, madam!
Look to thy cure: indulge thy jealousy:
To which end I encourage it. Indeed,
I am come to think there’s cause, and thy suspicion
Hath much enhanced my mystery. Go thou home:
There make thyself unhappy. I meanwhile 540
Will root this out, and since I am housekeeper
I can go where I will.

_Con._ I pray thee, Margaret ...

_Mar._ I must be jealous where my brother is wronged.
Thou art the accuser, and the evidence
Tells now for thee: ’tis my part to acquit us.
Hinder me not.

_Con._ When wilt thou know?

_Mar._ Maybe
’Tis as thou fearest.

_Con._ Wilt thou mock me so?

_Mar._ I bid thee go. Be sure I’ll come to thee,
Or send thee word.

_Con._ But when?

_Mar._ I make no promise.
I cannot pity thee, and till thou goest 550
I can do nothing.

_Con._ Promise me to send.

_Mar._ I have promised that. Farewell!

_Con._ To-day?

_Mar._ To-day.
Trust me, I go at once. [_Exeunt._

SCENE 2

_Room in the Palace. Enter BLASCO._

_BLASCO._

I have sucked this Ferdinand. Duke Philip bears
Secret despatches sealed, not to be broken
Save on emergency; from which I gather
That if emergency arise, this Philip
Will be our viceroy. Palicio being escaped
Must make the emergency.—Then, where am I?
Packed off to Spain with Hugo’s broken service, 560
To answer his impeachment. ’Tis high time
I cast by these old friends, such as they are,
And turn my face to the rising sun, this Philip.
I see the way too. Manuel’s love for Constance
Hath roused again his former love for her
To a burning jealousy; if I feed that
I win his ear, and make my foe his foe.
As for Palicio, should he hold back
I have a way with him, and can contrive
He shall seize Hugo, or himself be seized, 570
As may suit best. The mischief set on foot,
Philip must break his seals; and I come in
With him as friendly to the people’s rights,
And trusted servant of the crown. By heav’n,
I shall deserve their credit. See, here he comes.

_Enter Philip._

Good morrow to your grace.

_PHILIP._

Good morrow, Blasco.

_Bl._ I served thy father well.

_Ph._ I know it, Blasco.
What of it now?

_Bl._ I do not urge my service
Looking for recompense; I do not ask
So much as that your grace remember me 580
At court, to mention my forgotten name
In the new king’s ear; as, When I was in Sicily
I saw old Blasco; nay, ’twas for good-will
I served, and now ’tis that I want a master
Which bids me speak. If but your grace could find me
Employment worth my wits, I would serve well.

_Ph._ I’ll think of it.

_Bl._ Let your grace know my life
Spent in this court should make my loyalty
More than a counsellor. In this rebellion
I know where Hugo fails, where Manuel leans; 590
Could blow upon the flame or snuff it out,
Could bring you to the leaders.

_Ph._ Honest Blasco,
Thou know’st the world.

_Bl._ I know that one who comes
To make peace in a quarrel that he knows not,
Needs other knowledge than he is like to get
From either party. The strings of policy
Are coiled in private chambers; if your grace
Would pull at these ...

_Ph._ True. If thou serve me thus
I’ll take instruction.

_Bl._ Let your grace now prove me
In any question.

_Ph._ This, then. We in Spain 600
Supposed that your revolt stood on two legs,
Over-taxation and the hate of Hugo;
And had its claim for justice countenanced
By Manuel’s voice: but coming here, I find
That he and Hugo’s daughter are betrothed.
Now here’s a private matter, which, I take it,
Involves the public. Say, doth Manuel play
His policy on Hugo, or hath Hugo
Trumped up a match with Manuel to support
His failing credit?

_Bl._ They are not betrothed, your grace.
What passes between lovers is unknown: 611
But this is sure, Hugo withholds consent,
And doth so to win Manuel to his side.

_Ph._ Doth not that win him?

_Bl._ Nay.

_Ph._ Then I conclude
He loves not.

_Bl._ Nay, indeed; it gives me pain
To witness his indifference; for the lady
Deserves the best.

_Ph._ Stay, count. Remember
In what has passed that word may well blame me.

_Bl._ I hearken not to idle tales. Your grace
May be punctilious; but in Manuel’s instance 620
There’s no excuse.

_Ph._ I care not what men say.
And now it hurts me more to hear thee blame
Another for the fault I stumbled in,
Than if ’twas said of me. I need thy knowledge.
Look, thou canst serve me; and I let none serve
For nothing. Take my purse (_gives it_); thou mayst have need
To spend so much for me.

_Bl._ I thank your grace.
I shun no obligation, and I am poor.

_Ph._ True, all men are so. Come now to my chamber,
Where we may talk in private.

_Bl._ (_aside_). ’Tis well begun. 630

[_Exeunt._

SCENE · 3

_A room in Manuel’s house. PALICIO reclining on a long chair
half-dressed. Daylight nearly excluded: one candle burns._

_PALICIO._

I seem to have lived a life in these few days;
To have died, and waked in no less strange a place,
Than where I think departed spirits will fly
In doom of death and unendurable silence
After their day of doing. Oh! ’tis strange
What just the shedding a few drops of blood
Will bring about—to loosen a handkerchief,
And on her undiscoverable journey
The soul sets forth. Nay, but to bleed so far
As I have done, breeds fancies much akin 640
To death; else would my spirit more revolt
’Gainst this enforcèd quiet and idleness:
This blocking of my life just on the stir
And hurry of hope, when all my operations
Pressed to success. I am surely very weak,
That I can lie and fret not, when I hear
The distant cries, passing from street to street,
Which tell how prompt and ripe my people were
For this their lost occasion. (_Knocking heard._) Some one knocks.
Nay, the key turns. ’Tis Manuel.

_MARGARET_ (_at door_).

May I come in? 650

_Pal._ (_aside_). Ah! who is this? Who’s there?

[_Covering himself._

_Mar._ (_entering_). ’Tis only I,
Manuël’s sister. I have come to see
If I can do you any service, lady.

_Pal._ He did not send you?

_Mar._ Nay, but I may hope
I shall not seem to intrude, thus waiting on you.

_Pal._ (_aside_). What’s to be done?

_Mar._ The room is dark. I fear you are ill.

_Pal._ I am hurt and must not stir.

_Mar._ Then lying here
In pain you must want help and company.
’Tis well I came. May I draw back the curtains?

_Pal._ Nay, there was reason, madam, why your brother 660
Shut door and window: I have enemies.

_Mar._ Alas, alas!
I can shew equal care. First to relock the door.
(_Aside, going to door._) She is a lady.

_Pal._ (_aside_). ’Tis the famous Margaret.

_Mar._ Now let me light these candles.

[_Stage brightens._

_Pal._ (_aside_). Surely in God’s paradise, that rest of souls,
His angels and pure spirits look and speak
And move like this. O wonder! Wherefore comes she?
And how to keep her but a moment longer
From the discovery? and how to tell her? 670

_Mar._ Now while I sit. [_Finds gown on the chair._
... Why, oh! ’tis drenched with blood,
Your gown. Are you so hurt?

_Pal._ A sword-thrust, lady.

_Mar._ A sword-thrust. Ah!

_Pal._ Thou earnest unadvised,
Lady: I wore the gown; if that deceived thee.
Yet ’twas but a disguise to save my life.
I am Palicio.

_Mar._ Sir!

_Pal._ Escaped from prison
And my pursuers hither. Thy brother’s kindness
Hides me from death awhile.

_Mar._ I pray thy pardon.
’Twas not mere idle curiosity
That made my fault; but made I’ll mend it, sir, 680
As soon as may be. [_Going._

_Pal._ (_springing up_). Stay, nay, put down that key.
I bid thee stay. Thou hast forced my secret. Hear
The whole, and when thou hast heard I shall not fear
The unlocking of thy lips.

_Mar._ Why, sir, the thing
My brother means to hide is hidden to me.

_Pal._ ’Tis not alone my life ...

_Mar._ Ah! see the blood is trickling down thy hand!

_Pal._ Pest! it hath started freshly.

_Mar._ Cannot I help thee?

_Pal._ Ay, ’tis the bandage on this arm.

_Mar._ To tie it?

_Pal._ My moving hath displaced it.

_Mar._ See, alas! 690
The ill I have done. Sit, I will bind it for thee.

_Pal._ Myself I cannot.

_Mar._ Nay. Tell thou me how.

_Pal._ Here, round this pad. As tightly as thou wilt.
Nay, tighter yet.

_Mar._ Shall I not harm thee?

_Pal._ Tighter.

_Mar._ I cannot pull it tighter.

_Pal._ Knot it so.
’Twill do: the blood hath ceased.

_Mar._ Oh, I am glad.
Do not thou stir: see, now, to wash thine arm,
I’ll bring thee water. [_Goes for it._

_Pal._ (_aside_). By heaven, where have I lived,
Like a wild beast beneath the open skies,
In dens and caves, and never known the taste 700
Of this soft ravishment? The rich of the earth
Are right: their bars and bolts are wisely wrought,
Having such treasure in their closed chambers.

_Mar._ Here ’tis. Reach forth thine arm.

_Pal._ Nay, give’t to me.
Stain not thy hands.

_Mar._ I pray thee.

_Pal._ As thou wilt.

_Mar._ How did it happen?

_Pal._ Wouldst thou hear it?

_Mar._ Tell me.

_Pal._ I had been two days in prison ...

_Mar._ Tell me, first,
How could they catch thee?

_Pal._ Treachery: I was taken
By Hugo’s soldiers as I knelt at mass.
Three stole behind me, seized me by the arms, 710
And dragged me forth. I knew I was betrayed;
I had entered but that morning in the town;
I was not known to them, nor did the hirelings
Look on my face. They led me straight to prison,
Thrust me in a cell so dank and dark and small,
That to be built alive into the grave
Were not more horrible.

_Mar._ Hugo would have killed thee.

_Pal._ Or let me starve; or else some gentle mercy;
Gouged my live eyeballs out, or lopped my hands.

_Mar._ How couldst thou ’scape?

_Pal._ Now thou wilt see our people
Have their account. The second night my gaoler 721
Brought in a woman with a deed to sign.
I knew my hope, and to her feigned reproach
Answered in anger back: but when she bade
I took the deed, and felt beneath the paper
A dagger’s edge. That was my key to heaven,
Could I strike silently. To make occasion,
I thrust her from me with an oath: she fell,
As well she knew, against the foe, who stooping,
Stooped to his death and fell without a groan. 730
Then quick she doffed her gown for my disguise,
Telling me in few words how this was planned
By friends who had seen me taken: they had not means
For present rescue, but discovering soon
Who had betrayed me, used his cursed name
With the governour of the prison, to admit
Her, his pretended wife, that she might claim
Settlement of some debt before I died.
So was it paid. Then we went forth together,
I in her woman’s garments, following her, 740
Who wore the habit of the soldier slain:
And she went clear: but I, for some suspicion
Was questioned at the gate. Of those two men,
One I slew straight: the other, as I struck,
Thrust thro’ my arm, yet not so hurtfully
But that he fell for it too. But thence alarm
Was given: I fled pursued, and gat me clear,
Leaping your garden wall.

_Mar._ Who was the woman?

_Pal._ One of our people.

_Mar._ May her name be told?

_Pal._ I never heard it.

_Mar._ Yet she knew thee well. 750
I had been proud to have done her deed. I think
There are not many men as brave as she.

_Pal._ O, lady, there are many, women and men,
Sworn to risk life in our good cause.

_Mar._ Alas,
That such fine courage should be so misled!

_Pal._ Misled? how, if I lead it?

_Mar._ I had forgot.
Pardon me, sir. It was my brother’s word.

_Pal._ Ay, ’tis his word. And yet I honour Manuel.
Were’t not for him there scarce would be a man
Of all our people who would reverence 760
Justice and order, and those other names
Of social welfare. ’Tis to him alone
We have looked to give us these. But if he stand
Where he can take our tyrants by the arm
And show them baits of righteousness, and lead them
Where they should go, shall we who lie beneath
Forbear to sting the laggard heel of justice,
Or think it crime to obstruct the path of wrong?
I blame not him that from his higher place
He finds offence in outcry and disorder: 770
To such as without loss or shame outride
The storms of shifting fortune this is easy.

_Mar._ What dost thou but exasperate ill-will?

_Pal._ Already our bread has been untaxed two days.

_Mar._ And may be two days more.

_Pal._ I have better hope,
Or had: for if I had once provoked the Spaniard
To set his troops against us, all the nobles,
Who now retired hold neutral parliament,
Would then have joined the people, and compelled
The justice of our claim by force of arms. 780

_Mar._ All, say’st thou?

_Pal._ All save one or two, who are bought
With Hugo’s money.

_Mar._ Say’st thou bought?

_Pal._ O lady,
Unto their great dishonour they are bought,
With sweated pence wrung from the labourer,
Ere he can buy a loaf to feed his children
Out of the corn his hands have sown and reaped.
Is not this shame?

_Mar._ ’Tis shame.

_Pal._ And shall Palicio
See this thing done, because he hath not office,
Or those few paltry florins, which might turn
The scale for poor Sicilians?

_Mar._ Ah, indeed, 790
I knew, I felt that thou wert right; and now
I see it: I never blamed thee.

_Pal._ No, nor Manuel
Blames me at heart, tho’ he forbid my means.
Think, had I kept my old estate, and he
Had fallen as I, should I not do as he,
And he as I am doing?

_Mar._ Oh, I think
’Tis nobler to be poor. To share the suffering
Of them we pity ranks above redress.
I am come to envy thee.

_Pal._ And certain it is,
They who have least to lose will venture most. 800

_Mar._ Yet those that have can give. What’s the best hope
Of this rebellion?

_Pal._ We would make thy brother
Viceroy in place of Hugo.

_Mar._ Will that be?

_Pal._ Here I know nothing, save that nought is done.

_Mar._ Is there no leader then but thee?

_Pal._ The people
Are limbs without a head.

_Mar._ When will thy wound
Be healed?

_Pal._ Thy brother says that any surgeon
Could mend it quickly, but that his own skill,
Which knows the injury, was never practised
To find out and to bind the wounded vessel, 810
Which, being unhelped of art, may run to death.

_Mar._ To death! And hath he sent no surgeon?

_Pal._ Nay,
That were the greater risk for him and me.

_Mar._ Not so, if he could cure thee. I shall bring one. [_As going._

_Pal._ It cannot be.

_Mar._ Thou mayst believe there’s none
In all Palermo but myself could do it:
Yet can I do it.

_Pal._ Speak with Manuel first.

_Mar._ Oh! I shall tell him all. He will consent.
’Tis well I came. No surgeon for thee! Ah!
I go.

_Pal._ Thou wilt return?

_Mar._ Be sure, be sure. 820
And with the leech. [_Exit._

_Pal._ She is gone.

[_Scene shuts across._

SCENE · 4

_In Manuel’s house. MARGARET and MANUEL meeting._

_MARGARET._

Brother, what wilt thou say? Wilt thou forgive me?
Hear me confess.

_MANUEL._

What now, my mischief-maker?

_Mar._ I have seen Palicio.

_Man._ Hey! ’twas thy evil genius
Led thee that way.

_Mar._ I thinking him a woman,
Offered some service: whereupon he told me
Who he was, all his story, and of his wound.

_Man._ I am sorry; I should have warned thee, for the knowledge
Makes thee so far accomplice; and I know not
How ’twill be taken when ’tis known.

_Mar._ O, brother, 830
Thou hast done nobly.

_Man._ I will tell to thee
My motives.

_Mar._ Nay, I need no motives.

_Man._ Hear them.
Palicio’s life is forfeit, for he has killed
Three of his guards: but to the dangerous deed
He had provocation, such as I should hold
Clears him of crime: wherefore I take upon me
To force a loan of Justice while she sleeps,
For fear a thief should rob her: to this, moreover,
The claim of kinship binds me,—nay, be patient,
And hear me out.—Already our disorders 840
Have been reported at the Spanish court;
The enquiry set on foot will much endamage
Hugo’s good name: I doubt not we shall have
Another viceroy, and the revolution
Will justify the movers.

_Mar._ Oh! all that,
Be as it may, will never cure his wound.
He needs a surgeon: we must find a surgeon.

_Man._ No: he must lie concealed till I procure
His pardon. His discovery now were death.

_Mar._ But if I bring one secretly?

_Man._ How secretly? 850
Better cry down the streets the man is here:
That might escape attention.

_Mar._ I know a man.
Have I not sometimes shewn thee certain sonnets
Writ in Sicilian speech?

_Man._ Eh! Michael Rosso?

_Mar._ ’Tis he. I think he’d love to do my bidding
In a more dangerous matter. Give me leave,
I’ll bring him here to-night.

_Man._ I had thought of him,
But shrank from taxing his good-will. And yet—
(_Aside._) For his own sake ’twere kind ... and Margaret asks it ...
Secrets, they say, discover sympathies.— 860
(_Aloud._) Ay, ’tis well thought of.

_Mar._ I can answer for him.

_Man._ I see. Yet there’s no cause why he should know.
Escort him blindfold hither; let Palicio
Have his face covered. Let him ask no questions:
And when ’tis done convey him blindfold back.
’Twere best he should not know.

_Mar._ O, brother, I thank thee.

_Man._ Why, girl, thou’rt crazed.

_Mar._ May I not go at once?

_Man._ Nay, wait till dusk; and see, take here my seal,
Since thou must go alone: ’twill be thy freedom
From any questionings of any people. 870
Use all precautions, and impose on Rosso
Sacredest secrecy: ’tis thou and he
Must carry it thro’. Be careful.

_Mar._ I will put on
Some common clothing, and disguise my face.
I thank thee. [_Exit._

_Man._ The girl’s in love. Now, bravo Rosso!
I wish thee well. There’s not a purer spirit
Fleshed in all Sicily; nay, nor a man
I’d sooner call brother. Why, ’twas my choice,
Long urged in vain. That chanceth in an hour
Which comes not in nine years. ’Tis very true, 880
Fancy resents all judgment, and another’s
Will often kill it quite. Now, when I looked
Rather for anything than my own wish,—heigh-ho!
’Tis I that stand in the way. I must discourage it.

_Enter Philip_ (_with some papers_).

Ah, Philip.

_PHILIP._

Let me give you back the papers.
I have read them.

_Man._ Well?

_Ph._ The viceroy’s guilt is plain.
Your purpose cannot be to press this count.

_Man._ If the complaints, which I have already made,
Be quashed at court, I shall.

_Ph._ ’Tis peculation
So gross, ’twould ruin Hugo to expose it. 890
Wished you to break with him,—yet his disgrace
Cannot be nothing to you: I should marvel
You had no associations, no affections,
Shocked at the thought.

_Man._ To interests manifold
As manifest, Justice is blind. If Spain
Remove not Hugo on the charges laid,
I have shewn thee what’s to follow. Would you avert it,
Press his dismissal. I must to the palace.
Guard thou the papers for me till I am back. [_Exit._

_Ph._ These papers are conviction. Blasco is right:
He loves not. That is clear; for he would ruin 901
Her father. Then again my rivalry
Avowed,—ay, if he had an ear, avowed,—
He doth not see. So cold, how could he win her?
Or wish to win her? She is mine.—And yet I would
’Twere any man but Manuel. Ah! who comes?
’Tis she. Now may I prove her.

_Enter Constance with Servant._

_CONSTANCE_ (_to servt._).

If she be not within, prithee enquire
Where she is gone. I will await thee here. 909

[_Exit servt._

I have been most foolish. (_Seeing Philip._) Philip!

_Ph._ Yes, ’tis I.
Constance.

_Con._ What wouldst thou?

_Ph._ (_kneeling_). I entreat a favour,
Which is to me the one boon in the world.

_Con._ Rise, sir, what is’t?

_Ph._ That I may speak, nor leave
Love’s wound unhealed.

_Con._ ’Twere well to seal forgiveness,
Companion of forgetfulness. Say, therefore.
The few words that are due.

_Ph._ Tho’ I repent,
Repentance cannot own forgetfulness.
It pleads forgiveness in the name of love.

_Con._ How in that name?

_Ph._ Constance, I love thee still.

_Con._ Sir!

_Ph._ Oh! ’tis true ... 920
Reproach me not, Constance: my evil life
I have quite renounced. I used it but to learn
The wisdom of that other. I come back
From folly and idleness and evil days.
Whate’er hath been, Constance, I have not left thee:
There hath been nothing near thee, nothing like thee,
Nothing but thee: and I return to find thee
More beautiful than ever ...

_Con._ Pray you, sir,
Remember.

_Ph._ Let me speak.

_Con._ When thou didst ask to speak,
I looked for that one word, which thou in honour
Wert, to amend thy silence, bound to speak. 931
’Twas in thy power to salve thy breach of faith
With full and free renouncement. Thine earlier ill
I had then forgiven: for if thou art not changed,
Philip, I am: then I was ignorant—
Maybe we both were—both mistook; but thou
Didst add an injury, and to-day thou addest
Another worse. Knowing me now betrothed,
How canst thou offer to renew thy love?

_Ph._ O, Constance, Manuel doth not, cannot, love thee 940
As I.

_Con._ I pray he doth not.

_Ph._ Hear me, Constance!

_Con._ Nay, sir; no more. [_Exit._