SCENE I.—_A Room in DON LUIS’ palace at Naples.

_Enter DON LUIS and DON JUAN meeting._

_Luis._ Once more, a thousand times once more, Don Juan, Come to my heart.

_Juan._ And every fresh embrace Rivet our ancient friendship faster yet!

_Luis._ Amen to that! Come, let me look at you— Why, you seem well—

_Juan._ So well, so young, so nimble, I will not try to say how well, so much My words and your conception must fall short Of my full satisfaction.

_Luis._ How glad am I To have you back in Naples!

_Juan._ Ah, Don Luis, Happier so much than when I last was here, Nay, than I ever thought that I could be.

_Luis._ How so?

_Juan._ Why, when I came this way before, I told you (do you not remember it?) How teased I was by relatives and friends To marry—little then disposed to love— Marriage perhaps the last thing in my thoughts— Liking to spend the spring time of my youth In lonely study.

_Luis._ Ay, ay, I remember: Nothing but books, books, books—still day and night Nothing but books; or, fairly drowsed by them, By way of respite to that melancholy, The palette and the pencil— In which you got to such a mastery As smote the senseless canvas into life. O, I remember all—not only, Juan, When you were here, but I with you in Spain, What fights we had about it!

_Juan._ So it was— However, partly wearied, partly moved By pity at my friends’ anxieties, Who press’d upon me what a shame it were If such a title and estate as mine Should lack a lineal inheritor, At length I yielded— Fanned from the embers of my later years A passion which had slept in those of youth, And took to wife my cousin Serafina, The daughter of Don Pedro Castellano.

_Luis._ I know; you show’d me when you last were here The portrait of your wife that was to be, And I congratulated you.

_Juan._ Well now Still more congratulate me—as much more As she is fairer than the miniature We both enamoured of. At the first glance I knew myself no more myself, but hers, Another (and how much a happier!) man.

_Luis._ Had I the thousand tongues, and those of brass, That Homer wished for, they should utter all Congratulation. Witty too, I hear, As beautiful?

_Juan._ Yourself shall judge of all, For even now my lady comes; awhile To walk the Flora of your shores, and then Over your seas float Venus-like away.

_Luis._ Not _that_, till she have graced our gardens long, If once we get her here. But is she here?

_Juan._ Close by—she and her father, who would needs See her aboard; and I push’d on before To apprize you of our numbers—so much more Than when I first proposed to be your guest, That I entreat you—

_Luis._ What?

_Juan._ —to let us go, And find our inn at once—not over-load Your house.

_Luis._ Don Juan, you do me an affront— What if all Naples came along with you?— My heart—yes, and my house—should welcome them.

_Juan._ I know. But yet—

_Luis._ But yet, no more ‘but yets’— Come to my house, or else my heart shall close Its doors upon you.

_Juan._ Nay, I dare not peril A friendship—

_Luis._ Why, were ’t not a great affront To such a friendship—when you learn besides, I have but held this government till now Only to do you such a courtesy.

_Juan._ But how is this?

_Luis._ Sickness and age on-coming, I had determined to retire on what Estate I had—no need of other wealth— Beside, Alvaro’s death—my only son—

_Juan._ Nay, you have so felicitated me, I needs must _you_, Don Luis, whose last letter Told of a gleam of hope in that dark quarter.

_Luis._ A sickly gleam—you know the ship he sail’d in Was by another vessel, just escaped The selfsame storm, seen to go down—it seem’d With all her souls on board.

_Juan._ But how assured ’Twas your son’s ship?—

_Luis._ Alas, so many friends Were on the watch for him at Barcelona, Whither his ship was bound, but never came— Beside the very messenger that brought The gleam of hope, premised the tragedy— A little piece of wreck, That floated to the coast of Spain, and thence Sent to my hands, with these words scratcht upon ’t— ‘_Escaped alive, Alvaro._’

_Juan._ When was this?

_Luis._ Oh, months ago, and since no tidings heard, In spite of all inquiry. But we will hope. Meanwhile, Serafina—when will she be here?

_Juan._ She must be close to Naples now.

_Luis._ Go then, Tell her from me— I go not forth to bid her welcome, only That I may make that welcome sure at home.

_Juan._ I’ll tell her so. But—

_Luis._ What! another ‘_But_’? No more of that. Away with you.—Porcia!

[_Exit JUAN._

_Enter PORCIA._

Daughter, you know (I have repeated it A thousand times, I think) the obligation I owe Don Juan Roca.

_Porcia._ Sir, indeed I’ve often heard you talk of him.

_Luis._ Then listen. He and his wife are coming here to-day— Directly.

_Por._ Serafina!

_Luis._ Yes. To be our guests, till they set sail for Spain; I trust long first—

_Por._ And I. How glad I am!

_Luis._ You! what should make you glad?

_Por._ That Serafina, So long my playmate, shall be now my guest.

_Luis._ Ay! I forgot—that’s well, too— Let us be rivals in their entertainment. See that the servants, Porcia, dress their rooms As speedily and handsomely as may be.

_Por._ What haste can do (which brings its own excuse) I’ll do—’tis long a proverb hereabout That you are Entertainer-general, Rather than Governor, of Naples.

_Luis._ Ay, I like to honour all who come this way.

_Enter LEONELO._

_Leonelo._ Peace to this house!—and not only that, but a story beside.—A company of soldiers coming to a certain village, a fellow of the place calls out for two to be billeted on him. ‘What!’ says a neighbour, ‘you want a double share of what every one else tries to shirk altogether?’ ‘Yes,’ says he, ‘for the more nuisance they are while they stay, the more glad one is of their going.’ In illustration of which, and also of my master’s orders, I crave your Lordship’s hand, and your Ladyship’s foot, to kiss.

_Luis._ Welcome, good Leonelo. I was afraid I had overlooked you in receiving your master.

_Por._ And how does marriage agree with you, Leonelo?

_Leon._ One gentleman asked another to dine; but such an ill-ordered dinner that the capon was cold, and the wine hot. Finding which, the guest dips a leg of the capon into the wine. And when his host asks him what he’s about—‘Only making the wine heat the capon, and the capon cool the wine,’ says he. Now just this happened in my marriage. My wife was rather too young, and I rather too old; so, as it is hoped—

_Por._ Foolery, foolery, always!—tell me how Serafina is—

_Leon._ In a coach.

_Por._ What answer is that?

_Leon._ A very sufficient one—since a coach includes happiness, pride, and (a modern author says) respectability.

_Por._ How so?

_Leon._ Why, a certain lady died lately, and for some reason or other, they got leave to carry her to the grave in a coach. Directly they got her in,—the body, I mean,—it began to fidget—and when they called out to the coachman—‘Drive to St. Sepulchre’s!’—‘No!’ screams she,—‘I won’t go there yet. Drive to the Prado first; and when I have had a turn there, they may bury me where they please.’

_Luis._ How can you let your tongue run on so!

_Leon._ I’ll tell you. A certain man in Barcelona had five or six children: and he gave them each to eat—

(_Voices within._) ‘Way there! way!’

_Por._ They are coming.

_Leon._ And in so doing, take that story out of my mouth.

_Enter JULIA._

_Julia._ Signor, your guests are just alighting.

_Luis._ Come, Porcia—

_Leon._ (No, no, stop you and listen to me about those dear children.)

_Por._ They are coming upstairs—at the door—

_Enter DON JUAN leading SERAFINA, DON PEDRO and FLORA—all in travelling dress._

_Luis._ Your hand, fair Serafina, whose bright eyes Seem to have drawn his lustre from the sun, To fill my house withal;—a poor receptacle Of such a visitor.

_Por._ Nay, ’tis for me To blush for that, in quality of hostess; Yet, though you come to shame my house-keeping, Thrice welcome, Serafina.

_Serafina._ How answer both, Being too poor in compliment for either! I’ll not attempt it.

_Pedro._ I am vext, Don Luis, My son-in-law should put this burden on you.

_Luis._ Nay, vex not me by saying so.—What burden? The having such an honour as to be Your servant?—

_Leon._ Here’s a dish of compliments!

_Flora._ Better than you can feed your mistress with.

(_Guns heard without._)

_Juan._ What guns are those?

_Enter FABIO._

_Fabio._ The citadel, my lord, Makes signal of two galleys in full sail Coming to port.

_Luis._ More guests! the more the merrier!

_Ped._ The merrier for them, but scarce for you, Don Luis.

_Luis._ Nay, good fortune comes like bad, All of a heap. What think you, should it be, As I suspect it is, the Prince Orsino Returning; whom, in love and duty bound, I shall receive and welcome—

_Juan._ Once again, Don Luis, give me leave—

_Luis._ And once again, And once for all, I shall _not_ give you leave. Prithee, no more— All will be easily arranged. Porcia, You know your guest’s apartments—show her thither; I’ll soon be back with you.

_Ped._ Permit us, sir, To attend you to the port, and wait upon His Highness.

_Luis._ I dare not refuse that trouble, Seeing what honour in the prince’s eyes Your company will lend me.

_Leon._ And methinks I will go with you too.

_Juan._ What, for that purpose?

_Leon._ Yes—and because perhaps among the crowd I shall find some to whom I may relate That story of the children and their meat.

[_Exeunt DON LUIS, PEDRO, JUAN, LEONELO, FABIO, etc._

_Ser._ Porcia, are they gone?

_Por._ They are.

_Ser._ Then I may weep.

_Por._ Tears, Serafina!

_Ser._ Nay, they would not stay Longer unshed. I would not if I could Hide them from you, Porcia. Why should I, Who know too well the fount from which they flow?

_Por._ I only know you weep—no more than that.

_Ser._ Yet ’tis the seeing you again, again Unlocks them—is it that you do resent The discontinuance of our early love, And that you _will_ not understand me?

_Por._ Nay,— What can I say?

_Ser._ Let us be _quite_ alone.

_Por._ Julia, leave us.

_Ser._ Flora, go with her.

_Julia._ Come, shall we go up to the gallery, And see the ships come in?

_Flora._ Madam, so please you.

[_Exeunt FLORA and JULIA._

_Ser._ Well, are we _quite_ alone?

_Por._ Yes, quite.

_Ser._ All gone, And none to overhear us?

_Por._ None.

_Ser._ Porcia, You knew me once when I was happy!

_Por._ Yes, Or thought you so—

_Ser._ But now most miserable!

_Por._ How so, my Serafina?

_Ser._ You shall hear. Yes, my Porcia, you remember it,— That happy, happy time when you and I Were so united that, our hearts attuned To perfect unison, one might believe That but one soul within two bodies lodged. This you remember?

_Por._ Oh, how could I forget!

_Ser._ Think it not strange that so far back I trace The first beginnings of _another_ love, Whose last sigh having now to breathe, whose last Farewell to sigh, and whose deceased hopes In one last obsequy to commemorate, I tell it over to you point by point From first to last—by such full utterance My pent up soul perchance may find relief.

_Por._ Speak, Serafina.

_Ser._ You have not forgot Neither, how that close intimacy of ours Brought with it of necessity some courtesies Between me and your brother, Don Alvaro— Whose very name, oh wretched that I am! Makes memory, like a trodden viper, turn, And fix a fang in me not sharp enough To slay at once, but with a lingering death Infect my life—

_Por._ Nay, calm yourself.

_Ser._ We met, Porcia—and from those idle meetings love Sprang up between us both—for though ’tis true That at the first I laugh’d at his advances, And turn’d his boyish suit into disdain, Yet true it also is that in my heart There lurk’d a lingering feeling yet behind, Which if not wholly love, at least was liking, In the sweet twilight of whose unris’n sun My soul as yet walk’d hesitatingly. For, my Porcia, there is not a woman, Say what she will, and virtuous as you please, Who, being loved, resents it: and could he, Who most his mistress’s disfavour mourns, Look deeply down enough into her heart, He’d see, however high she carries it, Some grateful recognition lurking there Under the muffle of affected scorn. You know how I repell’d your brother’s suit: How ever when he wrote to me I tore His letters—would not listen when he spoke— And when, relying on my love for you, Through you he tried to whisper his for me, I quarrell’d with yourself—quarrell’d the more The more you spoke for him. He wept—I laugh’d; Knelt in my path—I turn’d another way; Though who had seen deep down into my heart, Had also seen love struggling hard with pride. Enough—at last one evening as I sat Beside a window looking on the sea, Wrapt in the gathering night he stole unseen Beside me. After whispering all those vows Of love which lovers use, and I pass by, He press’d me to be his. Touch’d by the hour, The mask of scorn fell from my heart, and Love Reveal’d himself, and from that very time Grew unconceal’d between us—yet, Porcia, Upon mine honour, (for I tell thee _all_,) Always in honour bounded. At that time In an ill hour my father plann’d a marriage Between me and Don Juan—yours, you know, Came here to Naples, whence he sent your brother, I know not on what business, into Spain; And we agreed, I mean Alvaro and I, Rather than vex two fathers at one time By any declaration of our vows, ’Twere best to keep them secret—at the least, Till his return from Spain. Ah, Porcia, When yet did love not thrive by secrecy? We parted—he relying on my promise, I on his quick return. Oh, mad are those Who, knowing that a storm is up, will yet Put out to sea, Alvaro went—my father Urged on this marriage with my cousin. Oh!—

_Por._ You are ill, Serafina!

_Ser._ Nothing—nothing— I reason’d—wept—implored—excused—delay’d— In vain—O mercy, Heaven!

_Por._ Tell me no more: It is too much for you.

_Ser._ Then suddenly We heard that he was dead—your brother—drown’d— They married me—and now perhaps he lives They say—Porcia, can it be?—I know not Whether to hope or dread if that be true:— And every wind that blows your father hope Makes my blood cold; I know that I shall meet him, Here or upon the seas—dead or alive— Methinks I see him now!—Help! help!

[_Swoons._

_Por._ Serafina!— She has fainted!—Julia! Flora!—

_Enter ALVARO._

_Alvaro._ My Porcia!

_Por._ Alvaro! (_They embrace._)

_Alv._ I have outrun the shower of compliment On my escapes—which you shall hear anon— To catch you to my heart.

_Por._ Oh joy and terror! Look there!—

_Alv._ Serafina! And sleeping too!

_Por._ Oh, swooning! see to her Till I get help.

[_Exit._

_Ser._ (_in her swoon_). Mercy, mercy! Alvaro, slay me not!—I am not guilty!— Indeed I am not!—

_Alv._ She dreams—and dreams of me—but very strangely— Serafina!—

_Ser._ (_waking_). Dead!—or return’d alive to curse and slay me!— But I am innocent!—I could not help— They told me you were dead—and are you not?— And I must marry him—

_Alv._ Must marry?—whom?— Why, you are dreaming still— Awake!—’tis your Alvaro— (_Offers to embrace her._)

_Ser._ No, no, no— I dare not—

_Alv._ Dare not!

_Enter PORCIA, FLORA, JULIA._

_Por._ Quick, quick!

_Flora._ My lady!

_Julia._ My lord alive again!

_Alv._ Porcia, come hither—I am not alive, Till I have heard the truth—nay, if ’t be true That she has hinted and my heart forebodes, I shall be worse than dead—

[_Retires with PORCIA to back of Stage._

_Enter JUAN and PEDRO._

_Juan._ What is the matter?— My Serafina!

_Pedro._ We have hurried back, Told of your sudden seizure—What is it?

_Ser._ The very heart within me turn’d to ice.

_Juan._ But you are better now?—

_Ser._ Yes—better—pray, Be not uneasy for me.

_Alv._ (_to PORCIA in the rear_). This is true then!

_Por._ Nay, nay, be not so desperate, Alvaro, Hearing but half the story—no fault of hers— I’ll tell you all anon. Come, Serafina, I’ll see you to your chamber.

_Pedro._ She will be better soon—

_Juan._ Lean upon me, my love—so—so.

_Alv._ Oh, fury!

_Ser._ Oh, would to heaven these steps should be my last, Leading not to my chamber, but my grave!

_Por._ (_to ALVARO_). Wait here—compose yourself—I shall be back Directly.

[_Exeunt PORCIA, SERAFINA, and JUAN._

_Alv._ She is married—broke her troth— And I escape from death and slavery To find her—but the prince!—Oh weariness!

_Enter the PRINCE ORSINO, CELIO, DON LUIS, and Train._

_Prince._ Each day, Don Luis, I become your debtor For some new courtesy.

_Luis._ My lord, ’tis I Who by such small instalments of my duty Strive to pay back in part the many favours You shower upon your servant. And this last, Of bringing back Alvaro to my arms, Not all my life, nor life itself, could pay.

_Prince._ Small thanks to me, Don Luis; but indeed The strangest chance—two chances—two escapes— First from the sinking ship upon a spar, Then from the Algerine who pick’d him up, Carried him captive off— He first adroitly through their fingers slipping That little harbinger of hope to you, And then, at last, himself escaping back To Barcelona, where you know I was— If glad to welcome, house, and entertain Any distrest Italian, how much more, Both for his own sake and for yours, your son, So making him, I trust, a friend for life.

_Alv._ Rather a humble follower, my lord.

_Luis._ I have no words to thank you—we shall hear The whole tale from Alvaro by and by— To make us merry—once so sad to him. Meanwhile, Alvaro, thou hast seen thy sister?

_Alv._ Yes, sir—

_Luis._ Oh what a joy ’tis to see thee!

_Prince._ A day of general joy.

_Alv._ (_aside_). Indeed!—

_Prince._ Especially To her, Alvaro—

_Alv._ Sir?

_Prince._ I mean your sister.

_Alv._ Yes, my lord—no—I am not sure, my lord— A friend of hers is suddenly so ill, My sister is uneasy—

_Luis._ Serafina! Indeed!—I know your Highness will forgive My seeing to her straight.

[_Exit._

_Alv._ And I, my lord, Would fain see some old faces once again As soon as may be.

_Prince._ Nay, no more excuse— Follow your pleasure.

_Alv._ (_aside_). ’Tis no friend I seek, But my one deadliest enemy—myself.

[_Exit._

_Prince._ Celio, I think we have well nigh exhausted The world of compliment, and wasted it: For I begin to doubt that word and deed Are wasted all in vain.

_Celio._ How so, my lord?

_Prince._ Why, if I never am to see Porcia, Whom I have come so far and fast to see—

_Cel._ _Never_, my lord! her father’s guest is ill, And she for a few minutes—

_Prince._ _Minutes_, Celio! Knowest thou not minutes are years to lovers?

_Cel._ I know that lovers are strange animals.

_Prince._ Ah, you have never loved.

_Cel._ No, good my lord, I’m but a looker-on; or in the market Just give and take the current coin of love— Love her that loves me; and, if she forget, Forget her too.

_Prince._ Ah, then I cannot wonder You wonder so at my impatience; For he that cannot love, can be no judge Of him that does.

_Cel._ How so?

_Prince._ I’ll tell thee, Celio. He who far off beholds another dancing, Even one who dances best, and all the time Hears not the music that he dances to, Thinks him a madman, apprehending not The law that rules his else eccentric action. So he that’s in himself insensible Of love’s sweet influence, misjudges him Who moves according to love’s melody: And knowing not that all these sighs and tears, Ejaculations, and impatiences, Are necessary changes of a measure, Which the divine musician plays, may call The lover crazy; which he would not do Did he within his own heart hear the tune Play’d by the great musician of the world.

_Cel._ Well, I might answer, that, far off or near, Hearing or not the melody you tell of, The man is mad who dances to it. But Here is your music.

_Enter PORCIA._

_Porcia._ I left my brother here but now.

_Prince._ But now, Sweet Porcia, you see he is not here— By that so seeming earnest search for him Scarce recognising me, if you would hint At any seeming slight of mine toward you, I plead not guilty—

_Por._ You mistake, my lord— Did I believe my recognition Of any moment to your Excellency, I might perhaps evince it in complaint, But not in slight.

_Prince._ Complaint!—

_Por._ Yes, sir—complaint.

_Prince._ Complaint of what? I knowing, Porcia, And you too knowing well, the constant love That I have borne you since the happy day When first we met in Naples—

_Por._ No, my lord— You mean my love to you, not yours to me— Unwearied through your long forgetful absence.

_Prince._ How easily, Porcia, would my love Prove to you its unchanged integrity, Were it not that our friends—

_Por._ Your friends indeed, Who stop a lame apology at the outset.

_Enter SERAFINA._

_Serafina._ I cannot rest, Porcia, and am come To seek it in your arms—but who is this?

_Por._ The Prince Orsino.

_Ser._ Pardon me, my lord— I knew you not—coming so hurriedly, And in much perturbation.

_Prince._ Nay, lady, I owe you thanks for an embarrassment Which hides my own.

_Ser._ Let it excuse beside What other courtesies I owe your Highness, But scarce have words to pay. Heaven guard your Highness— Suffer me to retire.

[_Exit._

_Por._ I needs must after her, my lord. But tell me, When shall I hear your vindication?— To-night?

_Prince._ Ay, my Porcia, if you will.

_Por._ Till night farewell, then.

[_Exit._

_Prince._ Farewell.—Celio, Didst ever see so fair an apparition, As her who came and went so suddenly?

_Cel._ Indeed, so sweetly manner’d when surprised, She must be exquisite in her composure.

_Prince._ Who is she?

_Cel._ Nay, my lord, just come with you, I know as little— What! a new tune to dance to?—

_Prince._ In good time, Here comes Alvaro.

_Enter ALVARO._

_Alvaro._ How restless is the sickness of the soul! I scarce had got me from this fatal place, And back again—

_Prince._ Alvaro!

_Alv._ My lord—

_Prince._ Who is the lady that was here anon?

_Alv._ Lady, my lord—what lady?—

_Prince._ She that went A moment hence—I mean your sister’s guest.

_Alv._ (This drop was wanting!) My lord, the daughter of a nobleman Of very ancient blood— Don Pedro Castellano.

_Prince._ And her name?

_Alv._ Serafina.

_Prince._ And a most seraphic lady!

_Alv._ You never saw her, sir, before?

_Prince._ No, surely.

_Alv._ (_aside_). Would I had never done so!

_Prince._ And in the hasty glimpse I had, I guess her mistress of as fair a mind As face.

_Alv._ Yes, sir—

_Prince._ She lives in Naples, eh?

_Alv._ No—on her way To Spain, I think—

_Prince._ Indeed!—To Spain. Why that?

_Alv._ (How much more will he ask?) My lord, her husband—

_Prince._ She is married then?—

_Alv._ Torture!

_Prince._ And who so blest to call her his, Alvaro?

_Alv._ Sir, Don Juan Roca, her cousin.

_Prince._ Roca? Don Juan Roca? Do I know him?

_Alv._ I think you must; he came, sir, with my father To wait upon your Grace.

_Prince._ Don Juan Roca! No; I do not remember him—should not Know him again.

_Enter DON LUIS._

_Luis._ My lord, if my old love And service for your Highness may deserve A favour at your hands—

_Prince._ They only wait Until your tongue has named it.

_Luis._ This it is then— The captain of the galleys, good my lord, In which your Highness came, Tells me that, having landed you, he lies Under strict orders to return again Within an hour.

_Prince._ ’Tis true.

_Luis._ Now, good my lord, The ships, when they go back, must carry with them Some friends who, long time look’d for, just are come, And whom I fain—

_Prince._ Nay, utter not a wish I know I must unwillingly deny.

_Alvaro._ Confusion on confusion!

_Prince._ I have pledg’d My word to Don Garcia of Toledo, The galleys should not pass an hour at Naples. I feel for you,—and for myself, alas! So sweet a freight they carry with them. But I dare not—and what folly to adore A Beauty lost to me before I found it!

[_Exeunt PRINCE and CELIO._

_Luis._ And those I so had long’d for, to avenge Their long estrangement by as long a welcome, Snatcht from me almost ere we’d shaken hands!— Is not this ill, Alvaro?

_Alv._ Ill indeed.

_Luis._ And, as they needs must go, my hospitality, Foil’d in its spring, must turn to wound myself By speeding their departure. (_Going._)

_Alv._ Sir, a moment. Although his Highness would not, or could not, Grant you the boon your services deserved, Let not that, I beseech you, indispose you From granting one to me.

_Luis._ What is ’t, Alvaro? ’Twere strange could I refuse you anything.

_Alv._ You sent me, sir, on state affairs to Spain, But being wreckt and captured, as you know, All went undone. Another opportunity now offers; The ships are ready, let me go and do That which perforce I left undone before.

_Luis._ What else could’st thou have askt, In all the category of my means, Which I, methinks, had grudged thee! No, Alvaro, The treacherous sea must not again be trusted With the dear promise of my only son.

_Alv._ Nay, for that very reason, I entreat you To let me go, sir. Let it not be thought The blood that I inherited of you Quail’d at a common danger.

_Luis._ I admire Your resolution, but you must not go, At least not now. Beside, the business you were sent upon Is done by other hands, or let go by For ever.

_Alv._ Nay, sir—

_Luis._ Nay, Alvaro.

[_Exit._

_Alv._ He is resolved. And Serafina, To whose divinity I offer’d up My heart of hearts, a purer sacrifice Than ever yet on pagan altar blazed, Has play’d me false, is married to another, And now will fly away on winds and seas, As fleeting as herself. Then what remains but that I die? My death The necessary shadow of that marriage! Comfort!—what boots it looking after that Which never can be found? The worst is come, Which ’twere a blind and childish waste of hope To front with any visage but despair. Ev’n that one single solace, were there one, Of ringing my despair into her ears, Fails me. Time presses; the accursed breeze Blows foully fair. The vessel flaps her sails That is to bear her from me. Look, she comes— And from before her dawning beauty all I had to say fades from my swimming brain, And chokes upon my tongue.

_Enter SERAFINA, drest as at first, and PORCIA._

_Porcia._ And must we part so quickly?—

_Serafina._ When does happiness Last longer?

_Alv._ Never!—who best can answer that? I standing by, why ask it of another? At least when speaking of such happiness As, perjured woman, thy false presence brings!

_Ser._ Alvaro, for Heaven’s sake spare me the pang Of these unjust reproaches.

_Alv._ What! unjust!

_Ser._ Why, is it not unjust, condemning one Without defence?

_Alv._ Without defence indeed!

_Ser._ Not that I have not a most just defence, But that you will not listen.

_Alv._ Serafina, I listen’d; but what wholly satisfies The criminal may ill suffice the judge; And in love’s court especially, a word Has quite a different meaning to the soul Of speaker and of hearer. Yet once more, Speak.

_Ser._ To what purpose? I can but repeat What I have told your sister, and she you,— What on the sudden waking from my swoon, I, who had thought you dead so long, Alvaro, Spoke in my terror, suddenly seeing you Alive, before me.

_Alv._ I were better, then, Dead than alive?

_Ser._ I know not—were you dead I might in honour weep for you, Alvaro; Living, I must not.

_Alv._ Nay then, whether you Forswear me living or lament me dead, Now you must hear me; if you strike the wound, Is it not just that you should hear the cry?

_Ser._ I must not.

_Alv._ But I say you must.

_Ser._ Porcia, Will you not help me when my life and honour Are thus at stake?

_Alv._ Porcia’s duty lies In keeping watch that no one interrupt us.

_Porcia._ Between the two confused, I yield at last To him, both as my brother, Serafina, And for his love to you. Compose yourself; I shall be close at hand, no harm can happen. And let him weep at least who has lost all.

[_Exit._

_Ser._ If I am forced to hear you then, Alvaro, You shall hear me too, once more, once for all, Freely confessing that I loved you once; Ay, long and truly loved you. When all hope Of being yours with your reported death Had died, then, yielding to my father’s wish, I wed another, and am—what I am. So help me Heaven, Alvaro, this is all!

_Alv._ How can I answer if you weep?

_Ser._ No, no, I do not weep, or, if I do, ’tis but My eyes,—no more, no deeper.

_Alv._ Is ’t possible you can so readily Turn warm compassion into cold disdain! And are your better pulses so controll’d By a cold heart, that, to enhance the triumph Over the wretched victim of your eyes, You make the fount of tears to stop or flow Just as you please? If so, teach me the trick, As the last courtesy you will vouchsafe me.

_Ser._ Alvaro, when I think of what I was, My tears will forth; but when of what I am, My honour bids them cease.

_Alv._ You _do_ feel then—

_Ser._ Nay, I’ll deny it not.

_Alv._ That, being another’s—

_Ser._ Nay, no argument—

_Alv._ These tears—

_Ser._ What tears?

_Alv._ Are the relenting rain On which the Iris of my hope may ride; Or a sweet dew—

_Ser._ Alvaro—

_Alv._ That foretells That better day when in these arms again—

_Ser._ Those arms! Alvaro, when that day shall come May heaven’s thunder strike me dead at once!

(_Cannon within._)

Mercy, what’s that?

_Enter PORCIA._

_Porcia._ A signal from the ship, ’Tis time: your father and Don Juan now Are coming for you.

_Alv._ O heavens!

_Por._ Compose yourself, And you, Alvaro—— (_Motions him back._)

_Enter DON JUAN, LUIS, PEDRO, LEONELO, etc._

_Luis._ Lady, believe how sadly I am come To do you this last office.

_Juan._ Trembling still?— But come, perhaps the sea-breeze, in requital Of bearing us away from those we love, May yet revive you.

_Luis._ Well, if it must be so, Lady, your hand. Porcia, come with us.

[_Exeunt all but ALVARO._