SCENE III.—_A Corridor in the Palace.

_Enter PRINCE, DON FELIX, DONNA ANNA, and train._

_Prince._ I must show you the way.

_Anna._ Your Highness must not do yourself so great indignity.

_Prince._ To the bounds at least of my sister’s territory.

_Anna._ Nay, my lord, that were undue courtesy.

_Prince._ What courtesy, madam, can be undue from any man to any lady?

_Anna._ When that lady is your subject, whom your very condescension dazzles to her own discomfiture.

_Prince._ What, as the morning star dazzles the sun whom he precedes as petty harbinger? If I obey you ’tis that I fear my own extinction in your rays. Adieu.

_Anna._ God keep your Highness.

[_Exit._

_Prince._ Don Felix, will you attend your sister?

_Felix._ I only stay to thank your Highness, (both as subject and as servant,) for all the honour that you do us; may Heaven so prolong your life that even oblivion herself—

_Prince._ Nay, truce to compliment: your sister will not of my company, unless under your proxy. So farewell. (_Exit FELIX._) Is there a greater nuisance than to have such windy nonsense stuff’d into one’s ears, when delight is vanished from the eyes!

_Enter ARIAS._

But, Don Arias! You have seen Cesar?

_Ar._ Yes, my lord; but ere I tell you about him, would know how far this last interview with Donna Anna has advanced your love.

_Prince._ Oh Arias, Arias, my love for her So blends with my solicitude for him, I scarce can hold me clear between the two. Yet let me tell you. In my sister’s room, Whither I went, you know, upon our parting, I saw my lady like a sovereign rose Among the common flowers; or, if you will, A star among the roses; or the star Of stars, the morning star: yea, say at once The sun himself among the host of heaven! My eyes and ears were rapt with her; her lips Not fairer than the words that came from them. At length she rose to go: like the ev’ning star Went with the ev’ning; which, how short, say love Who’d spin each golden moment to a year, Which year would then seem than a moment less.

_Ar._ Is then, my lord, this passion so deep fixt?

_Prince._ Nay, but of one day’s growth—

_Ar._ I come in time then. My lord, in one word, if you love Don Cesar, Cease to love Donna Anna.

_Prince._ Arias, He who begins to hint at any danger Is bound to tell it out—nothing, or all. Why do you hesitate?

_Ar._ Because, my lord, But hinting this to you, I break the seal Of secrecy to him.

_Prince._ But it is broken; And so—

_Ar._ Oh, Cesar, pardon him who fails His pledge to you to serve his Prince! My lord, The cloud you long have seen on Cesar’s brow, Is not, as he would have you think it, born Of bookish studies only, but a cloud, All bright within, though dark to all without, Of love for one he has for two long years Silently worshipt.

_Prince._ Donna Anna!

_Ar._ Ay.

_Prince._ Cesar loves Donna Anna! be it so— I love him, as you say, and would forgo Much for his sake. But tell me, Arias, Knows Anna of his passion?

_Ar._ Yes, my lord, And answers it with hers.

_Prince._ Oh wretched fate! Desperate ere jealous—jealous ere in love! If Cesar but loved her, I could, methinks, Have pardon’d, even have advanced his suit By yielding up my own. But that _she_ loves, Blows rivalry into full blaze again. And yet I will not be so poor a thing To whine for what is now beyond my reach, Nor must the princely blood of Parma Run jealous of a subject’s happiness. They love each other then?

_Ar._ I even now Have seen a letter—

_Prince._ Well?

_Ar._ That Donna Anna Has written him, and in such honey’d words—

_Prince._ Why, is it not enough to know she loves him? You told me so: my mind made up to that, Why should a foolish letter fright it back? And yet—yet, what last spark of mortal love But must flame up before it dies for ever To learn but what that foolish letter said! Know you?

_Ar._ I saw it.

_Prince._ You saw it! and what said it?

_Ar._ After a chaste confession of her love, Bidding him be to-night under her lattice.

_Prince._ Under her lattice, while his Prince is left Abroad; they two to whisper love together, While he gnaws hopeless jealousy alone. But why, forsooth, am I to be the victim? If I can quench my love for Cesar’s sake, Why not he his for me? Tell me, Don Arias, Does Cesar know my passion?

_Ar._ How should he, You having told the secret but to me?

_Prince._ By the same means that I know his.

_Ar._ My lord, My loyalty might be spared that taunt.

_Prince._ Ah, Arias, pardon me, I am put out, But not with you, into whose faithful charge I vest my love and honour confidently. Enough, in what I am about to do I mean no malice or ill play to Cesar: ’Tis but an idle curiosity: And surely ’tis but fair, that if his Prince Leave him the lists to triumph in at leisure, I may at least look on the game he wins. You shall keep close to him, and tell me all That passes between him and her I love.

_Ar._ But having taunted me with my first step In your behalf, my lord—

_Prince._ Nay, sir, my will At once absolves and authorizes you, For what is told and what remains to tell.

_Ar._ But, sir—

_Prince._ No more—

_Ar._ I must obey your bidding, But yet—

_Prince._ I may divert my jealousy, If not avenge it.

_Ar._ Ah! what straits do those Who cannot keep their counsel fall into!

_Prince._ All say so, and all blab, like me and you! Look where he comes; let us retire awhile.

[_PRINCE and ARIAS retire._

_Enter CESAR and LAZARO._

_Ces._ O Phœbus, swift across the skies Thy blazing carriage post away; Oh, drag with thee benighted day, And let the dawning night arise! Another sun shall mount the throne When thou art sunk beneath the sea; From whose effulgence, as thine own, The affrighted host of stars shall flee.

_Laz._ A pretty deal about your cares Does that same Phœbus care or know; He has to mind his own affairs, Whether you shake your head or no. You talk of hastening on the day? Why heaven’s coachman is the Sun, Who can’t be put out of his way For you, sir, or for any one.

_Ces._ The Prince! and something in my bosom tells me All is not well. My lord, though my repentance Does not, I trust, lag far behind my fault, I scarce had dared to approach your Highness’ feet, Had not my friend, Don Arias, been before As harbinger of my apology.

_Prince._ Cesar, indeed Don Arias has told me The story of your sadness: and so well, I feel it, and excuse it, as my own; From like experience. I do not resent, But would divert you from it. Books, my friend, Truly are so seductive company, We are apt to sit too long and late with them, And drowse our minds in their society; This must not be; the cause of the disease Once known, the cure is easy; if ’tis books Have hurt you, lay them by awhile, and try Other society—less learn’d perhaps, But cheerfuller—exchange the pent-up air Of a close study for the breathing world. Come, we’ll begin to-night; Visit in disguise (as I have wish’d to do) The city, its taverns, theatres, and streets, Where music, masque, and dancing may divert Your melancholy: what say you to this?

_Ces._ Oh, my kind lord, whose single word of pardon Has turn’d all leaden grief to golden joy, Made me another man, or, if you will, The better self I was—

_Prince._ Why this is well; To-night together then—

_Ces._ Yet pardon me.

_Prince._ How now?

_Ces._ It almost would revive my pain That you should spend yourself upon a cure Your mere forgiveness has already wrought. Let this day’s happiness suffice the day, And its night also: ’twill be doubly sweet, Unbought by your annoyance.

_Prince._ Nay, my Cesar, Fear not for that: after so long estrangement, My pain would be the losing sight of you On this first night of your recovery. Lazaro!

_Laz._ My lord?

_Prince._ You too shall go with us.

_Laz._ And not a trustier shall your Highness find To guard your steps.

_Prince._ What! you are valiant?

_Laz._ As ever girded sword.

_Prince._ Your weapon good too?

_Laz._ He touches on the quick (_aside_). Yes, good enough, My lord, for all my poor occasions. Although when waiting on your Grace, indeed, A sword like yours were better.

_Prince._ You depreciate Your own to enhance its value. Sharp is ’t?

_Laz._ Ay, Not a steel buckler but at the first blow ’Twould splinter it in two. The sword I mean. (_Aside._)

_Prince._ Well temper’d?

_Laz._ As you bid it.

_Prince._ And the device Inscribed upon it?

_Laz._ ‘Thou shalt do no murder’— Having no love for homicide, _per se_, Save on occasion.

_Prince._ Your description Makes me desire to see that sword.

_Laz._ My lord!

_Prince._ Indeed it does. Show it me.

_Laz._ Oh, my lord, I have a vow.

_Ces._ (_aside_). Oh weariness!

_Prince._ A vow?

_Laz._ Ay, register’d in heaven! Never to draw this weapon from her sheath Except on mortal quarrel. If in such Your Highness’ service challenge her, why, then She shall declare herself.

_Ces._ I’m desperate! But yet one effort more. My lord, you see (You cannot fail) how your mere word of grace Has of itself brighten’d me up again; I do beseech you—

_Prince._ Pardon me, my Cesar, Rather I see the cloud that ’gins to break Is not entirely gone; nay, will return If you be left alone—which must not be; If not for your sake, Cesar, yet for mine, Who feel for your disquiet as my own; And since our hearts are knit so close together, Yours cannot suffer but mine straightway feels A common pain; seek we a common cure. To-night I shall expect you. Until then, Farewell.

[_Exit._

_Ces._ Fortune! to see a fair occasion So patiently pursued, so fairly won, Lost at the very moment of success! O Lazaro—what will my lady say?

_Laz._ That I can’t guess.

_Ces._ What will she do?

_Laz._ Oh that Is answer’d far more easily. She’ll stand All night beside the window to no purpose.

_Ces._ Why she must say my love was all pretence, And her offended dignity vindicate, Rejecting me for ever! Misery!

_Laz._ Dear me, sir, what is now become of all About, ‘Thou dawning night, benighted day.’ ‘Thou coachman sun!’ etceteretera?

_Ces._ Wilt thou be ever fool?

_Laz._ If thou be not, Listen—fool’s bolts, they say, are quickly shot— Who secrets have and cannot hold ’em, Shall surely rue the day they told ’em.

[_Exeunt._