SCENE I.—_A Public Square in Parma. Night.

_Enter PRINCE, CESAR, FELIX, ARIAS, and LAZARO, disguised._

_Ar._ A lovely night!

_Prince._ As Night we choose to call, When Day’s whole sun is but distributed Into ten thousand stars.

_Fel._ Beside the moon, Who lightly muffled like ourselves reveals Her trembling silver.

_Laz._ What! by way, you mean, Of making up the account?

_Ces._ (_aside_). To think, alas! The first sweet vintage of my love thus lost, And, as my lady must too surely think, By my forgetfulness. (_Aloud._) My lord, indeed The night wears on. May not the chiller air That blows from the returning tide of day Affect you?

_Prince._ Nay, my state forbidding me Much to be seen about the streets by day, The night must serve my purpose.

_Ces._ (_aside_). Patience then! And I must try and draw my thoughts from her I cannot reach. (_Aloud._) How does the lady Flora Please you, my lord?

_Prince._ The lady Flora? Oh, What she of Milan? Too far off, I think, For one’s regards to reach.

_Laz._ Ah true, my lord; What is the use of a mistress in the moon, Unless one were the man there?

_Ar._ Signora Laura Has a fair figure.

_Laz._ Yes, and asks a high one.

_Felix._ A handsome hand.

_Laz._ At scolding, yes.

_Ar._ I think She lives close by.

_Laz._ But don’t you bid for her Without fair trial first, my lord. Your women Are like new plays, which self-complacent authors Offer at some eight hundred royals each, But which, when once they’re tried, you purchase dear Eight hundred for a royal.

_Ces._ (_aside_). Now, methinks, Ev’n now my lady at the lattice stands Looking for me in vain, and murmuring ‘Why comes he not? I doubted I was late, But he comes not at all!’ And then—Ah me, I have forgotten to forget!— (_Aloud_) Celia sings well, my lord?

_Laz._ A pretty woman Can no more sing amiss than a good horse Be a bad colour.

_Ces._ The old Roman law To all the ugly women used to assign The fortunes of the handsome, thinking those Sufficiently endow’d with their good looks.

_Laz._ Ah! and there Laura lives, the lass who said She’d sell her house and buy a coach withal; And when they ask’d her, where she’d live, quoth she, ‘Why _in_ my coach!’ ‘But when night comes,’ say they, ‘Where then?’—‘Why in the coach-house to be sure!’[2]

_Ces._ Indeed, indeed, my lord, the night wears on, And sure your sister lies awake foreboding Some danger to your person. Consider her anxiety!

_Prince_ (_aside_). Nay, _yours_ Lies nearer to my heart.

_Ces._ My lord?

_Prince._ I said No matter for my sister, that was all; She knows not I’m abroad.

_Ces._ My hope is gone!

_Laz._ There, yonder in that little house, there lives A girl with whom it were impossible To deal straightforwardly.

_Prince._ But why?

_Laz._ She’s crooked.

_Ar._ And there a pretty girl enough, but guarded By an old dragon aunt.

_Laz._ O Lord, defend me From all old women!

_Prince._ How so, Lazaro?

_Laz._ Oh, ever since the day I had to rue The conjurer’s old woman.

_Prince._ Who was she?

_Laz._ Why, my lord, once upon a time I fell in love with one who would not have me Either for love or money: so at last I go to a certain witch—tell him my story: Whereon he bids me do this; cut a lock From my love’s head and bring it to him. Well, I watch’d my opportunity, and one day, When she was fast asleep, adroitly lopp’d A lovely forelock from what seem’d her hair, But was an hair-loom rather from her wig Descended from a head that once was young As I thought her. For, giving it the witch, To work his charm with, in the dead of night, When I was waiting for my love to come, Into my bed-room the dead woman stalk’d To whom the lock of hair had once belong’d, And claim’d me for her own. O Lord, how soon ‘Sweetheart’ and ‘Deary’ chang’d to ‘Apage!’ And flesh and blood to ice.

_Ces._ (_aside_). Alas! what boots it trying to forget That which the very effort makes remember? Ev’n now, ev’n now, methinks once more I see her Turn to the window, not expecting me, But to abjure all expectation, And, as she moves away, saying, (methinks I hear her,) ‘Cesar, come when come you may, You shall not find me here.’ ‘Nay, but my love, Anna! my lady! hear me!’ Oh confusion, Did they observe?

_Prince_ (_aside to ARIAS_). How ill, Don Arias, Poor Cesar hides his heart—

_Ar._ Ev’n now he tries The mask again.

_Prince._ Indeed I pity him, Losing one golden opportunity; But may not I be pitied too, who never Shall have so much as one to lose?

_Ar._ Speak low; You know her brother’s by.

_Prince._ No matter; true Nobility is slowest to suspect.

_Musician_ (_sings within_).

Ah happy bird, who can fly with the wind, Leaving all anguish of absence behind; Like thee could I fly, Leaving others to sigh, The lover I sigh for how soon would I find![3]

_Ces._ Not an ill voice!

_Fel._ Nay, very good.

_Prince._ How sweetly Sweet words, sweet air, sweet voice, atone together! Arias, might we not on this sweet singer Try Lazaro’s metal and mettle? you shall see. Lazaro!

_Laz._ My lord!

_Prince._ I never go abroad But this musician dogs me.

_Laz._ Shall I tell him Upon your Highness’s request, politely, To move away?

_Prince._ I doubt me, Lazaro, He will not go for that, he’s obstinate.

_Laz._ How then, my lord?

_Prince._ Go up and strike him with your sword.

_Laz._ But were it brave in me, back’d as I am, To draw my sword on one poor piping bird? If I must do it, let me challenge him Alone to-morrow. But let me warn him first.

_Prince._ Do as I bid you, Or I shall call you coward.

_Ces._ Lazaro, Obey his Highness.

_Laz._ O good providence, Temper the wind to a shorn lamb!

_Musician_ (_within_).

Ah happy bird, whom the wind and the rain, And snare of the fowler, beset but in vain; Oh, had I thy wing, Leaving others to sing, How soon would I be with my lover again!

_Laz._ (_aloud within_). Pray God, poor man, if thou be innocent Of any ill intention in thy chirping, The blade I draw upon thee turn to wood! A miracle! A miracle! (_Rushing in._)

_Prince._ How now?

_Laz._ The sword I lifted on an innocent man, Has turn’d to wood at his assailant’s prayer! Take it, my lord, lay ’t in your armoury Among the chiefest relics of our time. I freely give it you, upon condition You give me any plain but solid weapon To wear instead.

_Prince._ You are well out of it. It shall be so.

_Ces._ My lord, indeed the dawn Is almost breaking.

_Prince._ Let it find us here. But, my dear Cesar, tell me, are you the better For this diversion?

_Ces._ Oh, far cheerfuller. Though with some little effort.

_Prince._ And I too. So love is like all other evils known; With others’ sorrow we beguile our own.

[_Exeunt._