SCENE II.--An Eminence in a Wood.

Enter Felice, Bruno and Torello.

Torello. May this sorceress be approached safely? Felice. O, she'll not bite. Bruno. She'll only give you a bit of her mind. Torello. I may chance to give her a bit of mine if she be not civil. Bruno. A bit is good for a jade. Torello. By Jupiter, she'd best play me no jade's tricks. Shall we on? Felice. Yes; over this knoll.

Enter Rupert. He does not observe the others.

Rupert. I see thee, moon, in thy high heavenly garden; Thou walkest like a maid among her flowers. But thou art not more beautiful, I ween, Than she who gave herself to me to-night Within an earthly garden.--Perhaps she sleeps. O elves unseen, and far away from me, Who dance upon the shore; and fairies, who Enamel green hill-tops with little rings Where merry balls are held; and all ye sylphs Inhabiting dark shades and rustling bowers; Ye naiads who make silver streams your haunts, And ye aerial ones who chant high songs Against the twinkling of the lyric stars: From distant vales and hills of Greece o'erskip The intervening countries at a bound Ye ancient deities--if ye be dead, Let your ghosts rise from flowery sepulchres, Or coral tombs beneath the blue Aegean: Ye little dwarfs and legendary people In forest black, or by the oft-sung Rhine, Or in the moonless caves of furthest Thule, Desert your homes to-night: and all together, Quaint, lovely, beauteous, delicate, and droll, Troop to my lady's chamber: be her dream. [Goes out. Torello. Dragons and scorpions, hippogriffs and asps, Hobgoblins, and the ghosts of murderers, And fiery devils in a fierce nightmare Confound this fellow's folly! Felice. Are you mad? Torello. Tell not me! Eulalie loves him. It was her he spoke of. Felice. Are you mad? What he and she? [To Bruno.] Follow this foolery with me. We'll persuade him he has not seen Rupert.--What trance were you in for a minute's space, and, being roused, why do you tear your beard? What vision have you seen? Torello. Would you befool me? I'll after, and defy him. Felice. Defy whom? Torello. The prince. Felice. Of the powers of the air? Torello. Prince Rupert. Felice. Ha! be careful what you do. But he is within doors just now. Torello. Within doors! I hear his tread. Felice. What! Is he coming hither? Torello. No; he is going hence. Felice. Let me understand you. Torello. Understand that I am not deaf; and, having heard Rupert, leaning against that tree, talk like a happy lover, I perceive at once that he must have been accepted by Eulalie: therefore I will challenge him. Felice. Love has turned his brain. Did you see Rupert, Bruno? Bruno. Not since he left us. Felice. Nor I. Torello. Did you not see him put his shoulder against that tree, fold his arms, gaze at the moon, and talk; then with a skip and a hop caper away as merrily as a schoolboy from school? Felice. By Luna's horns, but this is wonderful! It cannot be--yet have you not a powerful imagination? Torello. I scarce know; I think so: I am strong. Felice. So strong you do not know your own strength? Torello. I have never found its match. Felice. That explains this rhapsody, then. Your imagination has been slumbering. Love comes and rouses it, and, like all newly awakened gifts, it attempts great things. Being in keeping with your other qualities, of immeasurable strength, it creates a concretion: you have here, without doubt, suddenly and potently summoned up this apparition of Rupert, its spoken nonsense and ridiculous gait. It must be so. Sir, your imagination is godlike. Bruno. Torello, my imagination cannot form a metaphor to express the admiration, the reverence, your genius inspires in me. Many a poetical dreamer would thank God on his knees for a tithe of your gift. Torello. Did you not see the prince? Felice. With that solemn face! Ha, ha! You carry the jest; but you cannot create a vision for our eyes. Bruno. Come; deride us no longer. Confess you have befooled us. Torello. We are all befooled, I think. This sorceress is charming us. Felice. Love, I say, stirred your imagination to plant this jealous fancy against that ash, and gave it language chiming with your fear, and hath almost persuaded you of its reality. To the witch, and be satisfied. Torello. Ay, let us to the witch. She may have sent this vision to spur me on. What shall I say to her?--I would swear I saw Rupert. Felice. We'll teach you what to say as we go. [They go out.