ACT I.--SCENE I.
_A Room in the Duke's Palace at Mantua._
_Enter the DUKE and RIDOLFI._
RIDOLFI. Hermione again visits my house.-- Your presence, good my lord, with your fair dame, I would solicit.
DUKE. Well, Ridolfi, be it so:--to-day, If nought forbid the time:--Hermione, Thou say'st?--I do remember, yet so slight, 'tis scarce The shadow of her form. But once, my brother, 'Twas one fair summer's eve, awhile I saw Thy sprightly coz: a laughter-loving spirit, She threw quick mirth as the unbidden shafts Of innocent love, scattering with hand profuse Her joyous pranks. I was but newly wedded, Scarce past the honey-moon; Beatrice hung Fondly upon mine arm, and we too laugh'd, On that still night, until the whisp'ring woods Grew loud, and thousand voices started forth From bough and hoary stem, bursting as if To riotous life; and yet her giddy face, Playful and changing as the restless wave, I cannot fashion now from memory's storehouse-- How fares thy cousin?
RIDOLFI. Still by love, my lord, She comes untamed; but time, one delicate shade Hath slightly pass'd upon her wanton mirth, Softening the ruder bursts of her high spirit, Tinged ofttime now with gentler thought.
DUKE. 'Tis well When ripening years mellow the gaudy hue Of youth's rich fancies, sparkling else too bright For its repose.----We visit thee to-day.-- This tribute say we give Hermione.
RIDOLFI. Much honour hold we from your presence: Our poorer hospitality excuse, As you are wont. Adieu! No costly feast We give, but our glad welcome. [_Exit._
DUKE. A brother still,--a friend To cheer my way through life's dark wilderness. Thou art a feeble light, and yet I love To watch thy tremulous blaze, blessing the gloom, And shedding round my path its thousand gems, Sprinkling perchance some loathed and hideous form With thy pale gleam. How tender hast thou been To my worst weaknesses, my foibles, all Heart-withering cares! Though born to humbler honours, I call thee friend. Well hast thou earn'd from me That sacred name! One bosom nourish'd us: One hand our childhood rear'd; twining we grew Unto one stem, till riches and high birth Bore me brief space from that beloved soil,-- That home, to which our very nature yet Seems most akin.---- Of proud descent, unsullied as mine own, Thou yet canst boast: if not of titled wealth, Of outward garb, thy suit becomes thee well; And I do love thee more than if array'd In ducal coronet. Beatrice too Hath prized him for my sake, and her esteem I do repay with tenfold love.---- Fierce, feverish love!--thine idle dreams,--fleeting As cloud-fed vapour, yon o'erarching bow Bestrides,--fade as the sunbeam on the sky Dispels the glowing mist. 'Tis well, if then The welkin clear'd, each circumstance and form,-- Fashion'd realities by truth impress'd Upon the craving eye-balls,--O 'tis well If on these fix'd and palpable images Of roused and wakening sense, the eye may rest With unappeased delight! But if the while Love's light-wing'd visions fade, nought fills the void Save chilling wastes, trackless, unlimited, That echo back their own grim desolation To the appalled spirit. What escape The shrinking soul is left, save one dark path To unappointed death? I thank thee, Heaven, Thou sparest me this trial! Love hath still With proud esteem held equal sway: in peace, Untroubled they divide their several empire.---- But I must hence; Beatrice I would greet First with these tidings of Hermione. [_Exit._