SCENE IV.

_Part of the Platform, sloping to the Palace Walls._

_Enter DUKE, DUCHESS, HERMIONE, RIDOLFI._

DUKE. We love these moon-lit walks, Hermione, Whilst in her wane: you like her visage best, Perchance, increasing. More I love to mark Her gradual decay--retreating coy, And half aside, as if ashamed to meet The full gaze of the sun.

HERMIONE. I love the waxing Yet rather than the wane of yon pale light: Like timid maid, when first her opening charms Meet love's warm beam. Scarce on the wanton boy She dares to gaze, till, bolder grown, her eye Averted still, or half withdrawn, drinks in, With silent ecstacy, love's treacherous glance. Now his fond smile, full orb'd, the embolden'd sight Enamour'd meets: her very being, essence, And every faculty absorb--each thought Rising impregn'd with love's fierce fire; anon There comes a change--shy gleams succeed, her brow Hath one slight shade, scarce seen, but on its light The darkness grows--love's brightest dream is o'er, And his pale taper quench'd in utter gloom!

RIDOLFI. Ay, till another change. Yon fickle goddess Her fond, fool'd swain entices, till enamour'd E'en to his heart's last core; she then averts Her love-impassion'd glance, and, scorning, shuns him!

DUCHESS. If from deserted maid, Hermione, Whose charms were withering in the fallow wane Of an unprofited life, this speech forlorn Had seem'd to ring the knell of her young hopes. But when from rosy lips, and ardent youth, It comes unlook'd for as a wintry chill Beneath a summer sun.--This air blows keenly, My locks fall with the dew--I think the night Hath not its wonted soothness: thrice I shudder'd As the cold breeze methought sigh'd on my bosom. I must begone--Hermione, you go not. 'Tis the last moonlight you behold, mayhap, In this brief stay; take a long parting, ere Ye bid adieu--the Duke himself attends you; With me, our brother his good presence grants, Till your return.

RIDOLFI. With such proud gallantry I bow to your decree. [_Exeunt DUCHESS and RIDOLFI._

DUKE. Beneath the western turret I love to walk--to watch the huge dim battlements On the smooth river sleeping, when the moon, Low in the brightening east, their shadow throws Upon its calm, cold bosom.

HERMIONE. Awhile I loiter with you there, my lord. [_Exeunt._