SCENE II.

_A Street._

_Enter CARLOS and BERTRAND._

BERTRAND. Thou speedest well, thanks to my shrewd invention. Yon babbling rogue, Stephano, gave me note Of her night walk upon the terrace, where I bribed the keeper to admit ye.

CARLOS. Thanks, Thrice worthy friend. But I do fear mine errand; Some secret terror burdens mine intent, And heavily droops the wing of my firm purpose. Dull hope's uncertain beam, foreboding, quivers, While the rude blast, low howling in mine ear The roar of muttering tempests, sweeps it by, And, in that flickering glare, pale spectres glide, A mournful train,--sullen despair, pale woe, And grisly terror, dwell in their pale looks. Would this dread night were o'er!

BERTRAND. Some rancorous fiend Possesses thee. Some stroke of sudden madness To thy weak brain hath sped, reversed thy thoughts, Turn'd each unto its contrary,--what once Waked smiling hope, now brings despair,--love, hate!-- Joy, measureless sorrow!--Rouse thee! Once thou wert Of different mood, and, ere thy clouded sun Sinks to his gloomy bed, again his glance Shall be unveil'd. I'll be thy prophet! Haste From this inglorious sleep! As he of old, Thy fetters from thee shake, in terrible might Uprising, when awaked from the soft lap Of indolent love. Thou lovest but too well, Nor mayest thou speed, until she find thee oft, With careless port, braving her frown. Wayward, The maiden scorns true lover's tenderest sigh, And inward pines for some ungracious churl, Who slights such light-won favours. 'Tis the good We might possess we loath and sicken at, For that beyond our reach, we moan and fret, As if our very soul were thither urged, And life itself but hung on its frail tenure. We'll seek the public walk: (woman e'er follows The giddy crowd, as doth your swift-winged hornet Hunt forth its prey): it will beguile the hours, Till night, with drowsy tongue, calls thee to love And to Hermione! [_Exeunt._