SCENE III.
_A Chamber._
_Enter LAURA._
LAURA. How this little tyrant rules it over me! Again--[_Takes a letter from her bosom_]--I can repeat the words backwards, tell every turn of a letter, count the dots, blurs, and crossings; but--[_In attempting to replace the billet, it drops on the floor unperceived_]--I think the sun creeps backward, and then returns, out of sheer spite and maliciousness. I must not be on the terrace too soon: I'll have him wait now; it looks more an it were as if I had other business by the nose than dancing to the pipe of a gay gallant. Three full hours yet. Alack, alack! I can neither scold the maids, darn the Venice lace, sort my brother's hose, nor even turn up the plaitings of my own hair. I'll bethink me of the gown I must wear that shall best please my cavalier, and lay it down, to smooth out the folds. Oh, sweet heart! how tender he looked on me at the Prado to-day. Yes,--the same,--I gave him an encouraging glance betimes, lest the youth should wax timorous and melancholy. I hope we may have a quiet night: the sky looks somewhat wild and turbid. [_Exit._
_Enter HERMIONE._
HERMIONE. How fierce the sun gazes from below that bank of clouds he has just quitted, as if he threatened us at his going with some terrible disaster. His beam wraps the city, as with a mantle of fire bespangled with stars,--here and there a glittering cross studding its purple vestment: one by one they are quenched, and the glowing mantle itself fades. A dark dun haze rests upon the city, and in the west a fiery streak alone tells of the past. I fear me the night forebodes a storm.----Carlos, I find, follows me to Mantua. How the moody wretch and his companion dogged us at the Prado to-day: I doubled more than a hare at its lasts shifts, to keep out of their ken. I had hoped he would have forgotten me ere this; but you may not cram wisdom even down a mallard's throat.--
_Enter SYLVIO._
Whose message bring you here?
SYLVIO. My Lord Duke sends greeting.
HERMIONE. Thanks, boy, for his intent. I lack not pleasant compliments.
SYLVIO. He hopes, lady, the air of our public walk suits well your delicate health, and that your spirits droop not in this gay city.
HERMIONE. Tell my Lord Duke, when he next goes with the crowd, to veil the dark fringe of his eye, and to fashion the bend of his nose afresh; or the fire of his eye, and his lordly beak, will betray to every idle flutterer the presence of the proud Duke of Mantua. Good b'ye, Sylvio. [_Exit._
SYLVIO. I cannot read this haughty damsel. Ah! what have we here?--[_Picks up the paper Laura has just dropped._]--Something, I trow, more legible than maiden's breast. [_Reads._ "_Say, fairest, canst thou love_,"--I warrant thee--"_or does cold scorn compose the sum of thine affections_"--"_Grown bold_"--"_If thou wilt lend thine ear to my suit on the terrace to-morrow night at this hour_"--A bold suitor, truly--"_I will not offend thee again unless thou judgest in my favour._" "CARLOS." Good b'ye, lady.--[_Mimicks her._]--The Duke shall enjoy this tender morsel. Tell my Lady Hermione, when she next gives a private meeting to her gallant, to keep her billet safe, to veil the fringe of her bodice, and raise the beak of her stomacher, else their shallow covering will betray to every idle flutterer the secrets of the haughtiest beauty in Christendom. [_Exit._