Chapter 17

THE STREET IN FRONT OF LYSANDER'S HOUSE.

Enter CYPRIAN, MOSCON, and CLARIN, in gala dresses.

CYPRIAN [aside]. Where, presumptuous thoughts, ah! where, Would you lead me, whither go? If for certain now you know That the high attempts you dare Are delusive dreams of bliss, Since you strive to scale heaven's wall, But from that proud height to fall Headlong down a dark abyss? I Justina saw..... So near Would to God I had not seen her, Nor in her divine demeanour All the light of heaven's fourth sphere. Lovers twain for her contend, Both being jealous each should woo, And I, jealous of the two, Know not which doth most offend. All I know is, that suspicion, Her disdain, my own desires, Fill my heart with furious fires-- Drive me, ah! to my perdition. This I know, and know no more, This I feel in all my strait; Heavens! Justina is my fate! Heavens! Justina I adore!-- Moscon.

MOSCON. Sir.

CYPRIAN. Inquire, I pray, If Lysander's in.

MOSCON. I fly.

CLARIN. No, sir, no. On me rely,-- Moscon can't go there to-day.

CYPRIAN. Ever wrangling in this way, How ye both my patience try! Why can he not go? Say why?

CLARIN. Because to-day is not his day. Mine it is, sir, to his sorrow. So your message I will bear. Moscon can't to-day go there; He will have his turn to-morrow.

CYPRIAN. What new madness can this be Which your usual feud doth show? But now neither of you go, Since in all her brilliancy Comes Justina.

CLARIN. From the street To her house she goes.

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