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HELENA: Ah, I fear!
(_They go clinging pa.s.sionately together._
_Enter CHARLES and CECCO._
CHARLES: And yet it is a little thing to sleep-- Just to lie down and sleep. A child may do it.
CECCO: If my lord would, here's sleep for him wrapped in A quiet powder.
CHARLES: Sleep is ever mate Of peace and should go with it. I have slept In the wild arms of battle when the winds Of souls departing fearfully shook by, And on the breast of dizzy danger cradled Softly been lulled. Potions should be for them Who wrestle and are thrown by misery.
CECCO: And is my lord at peace?
CHARLES: Strangely.--Yet seem For sleep too coldly calm.
CECCO: So were you, sir-- I keep your words lest you may need of them-- On the same night young Haemon's father went The secret way to death.
CHARLES: Of that!--of that?--
CECCO: Pardon, I but----
CHARLES: Smirker!--Yet, was it so?
That night indeed?
CECCO: Sir, surely.
CHARLES: And the moon's 'Scutcheon hung stainless up the purple east?
CECCO: Half, sir; even as now.
CHARLES (_as to himself_): Since that hour's close To this I have not stood in so much calm.
Still was he not in every vein of him, And breath, a traitor? A Greek who--I'll not say it, Since she is Greek I must forget the word Sounds the diapason of perfidy.
CECCO: My lord thinks of the gentle Helena?
CHARLES: And if I do?
CECCO: Why, sir----
CHARLES: Well?
CECCO: Nothing: but----
CHARLES: Subtle! your nothing harboreth some theft Of spial.
CECCO: Sir, I--no--that is----
CHARLES: That is It does! Must I--persuade it from your throat?
(_Makes to choke him._)
CECCO: It was of lord Antonio----
CHARLES: Speak then.
CECCO: Have you not marked him sundry of his moods?
CHARLES: Well?
CECCO: On his back in the wood as if the leaves Sung fairy balladry; then riding wild Nowhither and alone; about the castle Yearning, yet absent to soft speech and arms!
He'll drink, sir, and not know if it be wine!
CHARLES: So is he! but to-day he bold unsheathed His skill and bravery.
CECCO: And did not crave A boon of you?
CHARLES: None. But you put not ill My thought to it. His aspiration flags----
CECCO: Ah, flags.
CHARLES: New wings it needs and buoyancy.
My trust in him is ripe: the fruit of it, He shall be lord of Arta--total lord.
CECCO: He begged no softer boon?
CHARLES: Cunning! again?
Sleek questions of a sleeker consequence?
CECCO: It was, sir, only of Antonio.
CHARLES: Worm, you began so. Stretch now to the end, Or--will you?
CECCO: I would say--would ask--and hope There is no th.o.r.n.y hint in it to vex you, To p.r.i.c.k your humor--may not he be sick, Amorous, mellow sick upon some maid?
CHARLES: Have you so labored to this atom's birth?
Is a boy's pa.s.sion so new under the moon You gape at it?
CECCO: But if, sir----
CHARLES: I had thought Would start up in your words some t.i.tan woe, No human catapult could war upon!
Some dread colossal doom, frenzied to fall!
Were it he's traitor gnawing at my throne, Or ready with some potent cruelty To blight this tenderness new-sprung in me-- I would--even have listened!
(_Noise is heard at the postern. It is unlocked. HaeMON enters, and stops in consternation._)
CHARLES: Keys? To--this?
HaeMON: I--have excuse.
CHARLES: Perchance also you have Them to my gems and secrecies? Shall I Not show their hiding?--rubies, and fair gold?
