The Legendary and Poetical Remains of John Roby Part 15

FABIAN.

I know them not.

DUKE.

Then why such ready zeal in their good service?

FABIAN.

My lord, the zeal I now profess Seeks but your own. To strangers, courtesy,-- And faith reciprocal, demands protection.

This need I tell to Andrea!

Whose name with purest honour coupled, grew Into its likeness, till the very words Had but one sense. Need I to Andrea Interpret honour's laws? its high-born chivalry, In whose once n.o.ble breast her temple rose Unsullied, unapproach'd by aught of earth, To which defilement clung. Think but on this-- One moment on the past now gaze--'tis bright!

Oh let not one dark cloud, gathering but yet Upon the whirlwind of this turbulent pa.s.sion, Obscure yon sunny glade, where stilly winds 'Mid verdant hills, calm waters, glittering plains, The beamy path of an unclouded life,-- At one fell sweep, let not this merciless blast O'erwhelm its wonted pride!

_Enter d.u.c.h.eSS._

BEATRICE.

Your presence, Andrea, I crave To greet our visitors.

DUKE.

Not now, Beatrice,-- I cannot come. Where sayest thou?--

BEATRICE.

My lord! you are disturb'd!

What!--Fabian, and in tears!--Why this reproof?

The boy is gentle, and ill brooks harsh words; You were not wont to chide him thus!

DUKE.

'Tis Fabian, I ween, his master chiding.

'Twas thus:--Two prying and suspicious elves I mark'd, to punish. Issuing forth command For their arrest, this silly, wayward boy, With words and tears, hath temper'd mine intent To his entreaty. True, I might but gain Small honour by their seizure, hence I've given The stripling his desire; yet mark me, Fabian,-- I watch them closely.----

_Enter HERMIONE and LAURA._

My soul seems pain'd at her approach. [_Aside._ My gentle cousins, hail! None other name Wherewith I greet you sounds so consonant, So kin to mine affection. How hath fared Each friend in Mantua? Laura, yet as fresh As when my childhood knew thee, and thine hand Supplied a mother's fondness. Look not grave, Thou art not half so old as thou art aged In mine esteem.--Hermione, to you I publish greeting.

HERMIONE.

Our beloved cousin,-- The form I trow your greeting takes.

DUKE.

Sweet coz!

No form I use, I greet thee well, and crave Thy long abode in Mantua. Ladies' eyes Have most miraculous virtue; they can draw The moon from his...o...b..t, and the little stars To watch their tender sighs at the soft wail Breath'd from a timorous lute. You love the moonlight?

Why do ye start?--'tis not the first fair dame That in our city listen'd i' the cool And pa.s.sionless night, to piped sighs, and vows Enamour'd, breathed from reed and flageolet!

HERMIONE.

Mean you the serenade? 'Twas meant, my lord, For other ears than mine.

DUKE.

How? For the maid's, belike! Sweet, innocent fool, Love e'er was held a story-telling urchin; Pr'ythee forswear such idle company.

But whence upon that cheek such tell-tale hues, Wrought suddenly in their bright texture?--whence That strange confusion? Love's unquenched flame Defies control.

HERMIONE.

I do confess,--one night, To while a feverish hour,--I had walk'd forth,-- I sought the garden-terrace. True, surprise A moment cross'd me, when your ear I found Such marvellous tidings heard!

DUKE.

Well, to the maids 'Tis like we are beholden for this minstrelsy.

Nought living now in that good house would tempt Our gallants from their beds.

LAURA.

And why, your grace?

If older ears enjoy such ravishment, I'm not so old, beshrew me, potent Duke, But I can wake at true-love's bidding!

DUKE.

Well said, My maiden-queen! The fire of Zampria's house Yet quenches not, nor through thy cooler veins Flags in its current.

HERMIONE.

Yesternight She sought my chamber. I had left the terrace Ere the unyielding maid answer'd her call; She came all radiant with love's virgin fire, She trod on air, and her quick-throbbing bosom All o'er the G.o.d confess'd. What says our cousin?

LAURA.

No need that maiden's blush reveal her secret, If such rude, giddy, and discretionless tongues Are left abroad.

HERMIONE.

Nay, Laura, thou hast lived But in that snowy page, so prettily crimp'd, O'er which, thou sayest, love whilom hath brush'd His tiny wings, and deftly to thine heart From thence hath sprung. Ah! gentle maid! in mercy Vouchsafe to me one touch,--one thrilling touch Of that same love-wrought billet,--haply, thence The G.o.d may come: I'll make the urchin room; Or some stray rubbish, h.o.a.rded, yet to me As worthless, I'll remove.

LAURA.

So fair a jewel, To thy rude hand I yield not.

DUKE.

Excellent maid!

Thy jewel I had thought would hence have pa.s.s'd, A legacy to earth. I'd give my cap To view this comely gallant.--So, to thee, Hermione, hath love ne'er yet approach'd,-- Or, if perchance he came, 'twas clad in guise Of other import. If on thy chill bosom, Smiling, he yet should nestle, archly pouting His pretty lip for entrance, wouldst thou grant The wanderer room?

HERMIONE.

I know not:--now, mayhap, 'Tis not much worth his lodging.

DUKE.

Then its chambers Are still defil'd with many visitors.

Or, it may chance, some envious power usurps His lawful birthright. Bid thee of such guest,-- To thy liege lord submit, and pardon crave For past offences.

HERMIONE.

Where shall I begin My maiden suit?

DUKE.

Lay but that garb aside, That glittering panoply, its surface, bright, Yet harder than the thrice-quench'd steel, No bolt can pierce; and I do promise thee A hundred shafts from some well-furnish'd quiver.

HERMIONE.

But if those shafts are pointless and unfledg'd, A hundred more would boot not!

Of what avail, though twice ten thousand fell Unspeeding at my feet!

DUKE.

Thy fickle fancy, Yet unfetter'd, will not always thus, Gay as the light breeze, rove where'er she list, Nor heeding ought she pa.s.ses. She will droop, And, sighing, linger o'er some cherish'd form, Enamour'd while she worships.

HERMIONE.

Mine roves not!