The Legendary and Poetical Remains of John Roby Part 23

FIRST CITIZEN.

I am not skill'd To interpret mysteries; but they are form'd By cabalistic art. Elsewhere I've seen The conjuror, Aldenbert, those uncouth shapes Upon his tablets tracing. 'Tis not language Akin to mortal tongue.

SECOND CITIZEN.

Treason, I wot, with bold and impious front, Stalks forth uncheck'd:--it skulks not now abroad, But in the open day roams unabash'd, Nor shuns the sunbeam. Some unform'd event Is yet in ripening--it bursts ere long The sh.e.l.l of this dread mystery.

_Enter GRAVE-DIGGER and PRIEST._

GRAVE-DIGGER.

None, father, save the Egyptian woman, who so troubles the church. She slept in the porch yesternight, and I sent her away this morning betimes.

PRIEST.

Thou hast sent a message to the Duke?

GRAVE-DIGGER.

Some half-hour agone.--I expect his highness in person will take special note of this matter.

PRIEST.

I fear me they be foes, enemies to the Duke, who have done this.--Treachery puts on bold aspects, when such foretokenings as these go before her, with loud admonishing of her approach. Here comes the Duke.

_Enter DUKE with ATTENDANTS._

DUKE.

Good morrow, friends. I am something curious to behold this device.--Some trick of intimidation, your petty wonder-monger breeds to set our citizens agape.--You have not disturbed this masked frolic?

GRAVE-DIGGER.

My lord, it rests in such shape as when it scared me dismally ere the light was well out, about c.o.c.k-crowing.

DUKE.

Knowest thou any skulking vagrant of late loitering near the church?

GRAVE-DIGGER.

None, your grace, save the tall gipsy--she slept in the porch yesternight.

DUKE.

The gipsy woman?

GRAVE-DIGGER.

She, with the linen turban, that walks the city with her arms folded--thus.

DUKE.

She was in the porch?

GRAVE-DIGGER.

I waked her there, but roughly, an hour agone.

DUKE.

Here hangs some clue to guide us.--I'll have the beldame seized.--Raise that unseemly pall from the tomb, and close its mouth.--This inscription I'll keep as a brief chronicle of the event.--[_Takes off the inscription: a billet falls from beneath it._]--What counsels us here?

One wonder treads fast upon another's heels, and o'ertops its neighbour.--[_Reads._]--"_I have garnished thy tomb, and it waiteth not for its prey. Depart!--When thou goest forth, but once shalt thou return hither!_"--Guard, search the city--every c.h.i.n.k and avenue.--To your utmost speed.--This hag shall not escape.--Hence!--[_Exit Guard._]--My friends, let not this matter trouble you; some mischievous spirit hath malice at our peace, and hopes to work confusion within the city.--Soon we unravel the flimsy web of this strange craft. [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

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

HERMIONE.

Laura hath not yet Put off her sorrow.--Still doth fancy cherish The darling form of yon misguided youth Your lord encounter'd on the terrace.-- With long entreaty I have learnt his name; And, as my yet unquestion'd word befits, 'Tis but a cast-off suitor of mine own!

d.u.c.h.eSS.

I fear me this adventure still broods mischief.

The Duke somehow had strange intelligence Of danger threatened to Hermione.-- On that same night he watch'd, and foil'd the ruffian, But he forebore to afflict him farther.

HERMIONE.

Strange-- This brief-told tale--

_Enter DUKE._

Welcome--thrice welcome now.

By what good chance, my lord, sought you the terrace Few nights agone?--Some stray intelligence, The d.u.c.h.ess tells, crept to your ear of danger To me denounced!

DUKE.

Some secret whisper met me of the matter.

Know you this billet?

HERMIONE.

Forsooth its fair outside Small import gives of such unworthy deed.-- I know not, save at once you dare commit Its contents to my ken.

DUKE.

Well spoken, lady.-- What read you?

HERMIONE.

Carlos!--(_Reads._) Some strange mistake rests here. As my good word Earns your belief--till now, I ne'er beheld This love-lorn billet.

DUKE.

Ah, woman, pleasant still, But full of subtlety;--perverse, untoward-- Thy ways mark'd deep by unabash'd deceit: Well thou mayst laugh at thine imposture.

HERMIONE.

The riddle solves:--this billet by mistake Hath found its way to yon same helpless virgin.

Laura hath dropp'd it--some officious friend Unto your eye the unoffending page Hath straight convey'd.

DUKE.

Thou answerest plausibly;-- I would believe thy honied tongue.

HERMIONE.

I did repulse him, sore amazed At his approach.--He threaten'd with his hate, Which I do love more than his unprized favour!

DUKE.

I well remember thy reproof.