Scene: A room in the castle. Brentio alone. Bren. By Hector, we've had a night of it. I must stop now and count my fingers and toes, for I'm sure there's some of me missing. First, my gold! [Counts gold] All here. But poor mistress Theano that I promised to carry through fire and flood for this same sweet gold was burnt up last night. Well, my lord Ocrastes is dead too, so I'll not be called to account. Had it been flood now I might have kept my promise, but fire—I never could abide a singed beard. [Enter Tichus] Ho, Tichus! These are wars, sir! These are wars! Have you killed your man this night? Tich. A score, I hope. Bren. Well, I've naught to say. Let deeds talk. A bragging tongue is Fame's best grave-digger, though it wag i' the mouth of Hercules. But I spared some, I'll say that. They cried so for mercy, poor fellows! Not a man of 'em was ready to die, by his own count. Tich. If you wait for that you'll die swearing blood is green for all you'll even draw of it. When the gods promised that no man should die till he was ready old Charon sold his boat. Bren. There's a stick-penny for you. What was his bargain? Tich. A feather bed, that he might sleep off idleness. Bren. Ah, but you should have seen me when a villain pitted at me with three pikes. A murderous three-handed deformity, by the truth o' my eyes he was! Tich. Then you shook your sword, I warrant! Bren. No, bless me, I shook my feet. Tich. Man, you didn't run? Bren. No, I flew. I wore Mercury's feathers, I tell you. Tich. Shame, Brentio! A coward's leg will never overtake Fame. Bren. Ay, but when a man must leap the grave to catch her, let take her who will! I'm done. Have you been through the castle? Tich. No. Bren. Come then. There are sights to be seen. Mostly in the cellars, where every soldier gets a bottle for his song. [Sings] Who will not be merry then let him go drown, Let him go drown, In as rosy a bumper as ever went down, As ever went down, And he'll bob up, he'll bob up, by Bacchus, he will, As hail a good fellow as ever wet gill! Here are our masters! I'm gone. A hero may drink, but work—never! [Exit] Tich. There's more trouble ahead than the claw o' my wit can scratch. Ocrastes' death makes one less in the pother, but I've eyes in my head, and there's no doubt my master is in love with the lady Aratea, and one lover can make more trouble than a score of extra husbands. Well, well, when thy cares bewilder thee take time and wine for thy counsellors. So let it work out. [Exit. Aristocles and Dion appear in hall partly visible through wide open doors, rear. Aristocles enters and comes front. Dion remains without, gazing down, moody and meditative]
Aris. Deep, deep, my thoughts, dive to some bed of death In my wide-regioned self, nor come again Like sea-return?d corpse, with livid grin And foul, accreted horror, to beg anew For burial. [Dion comes in and walks slowly across to Aristocles] You'll see her now? Dion. My wife? Have I a wife? Aris. She waits Your summons by Diana's altar. Aris. Theano waits with her. Dion. My niece? She's safe? Aris. By miracle. The unknown knight Bore her from out Phillistus' burning house. Dion. Still swells our debt to him. Aris. You'll see her now? Dion. See whom, my friend? Aris. Your wife, sir,—Aratea. Dion. When you repeat the name I half believe I have a wife. Your voice was ever true, Nor fed me with the rifled husks of speech. ... Was she not fair? Dion. How fair, think you? Aris. Who, sir, could say? Such beauty scorns all words And writes itself but in the wondering eye. Dion. You shift. You shift. Your tongue is beauty's pencil. Did heaven lack a goddess you might limn A fairer than a Venus for the place. Speak on. Tell me her sum to the last doit. The balance of a hair—a smile unborn— I'd not strike off. Aris. [Coldly] You know her worth, my lord. Dion. Nay, the appraising eye when fixed too near The thing it loves distorts the sweet proportion. You can adjust your gaze, take stand to bring Her beauty to perfection's single-point. Aris. What matter? All is yours. Dion. Ah, if 'twere mine I'd care not, happy then to know 'twas mine. But when we've lost we're moved to question, sir, Else are we crippled twice in our estate, Once in the loss, again to know it not. Aris. Strange speech, my lord. I hardly know your tongue. Dion. You can not understand, for you've no wife. No more have I. But once.... Yes, yes, I'll see her. Wilt bring her here? Aris. I bring her? Here? To you? Dion. If 'tis too sad a service—— Dion. I am forgot in his great pity of her. Cal. Lord Dion, Heraclides begs to see you. Cal. ?gisthus comes with him. Dion. Bid them into the banquet hall. Cal. My lord, You will not see them? Dion. Ay, there's naught to fear. Tell them I'll join them soon. [Exit Calippus] Now riven heart, Close firm as mountain bulwark that beats off The Thracian wind. [Enter Aristocles with Theano and Aratea] Dion. [To Theano] Good welcome, niece. [He embraces Theano, and looks silently at Aratea] Ara. [Falteringly] My lord—— Dion. Your friend, your lover—ay, your slave,—but not Your lord, sweet Aratea. Ara. Then you'll hear me? Dion. No! Your voice Renews in me the battle that I thought Was fought to end. Ara. But I could say, my lord—— Dion. Ay, you could say what would revoke the sun, Turn back into his heart his golden spears, And from the sapphire battlements make pour Surpris?d night! How easy then to shake The scarce-sworn vow from my unfended breast To melt like snowflake caught in lap of June! Dion. You've that in you defeats resolve, And casts in broil the mind's high chancery. I will not hear a word! 'Tis my defence, Not cruelty. All honor shall be thine Apart from me. Ara. What honor may be mine Apart from thee? Dion. Nay, question not my justice! Ara. You think me vile, my lord? Dion. Mayhap I do! Were there no poisons left in Sicily? No rank, night-sweating herbs whose bane might work Proud honor's choice? Were daggers grown too blunt To pierce fair flesh? What, not a rope—nor cord? No garters—strips of silken robes—— Aris. O, spare To accuse a soul who erred that she might still Be true to Heaven. Dion. True? By Pallas! True? Aris. Sir, she obeyed the gods who bid us wait And work on earth our destiny. Dion. The gods Sometimes write in our fates that to seek death Is what will solely please them. Aris. Must I see The sun of justice in you set? Dion. Ah, friend, Do you not see 'tis my desire that cries To keep her still? 'Tis passion weighing doubts, Hoping to find them light as rising vapors. Aris. Though she had struck at life within her heart, Swart Atropos had dropped her shears for pity, Nor helped so fair a woe to death. Yet you—— Dion. O, she is pure, but not to me! 'Tis stamped Upon my soul that she is dark to me Though fair to Heaven! The. Hear her, sir. She took No vows. Her lips were dumb—— Dion. O, vows! You speak Of words? Dion. Never, my friend! What can you know of this? Aris. I know she is Pandora without taint! The secret pattern lost in mourning heaven When rapt Hephaistos shaped the perfect clay By Pallas' breath made vital! Sir, receive her! Let me implore it by our years of love. Dion. Thou'rt dear to me as man may be to man, But wert thou dear as god may be to god, I could not grant thy wish. Aris. Then she is mine! And, could I snatch a tear from Dian's cheek When bowed at secret altar she renews Her vestal sanctity, 'twould not be less Unspotted to my love! O, Aratea, Wilt come? My wife? Say not thou lov'st, but cling Unto my breast as trusting bud to bough, Or but uplook with eyes whose shaken sea Is calmed in mine. Dion. Ye powers that rule my being, Stop every conscious note but wonder! Aris. Ah, I've heard it said Apollo loved my mother, And I could wish it true, that god-descended I might embrace thyself, who surely art Of high Olympus born—whose mortal part Wears beauty as the night her stars. Dion. Behold Me desolate, ye gods! Is this my friend? Nay, thou hast given friendship such a blow She dies from earth, nor in eternal groves May she be healed. Aris. Not mine, but yours, the blow. Dion. Ocrastes struck me, and I rose again. My wife was taken, and I lived to sigh. But you—O, now the quick of life is seized With mortal ill. Now shakes my earth to centre, And on me falling bow her peak?d tops. Even here and now I die. All fellowship Forego with gallant breath, and lay me down Like forest trunk that pours its wasting heart From every lopp?d limb. [Theano attempts to comfort him] Go from me, girl. My wounded senses shrink away from life Till gentlest touches are as brands of pain. Dumb be my lips. I'll speak no more on earth. Ara. Keep you that word! Thy silence is my speech! Know, Dion, though the knowing now is naught, Ocrastes left me ere his marriage vow Was cold in air, nor took one bridal kiss. Nor have these eyes beheld him since that hour, Nor will the eye of mortal see him more. The sea now holds him to her buried heart. Some shelly couch washed with a Nereid's tears Is his last bed. Dion. And you untouched ... untouched. Ara. I grieve you did not know me better, sir. You too, my lord Aristocles. Those cords— Those daggers—poisons—had been quickly found—— Dion. Untouched! No bridal kiss! My blindness goes. But Heaven, in pity, shut me dark again, For I have wronged Ocrastes—who is dead. How could your woman heart not know the truth— That he thus saved you from a baser touch To be restored all perfect, pure to me? And he is dead. Give me your pity, gods! Now we will mourn, Theano. Here, my daughter. Our griefs let marry in our kissing tears. [Embraces Theano] But there's a brightness yet in this dark woe. [Advances to Aratea] Once more, my love, my wife, you are all mine. [Aristocles steps before Aratea] What mean you now? Aris. To guard my own. For you The pearl of opportunity is lost. Briareus' hands could not now snatch it back Where 't pales on time's retreating wave. Dion. By Mars, I'll pass you, sir! The. Let Aratea speak. Is 't not for her to choose? Dion. A wedded woman Can have no choice. The. O, Dion, be a god, Not man, and grant it. Aris. Choose thine own. As free As new created star, fix where thou wilt. Diem. Ay, choose! Thou art my wife. Thy holy truth Will fail thee not. Speak! End this bitter folly From which the gods would turn shame-burning face! The. Not if all tale be true. Dion. You speak too much! Ara. First swear, my lords, however I may choose, You'll still be friends, as honored and as true As though this face I loathe had never come Between your loves. Aris. I swear to you my friend Shall be my friend. Dion. I will forgive him, For love has made him mad. Dion. By Heaven. Now wilt speak? Ara. Such sacred oaths Need sacrificial rite, and here I give My blood. [Suddenly draws a dagger and attempts to stab herself. Aristocles, watching eagerly, seizes dagger, and supporting her speaks wildly] Aris. Think not that you can fly me now! Though thou wert dead still wouldst thou live for me In such dear semblance of remembered show That I would seek to woo thy houseless spirit E'er give thee o'er unclasped to Heaven! Ara. Ah! [Releases herself] Dion. But now she lives, and living she is mine. Aris. Her lips, not yours, shall say! Dion. Lost man, thou'rt crazed. I pity thee. Speak, wife. Ara. O, blow me, winds, To some unpeopled sphere, and find me peace As sweet as his who cropped the first day fruits Of green unharrowed earth! Ara. My lord, if 't be my prayers can save my soul, In some far fane I'll serve the priestess' cup Till Death is kind and calls me. Dion. [Seizing her arm] Answer me! Art mine, or his? Ara. Till truth no more is truth Thou art my lord. [Aristocles turns and moves apart, covering his face with his mantle. Aratea sinks feebly and Theano supports her] Dion. [To Aristocles] Now you've your answer! Niece, Lead out my wife. [Theano takes Aratea from the room, through curtained entrance, left] Aristocles—my friend— I pity and forgive thee. When Love drives, His chariot reins are veins of mortal men, Who fain must course the bright god's destiny Nor reck the road. 'Tis strange—not that you loved her— But that I did not dream it must be so, She being the top and bloom of all her sex, As you, my lord, of yours. A mortal judge Would grant you her, but God gave her to me, And I doubt not He blundered to a purpose Beyond our dream. Ah me, the night's red eyes Looked fatal on the sail that bore you hither. Cursed be my prayers that drew you from your Athens! Farewell! For you must go. Small Sicily No more may hold us both. [Enter Calippus, through hall, rear] Cal. Our saviour of the night Now waits to see you. Dion. The warrior? Ask him in! [Exit Calippus] The. I'll speak the thanks he waited not to hear, Although my heart gives none for this poor life. [Enter warrior, rear, still in arms and helmeted] Dion. Thou'rt welcome as the gods. As lightning makes The world now bright, now dark, you fill and void The circle of our sense, but, here or there, 'Tis ours to grant you what you will if power Be in us. Warrior. [Kneeling] For one thing I sue—forgiveness. [Removes helmet] Dion. How couldst be hid from me Though veiled in seven-fold steel? Oc. [Embracing Theano] My heart, look up. The long tale of my sins Will be as virtue's song when in love's ear 'Tis whispered. Nay, weep not. Those woes are sealed. The. O, canst forgive me? Oc. It is I must sue. Nay, nay, my sweet, no liquid gem drop now On misery's broken altar, too long rich With these eyes' jewels. The. Ah, thou'rt mine ... still mine. Oc. Ere I have done your constancy shall hear Such music of true love you'll think those birds That move the gentle concords of the night In these bright locks make bower continual. [Kisses her hair] For every hour of your ungracious star, With the full circuit of a smiling moon I'll pension you, till covetous of time You'll wish your sorrows had been more, not less. Dion. Not one embrace for me? Oc. Before I make My plea for pardon? Dion. That may wait, my son, For empty hours. This is too full of joy. Oc. I did not go to Italy, my lord, But to the Leontines—— Dion. O, go not back To read the bloodprints of bewildered feet. Now as the soft life-wooing breath that moves So swift upon the track of orient storms That ere the woeful people dry their tears Earth is new-clad in garments of the sun And balm is in the air like blessings winged, Fanning delight in every lifted cheek, So treads this hour at heel of flying woe. Bren. My lord, the people in the banquet hall are drinking all the cellars dry. You'd weep to see it, sir. [Sees Theano and Ocrastes. Looks in bewilderment from one to the other, claps hand to his purse and runs out] Dion. The slave's beset. Oc. He's drunk, my lord. Dion. I had forgot Heraclides. [Going] Ocrastes, come. We'll not so soon be parted. You to my wife, Theano. [Exeunt Dion and Ocrastes, rear; Theano through curtains, left] Aris. [Alone] Dion, how oft hast sworn I was thy dearest, Yet go to happiness while I droop here As to my grave. Nor dost thou need me more Than quickest life its century-buried dead. Yet one is yon, behind those curtains close, Who starves even as you feed. Her love is mine. By Heaven, I know 'tis mine! Yet I must go— Leave her to perish. Ay, her flower soul Not long will bear the weight of unloved love. [Soldiers enter hall, rear, drinking and singing] O, Helen had a rosy lip, And only one might kiss it, But all of mistress wine may sip And she will never miss it. Ho, brothers all are we, Brothers all are we! We've sworn to the last red drop, Be it found in a heart or found in a cup, And brothers all we be! A soldier's trade it is to die, And what poor fools are they Who for a soldier's death will sigh— 'Tis all in a business way. Ho, brothers all are we, &c. [Exeunt drunkenly] Aris. O, I am wounded in the character I sought to build so giant-like that as A figure on the skies all men would see And longing upward scorn their baser state! Now am I grown deform?d with a scar That all eternity can not make fair. ... To go ... nor say farewell. To go ... to go, And see no more her face ... that face which is Imagination sighing in a word. That face where Beauty with her mysteries Sits listening to Magi of the air, Or ocean lapping on eternal sands. 'Tis as a star should to a flower turn, And yet remember heaven. [Approaches curtains and kneels] Fare thee well! O thou whose body is a living urn Full of distill?d sweets from every mead Where Love hath set a flower! Whose soul compacts All earth's divinity, and leaves profane All space where it is not! [Arises and starts out slowly. At the door he looks back. Aratea appears at curtains, but does not see him] O, I must fly ... Must fly ... nor hear again her voice that lures As it would draw the fallen golden world O'er desert ages to man's memory. Ara. [Sees him and advances] You here, Aristocles? Ara. [Going back] Farewell. Aris. [Approaching] Too much? Ara. I—faint again. Nay, touch me not! Aris. Am I so perilous to thee? My hand Has had no commerce yet with cruelty. Ara. The moon with silver foot steps not more soft Among the tears of night than falls thy touch On me, who, poorer than the night, must go Uncomforted. Thou'lt leave this place at once If thou hast pity. Aris. Ah, had I a heart Great-swelling as the sad Molurian mount, Or pil?d peaks that wreck the sailing moon, 'Twere not enough to melt upon this woe! Ara. Wretched, O wretched me! To be the curse Of what is best on earth! Aris. Peace, unjust lips! Thou art a rose that, rooted in Elysium, Leans sorrowing to the world that it may see What beauty is and know then how to dream. O, close those other worlds, your eyes, that I May live in this! [She moves back] Stay, I must speak! Aris. And you must hear me. Ara. Silence, sir, is best. In her deep bosom let our woes be buried, As Night doth shepherd all the cares of day Till Heaven think the world asleep, though 'neath The dark are hot and staring eyes. Aris. Nay, nay, Put courage in thy heart to gender wings That we may dart as swallows to the sun And tread the rosy air where love may breathe! Aris. Come! come! Greece is our home of light. There you, my wife, shall rule a lesser heaven And tutor souls for God's. [She turns to go] One moment hear me! You love me, Aratea. Aris. [Against the curtains] First say thou lovest me! Dost thou not hear A voice at night when calm Eirene leads Sleep to all eyes but thine? Aris. What leap of soul or dream of sense hast thou That is not sweeter for you hold me dear? When Theia's daughter, priestess gray, unhoods Her morning face, and all her clouds of rose With flying petals light the waking world, Does not your ecstasy swim on the flood Of my remembered eyes, and their delight Re-jewel beauty's diadem? Aris. When throbbing wonders of a dying sun Trail off their glories like escaping souls, And Night with lustred heaven round her neck Lures up immensities, whose spirit longs Through all your longings till it leads your own To crowned and still content? Aris. And when thy gaze is on the sibyl sea, Striving to read her ancient wave-writ script, And break the seal a differing language sets Upon her mighty tongue, whence cometh peace Like full and silent answer to your heart? Ara. If this be love, then let it be mine still. For it may be without a touch of hands. Ay, though in Athens you must live and move Still are you mine in mysteries and joys. I thank you, sir, for having taught me love That is forever holy, wronging none. Aris. Nay, Aratea, man can not be God And pipe all Heaven through a mortal reed! Come to my arms, O life and soul of me! As chaste verbenas on an altar kiss, As streamlets join in soft approving shade, As clouds immingle in the glancing sun, So shall our loves unchided of the skies. Not leafy choirs that anthem Flora in, Or those sweet songs that in day's virgin hour Their hymeneal pour from feathery pipes That stale Apollo's lute, shall win more smiles From the consenting gods! Ara. O, music, breath Of sin! Aris. Not so! To love thee not were sin! The adoration of so fair a soul Would save me were I damned! And thou art mine. By stars that knit their motions with our fates, The season-childing sun, great Heaven itself—— Aris. And Heaven's all-greater Lord, Who gives us souls that we may love all beauty, And gives us beauty that our souls may love it, I swear thee mine! Ara. Your oath—your oath to Dion! Aris. Thou 'rt mine above all vows! Thou canst not let Aris. Thou 'rt mine above all vows! Thou canst not let A mock-enthron?d custom speak to God? An atom fettered with nice consequence Bar up the gates of love that are as wide As His earth-belting arms? Aris. My heart, say thou wilt come. Aris. 'Tis life! Come now, O now, else are we cast apart Far as the dismal Night heaves her vast sigh, Far as the laboring Chaos breathing blows,— Perchance to hurl eternally about The farthest stars that from oppos?d heavens Dart fiery scouts that die ere they have met, So long their journey is. Or, gloomier fate, Condemn?d sit like stones that once could weep Forever in the cave of ended things That deep in some immortal Lemnos lies Nor ever opens its dank gates to day! O, come ere we are lost! Be thy fair arms The rainbow girdle to this longing storm And its rude breast will pillow thee as soft As Leda when, cool-rocked on lily couch, The great down-bosomed god swam to her love! Come, Aratea, heart of life! O now This pulse speaks back to mine—this bosom throbs Like heaven's Artemis unto her own! [Kisses her] O kiss that holds the mornings of all time, And dewy seasons of the ungathered rose, Plant once again thy summer on my lips! Ara. How dear is death that kisses with such breath! Thine eyes are seas where sighing ardors blow Love's argosies from island bowers of dream Into my heart. Save me, Aristocles! O me, I'm netted in these golden curls With web as sure as that the crafty god Once wove round Aphrodite's blushing bed And trapped great Ares, sport for gazing heaven! O, I am lost! [Casts him off] Away! away! Nor may My lips move more on earth but in a prayer To cleanse this moment's madness from our souls! Aris. Wouldst leave me now to death? Ara. Ay, unto death, Lest Truth and Honor die! Thy way's not mine. My aspen soul would shake its house of fear, Imagine thunder in the bee's soft hum, And mountain-rocking winds in harmless air That would not move the purple down of clouds. To so great compass now my horror grows That I myself seem Chaos. 'Tis as I stood 'Mong heaps of ruined destinies with life Still mourning in them. I am still for fear Another world will crumble as I stir. Aris. Move, Aratea! Speak! Ara. Dost hear that sound? It is the rustle of tear-dropping gods Who gather all the golden virtues up Vouchsafed to earth and trampled low by man. See how they rise with their immortal store, A moving radiance like the march of light, And leave us dark for want of what they bear? Far, far till stars must upward look to see— A sapphire trail through the ethereal rose! Now—earth and darkness—and you call it love! [Sinks down] Aris. [Lifting her] Fair soul, be mortal yet! Ara. [Going from him] Who leaps for stars Must fall a million leagues too short, or else Must fall a million leagues too short, or else Take vantage not of earth. [Goes to curtains] Farewell—till death. Aris. 'Twill not be long to wait. Thou canst not live In Dion's arms. Ara. Nor thine. As well to hope The air-winged seed will root in vacancy, And high mid-nothing hang with lob?d bloom, As that the rose of love will flower from The wreck of men and gods. [He kneels and kisses her robe. She goes out] Aris. Before I die I've touched divinity. [As he rises a slave rushes in, rear, and kneels] Aris. You serve Lord Heraclides, do you not? Slave. I do, And know his heart—his traitor heart. Slave. You love the noble Dion? Aris. [Starts] Dion? Ay, I love him well. Slave. Sir, Heraclides comes To slay him. Dion, the good! But you will save him! ?gisthus and Callorus aid my master. They're bringing Dion here. Aris. Here? Haste! Bring you Ocrastes and Calippus! Freedom! Go! [Slave runs out. Aristocles steps back unseen as Dion, Heraclides, ?gisthus and Callorus enter. The slave running out meets them] Her. What do you, sirrah? [The slave runs by without answer] Go! You'll not outrun The hangman!
[?gisthus and Callorus keep in rear of Heraclides, who walks with Dion] ?g. [To Callorus] We're betrayed. Callo. [To Heraclides] Do not delay The blow. Her. [To Dion] You like our plan, my lord? ?g. [To Heraclides] Strike now. Dion. 'Tis balm to Syracuse. Your hand upon it, And pardon me my left. [Stabs at Dion, whose sword arm is still in bandage. Aristocles, watching, springs out and knocks the weapon aside. Heraclides engages with him. Callorus rushes at Dion, who has loosened his right arm, and his foe, meeting unexpected defence, is slain. As Callorus falls, ?gisthus strikes at Dion and disarms him, sending his weapon against the curtains, left. Dion, unarmed and suffering, falls back. Aristocles presses before Dion, fighting desperately with Heraclides and ?gisthus, Aratea appears at curtains] Ara. [Taking up Dion's weapon] O heart of Mars, beat here! [She advances suddenly and draws upon ?gisthus, who falls back in momentary astonishment, and Aristocles, relieved, slays Heraclides. Ocrastes and Calippus rush in rear, followed by guards and slaves. Theano and women, enter left. ?gisthus kneels and surrenders his sword to Aratea] Cal. No mercy now! [To guards] To prison with ?gisthus! [Guards lead off ?gisthus] Dion. [Rising] My wife—and friend—can tell you. Ask of them. Oc. [Picking up bandage] My lord, your scarf. Dion. Let 't be, my son. Let 't be. I shall not need it any more. Cal. And joy for Heraclides' death! Aris. Poor man! His flattery so soon found friends That he himself was caught by it, and thought To gain a crown by Dion's death. E'en while They talked—O ne'er was friendly speech so punctured— His sword was out and aimed at Dion's bosom. Oc. Your blade is purple, but it should be black, So vile his blood! [Dion sinks to a seat] Oc. Your wound! He bleeds! O see! This stream is gushing as 'twould fill An ocean. Help! A surgeon! Dion. Nay, too late. Olympus' power alone is potent here. There's not enough of life in me to wish For life. Dion. Kneel here, my wife. [Aratea kneels at Dion's side] And you, Aristocles, come close to me. [Aristocles kneels on the other side of Dion] Two faces Where more of heaven is writ than I have seen In all the world beside. Ay, ye will pair Like twin divinities, and haply by The sweet conjunction of your beauteous stars Make a new influence in the skies may draw The world to heaven. ... Ocrastes, son, on you Now falls the heavy weight of government. ... Farewell, all hearts. My way is new and long, And strange may be the fortunes of my shade, But somewhere I shall lay me down in peace, For death's unmeasured sea must own a strand, And e'en eternity beat to a shore. [Dies. Curtain]
Transcriber notes: Fixed up various punctuation. P. 40. '...fit to reach y weak'; changed 'y' to 'my'. |
  |
