For on the eve of this great enterprize,
Which now our state is big with, all must bend
To the strict discipline and course of war:
Go therefore to the senate-house, and let it quick
Be buzz'd abroad, that he is stolen back,
And let his strange desertion so appear,
That it may bear the stamp of cowardice.
You understand me.

Vasq. I'll about it quickly.

[Exit.

Mont. And now for love and vengeance, for by this

My bird is lim'd, and I must wing aloof,

To see her pant and flutter in the toil;

When, like the vulture hovering o'er his prey,
I'll pounce at once, and seize upon my quarry.

Scene changes to Valletort's.

Enter BRIANTHE with a letter in her hand.
Bri. It is a woman's hand-be still, my soul,
Nor let thy fearful boding rush on that,
Which unforeseeing, you may sleep in peace,
And wake to happiness yet why of late,
Have all his letters been lock'd up from me?
When he was wont, unurged to shew me all,
And often laughing, bade me break the seal,

And read his mistress's name light words in jest To live in doubt

Convert to weighty truths.

Is hell-and who, that has the means of light,
Would still groan on, in dark uncertainty:
When apprehension of the ill we fear,

Smites deeply as the strong assurance can,
That what we fear is true,

This shall resolve me.

Ur.

I'll doubt no more, [As she is going to open the

Letter, URANE enters. Oh, my child, my child!

Sweet lady, they have carried off my child:

Some midnight ruffians,
My little traveller-

Bri.

my poor trembling boy,

Whence and what art thou!

Ur. Torn him by force from my encircling arms, His mother's arms. (Enter Child.) I have him once again, I have him all - Have they not hurt thee, boy?

-

Oh no, they have not hurt him. Gracious lady,
Turn us not forth to-night.

Bri.

What brought you hither? Ur. Lodge us within your stable, or if that Be shut to wretchedness, some penthouse cover, Any vile place where we may shroud from insult, And man torment us not: turn us not forth, Indeed I'll be most thankful, and my boy Shall with uplifted hands beg blessings on thee, But do not force us hence.

Bri. And look I so inhuman? but whence are you?

And by what strange disaster broke you in

So wildly on me?

Ur.

A long winter's night

Would not suffice to tell thee half my woes,
And I am faint for want of sustenance;

My boy is hungry too.

Bri.

Come in and feed then.

I am not yet so lifted above want,

To look untouch'd at misery, and myself,

A pilgrim on life's ragged path, would make it

Smooth to the heavy laden: lean on me.

Ur. Indeed I want support.

Bri. This way, come cheerly.

[Exeunt.

ACT III.

Enter BRIANTHE with the Letter open.

Why now my cup of bitterness is full,

Even to overflowing. All but this

I've borne without complaint

false to my love?

What have I done, what grievous sin committed,

That thou should'st cast me off?-When thou wert sad,

Have I not painted my wan cheek with smiles,
And made mine eye a traitor to my heart,

To cheat thee into mirth, and watch'd thy looks
As if my senses fed on nought but thee.

Have I not borne a father's uncall'd curses,

Which yet hang heavy on me?

[MONTANO enters behind.

For thee, thou most unkind one.

Mont.

All for thee,

(Weeps.)

Let her weep,

These dewy beads dropt on her kindling rage,
Like scanty water on quick rising flames,

Will make it rage more fierce.

Bri. Why then let virtue's self turn hypocrite, If he have melted on another's lip

The seal he took from mine.

Montano

Pardon, my lord, alas! I had forgotten

Mont. Rather let me beg pardon, who uncall'd

Have broke upon your sorrows.

False to her!

Report in every thing most scandalous,
Is here a very liar. Oh, those lips!
Some bee of Hybla has been stinging them,
For breathing fresher sweets than his own rose,
And yet repenting left his honey there

To balm the wound he made.

Bri.

Montano, speak!

Mont.

Why talk'st thou thus?

What roseate cheeks,

For pity's dew to light on e'er it falls!

Upon those panting orbs that shame all whiteness, Who that could throne him there, would vilely stoop To cherish infamy!

Bri.

I understand you.

Valletort's false, for so I must interpret

The wild and random glancing of your speech.

Mont. Now heaven forbid that my unmeasured words Should breed the least suspicion of his love.

Bri. Nay, I have proof more palpable than that; He is a cruel traitor to my love.

Mont. He should not be a traitor.

Bri.

True, he should not.

Mont. For beauty so unparagon'd as thine,
And virtue so to give it sense and perfume,
Should be exempted from the common fate
Of those who mourn the inconstancy of man.