Zoa. My life, my soul, my husband.

Raym. Ha! this I look'd not for. (Aside.)
Tel. (To POTOWMAK.) She'll ruin all.

Pot. Fear not-her whole sex could not move him.
Tel. Mark them.

Zoa. You will not speak to me. Nay, now I see The cause; your joy can find no words. Yet speak: Come, you look weary. 'Neath our orange tree, Upon the dry turf, you shall sleep, and I

Will watch you; whilst the soft winds gently shake The o'er-blown blossoms on your perfum'd rest. Raym. I cannot bear it.

Tel.

He relents. (Aside.}

Raym.

My wife!

We must this moment part.

-Pot. (To TELICO.) He'll keep his word.

Raym.

Hear me, Zoa.

I must, ere sunset, (for my word is pass'd)

To prison.

Zoa. Be it so; there will I dwell.

Raym. Perhaps to death!

For when you took this hand, and kiss'd it first,
You pledg'd your faith that death alone should part us.
What is a prison, but a closer home?

Have I not on the sky-roof'd mountain slept,

Rock'd by the whirlwind; and when loud and dark
The midnight march of the careering storm
Howl'd o'er the uprooting pine; when nature quak'd,
As with the mighty throb of dissolution,

Amidst the various tumult of my soul,

Have I not felt the sweetness of thy presence?
What, though the walls be damp and desolate;
The house of famine, pestilence, and death,

Is it not thine and shall dwell alone?

you

'Tis such a place that cries aloud for comfort.

What charm can comfort bring to man like woman?

What woman like a wife? Let me go with you.

Raym. It cannot be.

Tel.

Pot.

She moves him e'en to tears. (Aside.)

Yet he is fix'd.

Zoa. I will but watch thee with unwinking eye; And if a tear upon thy cheek should light,

I'll kiss it gently off, and still forbear to wake thee.

Raym. I cannot bear it. Telico !-Potowmak! Tear us asunder. (They part them.) Will you basely stand

And see your chief dishonour'd by a woman ?

Farewell. My manhood never shrunk till now. (Aside.) Be kind and gentle to her. Oh! farewell! [Exit. Zoa. (Breaking indignantly from the Creeks.) Zoa is

never wont to force her love

Where 'tis not welcome. Yet, 'tis somewhat strange; I ask with him to share captivity,

And he refuses me.

Pot. (To TELICO.) It strikes her deeply : Withdraw the Creeks, and leave us. [They retire.

POTOWMAK and Zos.

Zoa. And why am I forbidden to partake His bread and water, and his scanty straw;

And " 'tis a place ill fitted to my sex:"

As if I had a soul to be dismay'd

With what these Spaniards can inflict. 'Tis strange, There must be something more.

Pot.

He must return,

Forsooth, to take his honour out of pawn.
It may be deeper pledg'd than he inform'd us.

Zoa. What can he mean?

Pot.

Zoa.

To sell us.

Fie upon thee!

Pot. The governor has offer'd him large bribes. Zoa. Yes, but his soul is larger.

Pot. Soon he'll have two, or fame belies him much. 'Tis said she loves him; language cannot paint it; 'Tis certain that she visits him in prison.

Zoa. Thou art a man of truth; oh, do not mock me. Pot. As I've a soul 'tis true. But mark me right, I do not say 'tis love: I only vouch

That she, alone, by stealth, to his dark cell,
Out of pure charity, perhaps, has stolen.
'Tis whisper'd, tho' I credit not the tale,
A Spanish priest has ratified their vows.

Zoa. His wife! the wife of Raymond! What am I? Say, is she very beautiful? His wife!

And brave, and young; tall, or of middle stature;

Of what bewitching colour are her eyes→
Majestic in her gait? Speak.

(POTOWMAK shews her the picture he took from

FLORIO.

Is that she?

Pot. It wants but breath to be her living self.
Zoa. Where got you that?

Pot.

Zoa.

'Tis Raymond's.

Came it from her?

Pot. I know not that: but fearing he might damage Or lose the thing, he gave it me in charge.

Zoa. Let me look on it. (Takes it.) What a face is here!

How fresh the red and white of her complexion:

The parting locks that hang on either side
Of this fair forehead. What his wife? These lips,
They can talk many languages, and sing

The song of his own country. This white hand-
Yet shall she be his wife? This hand can play
On many instruments, and knows, by turns,

A thousand witcheries to charm him from me.

I never thought how foul I look'd till now.

Pot. What, do you weep? With bare suspicion

weep.

What, tho' she steals to his dungeon-that's no proof Of warmth beyond esteem. And for that bauble,