Ang. "Tis the religion of our art, fair madam, That, by oft looking on the type divine In which we first were moulded, men remember You've an errand here, The heaven they're born to. Isa. [Aside.] Here is the wooing that should win a maid! Bold, yet respectful-free, yet full of honour! I never saw a youth with gentler eyes; I never heard a voice that pleased me more: Enter TORTESA, unperceived. Ang. In a form like yours, All parts are perfect, madam; yet, unseen, I'll see your hand ungloved. Isa. [Removing her glove.] I have no heart To keep it from you, Signor. There it is! Ang. [Taking it in his own.] O God, how beautiful may be! Thy works Inimitably perfect! Let me look Close on the tracery of these azure veins. With what a delicate and fragile thread They weave their subtle mesh beneath the skin, And meet, all blushing, in these rosy nails! [TORTESA rushes forward. Tor. Now have I heard enough! Why, what are you, To palm the hand of my betrothed bride [to his work. With this licentious freedom? [ANGELO turns composedly And you, madam! With a first troth scarce cold upon your lips— Is this your chastity? Isa. My father's roof Is o'er me! I'm not your wife. Tor. Bought-paid for! The wedding toward: have I no right in you? Isa. Count Falcone's will Has, to his daughter, ever been a law; Tor. There's a possession of some lordly acres The deed's delivered, and the hand's my own! Isa. Shall a lady Bid you begone twice? Tor. Twenty times, if't please you!" [painting. [She looks at ANGELO, who continues tranquilly Isa. [Aside.] Does he not wear a sword? Is he a coward, That he can hear this man heap insult on me, And ne'er fall on him? Tor. Lady, to your chamber! I have a touch to give this picture, here, [her by the arm. But want no model for't. Come, come! Isa. Stand back! [Offers to take [Aside.] Now, will he see this wretch lay hands on me, And never speak? He cannot be a coward! No, no! some other reason-not a coward; I could not love a coward! Tor. If you will, Stay where you're better missed-'tis at your pleasure; Of this bold painter-look on't, if you will! And first, to mar his picture! [He strikes at the canvas, when ANGELO suddenly draws, attacks, and disarms him. Ang. Hold! What wouldst thou? Fool! madman! dog! what wouldst thou with my picture? Speak!-But thy life would not bring back a ray Of precious daylight, and I cannot waste it. Begone! begone! [and returns to his Picture. [Throws TORTESA's sword from the window, I'll back to paradise! 'Twas this touch that he marred. So-fair again! Tor. [Going out.] I'll find you, Sir, when I'm in cooler blood! And, madam, you, or Count Falcone for you, Shall rue this scorn! [Exit. Isa. [Looking at ANGELO.] Lost in his work once more: I shall be jealous of my very picture! Yet one who can forget his passions so— Peril his life, and, losing scarce a breath, I Ang. Twilight falls, fair lady! must give o'er. Pray Heaven, the downy wing Of its most loving angel guard your beauty! Good-night! [Goes out, with a low reverence. Isa. Good-night! [She looks after him a moment, and then walks thoughtfully off the stage. Epes Sargent. VELASCO: A TRAGEDY. VELASCO, Son of the COUNT DE LERMA, is betrothed to IZIDORA, Daughter of GONZALEZ. A long-standing Feud exists between the Houses of DE LERMA and GONZALEZ, and the latter only yields his unwilling consent at the command of his Sovereign. HERNANDO, Kinsman of GONZALEZ, secretly loves IZIDORA, and, hoping to break off her approaching Marriage, plays upon the credulity of GONZALEZ, by false accusations against the COUNT DE Lerma. A Street in Burgos.—Enter Gonzalez and Hernando. Gonzalez. Nay; do not fret me with ambiguous hints. We spake of old De Lerma; and you said, It was the dotard's privilege to slander.— To slander whom?-the king? yourself? myself? You signify no negative to that. What is't, Hernando? Speak with more direction. To more disclosures-for my peace and thine. Press me not Gon. Well, well; 'twere better that it should not be. De Lerma and myself must soon be fathers To the same children. Her. That shall curb my speech. Let base Detraction slur thy honoured name ; Though others prate of cowardice and treason? Gon. Those words were never coupled with my name? Her. It happened thus: Dispute was running high Upon the German Emperor's new pretensions; "If Henry claim dominion o'er Castile, Gon. Ah! what then? He did not dare Her. Ay, kinsman; he did dare To stigmatize thee as a craven traitor. Gon. Hernando! if thou playst me false, thy life Shall be an immolation to my fury! [Seizes him, and looks intently in his face. Her. I can bring proofs, my lord. Nay; is this cour teous ? Well gives my face the lie to my assertion? |