Carlos. Pray, how much need you? Hyp. Which, with due interest Some half-dozen ounces, Carlos [giving his purse]. What, am I a Jew, To put my moneys out at usury? Here is my purse. Hyp. Thank you. A pretty purse, No, 'tis at your service. Made by the hand of some fair Madrileña; Carlos. Hyp. Thank you again. Lie there, good Chrysostom, And with thy golden mouth remind me often, I am the debtor of my friend. Carlos. Come you to-day from Alcalá ? Hyp. But tell me, This moment. Carlos. And pray, how fares the brave Victorian ? Hyp. She floats upon the river of his thoughts! First and foremost, Carlos. A common thing with poets. But who is This floating lily? For, in fine, some woman, Some living woman-not a mere ideal Must wear the outward semblance of his thought. Well, it is a woman! Hyp. Carlos. Well, well! who is this doll? Hyp Carlos. His cousin Violante. Hyp. Why, who do you think? Guess again. To ease his labouring heart, in the last storm He threw her overboard, with all her ingots. Carlos. I cannot guess; so tell me who it is. Carlos. Why not? Hyp. [mysteriously). Why? Because Mari Franca Was married four leagues out of Salamanca !* Нур. Preciosa. Carlos. Impossible? The Count of Lara tells me She is not virtuous. But hist! I see him yonder through the trees, Walking as in a dream. Carlos. He comes this way. Hyp. It has been truly said by some wise man, That money, grief, and love cannot be hidden. [Enter VICTORIAN in front.] Vict. Where'er thy step has passed is holy ground! Feel that the place has taken a charm from thee, Hyp. Mark him well! See how he strides away with lordly air, Like that odd guest of stone, that grim Commander Carlos. What ho! Victorian ! Hyp. Wilt thou sup with us? Vict. Holá! amigos! Faith, I did not see you. Carlos. Vict. How is that young and green-eyed Gaditana Carlos. At your service ever. Ay, soft, emerald eyes! Ay de mí! She has gone back to Cadiz. Нур. Vict. You are much to blame for letting her go back. Just that soft shade of green we sometimes see A common Spanish proverb, used to turn aside a question one does not wish to answer. Marry, is that all? And they who are in love are always jealous. Vict. Farewell; I am in haste. Farewell, Don Carlos. Hyp. Ay, in truth Then he will have his labour for his pains. Hyp. He does not think so, and Don Carlos tells me Vict. How's this, Don Carlos? As a gay man might speak. Vict. Death and damnation! I'll cut his lying tongue out of his mouth, We are no longer friends. And so, farewell! Hyp. Now what a coil is here! The Avenging Child And the great Moor Calaynos, when he rode There Were nothing to him! O hot-headed youth! [Exit. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-PRECIOSA'S Chamber. She is sitting, with a book in her hand, near a table, on which are flowers. A bird singing in its cage. The COUNT OF LARA enters behind unperceived. Pre. [reads]. All are sleeping, weary heart! Thou, thou only sleepless art! Heigho! I wish Victorian were here. I know not what it is makes me so restless! [The bird sings.] Thou little prisoner with thy motley coat, All are sleeping, weary heart! Thou speakest truly, poet! and methinks [Turns to lay down her book, and perceives the COUNT.] Lara. Be not alarmed; I found no one in waiting. If I have been too bold Pre. [turning her back upon him]. You are too bold! Retire! retire, and leave me! Lara. My dear lady, First hear me! I beseech you, let me speak. 'Tis for your good I come. Pre. [turning toward him with indignation]. Begone! Begone You are the Count of Lara, but your deeds Would make the statues of your ancestors Blush on their tombs! Is it Castilian honour, Is it Castilian pride, to steal in here Upon a friendless girl, to do her wrong? O`shame! shame! shame! that you, a nobleman, Lara. I dare anything! Therefore beware! You are deceived in me. Pre. If to this You might have spared the coming. Having spoken, Lara. I thought it but a friendly part to tell you But there are many who, not knowing you, That you should take upon yourself the duty Lara. Malicious tongues Are ever busy with your name. Pre. Alas! How mean you? Lara. Nay, nay; I will not wound your gentle soul By the report of idle tales. Pre. What are these idle tales? Speak out! You need not spare me. In yon high house, beyond the garden wall,— You are silent! I would not blame you, being young and fair [He tries to embrace her. She starts back, and draws a dagger from her bosom.] Pre. Beware! beware! I am a Gipsy girl! Lay not your hand upon me. One step nearer And I will strike! Lara. Fear not. Pray you, put up that dagger. |