Joanna Baillie

“ GARCIO.
Ay, were my faith
Strong as my penitence, 't were well indeed.
My scourge and bed of earth would then be temper'd
Almost to happiness.
COUNTESS.
Thy scourge and bed of earth! alas, alas!
And meanest thou then to wreak upon thyself
Such cruel punishment? O no, my Garcio!
God doth accept the sorrow of the heart
Before all studied penance. 'T is not well:
Where'er thou art, live thou with worthy men,
And as becomes thy state.
GARCIO.
No; when from hence a banish'd man I go,
I'll leave behind me all my crime did purchase. ”

“ ROVANI.
Ah! such a resolution! Heard I right?
To leave his wife and child?
HERMIT.
Question me not, my son; there is good cause:
'T is meet that he should go.
ROVANI.
Forgive me, Father!
That solemn voice and sorrowing eye too well
Asserts there is a cause,—a fearful cause.
I will obey thee. (Going, but returns again.)
Is there aught further thou would'st have me do?
HERMIT.
He will, perhaps, desire to see his lady;
But till he be prepared to leave the castle,
And take his last farewell, methinks 't were better
They should not meet. ”

“ SEBASTIAN.
Rise, dearest, kindest, best, mine own Zorada!
Yes, child; thou shalt be all the world to me;
But it must be a faint, ideal world.
I may in dreams, in thought, in musing fancy
Behold thy face, thy form,—may hear thy voice—
But many a league of ocean and of land
Must lie between us. Ev'n my dying day
Will not be lighten'd with one look of thine.
ZORADA (after weeping on his neck) .
We do not know what Heaven appoints for us.
SEBASTIAN.
Has Don Romiero spoken aught to thee
Respecting my sad fate?
ZORADA.
He has: 'tis true—the horrid tale is true. ”

“ BEATRICE.
And yet how fair and bright the morning shines,
As if it laugh'd at all the late turmoil.
There's not a cloud in the whole azure sky.
ZORADA.
None, save those little wanderers, pure as snow,
That, like bewilder'd things, are hasting on
Like sea-birds to their rock.—What men are these?
Enter Mariners, &c.
FIRST MARINER.
We are, an' please ye, good and noble lady.
Poor shipwreck'd seamen, cast upon your shore;
Our all is lost; and we are spent and faint
For want of food.
ZORADA.
Ye shall not want it long. ”

“ Nay; give thy ruffled thoughts a little pause;
Be well assured things are not as thou fear'st.
She did appear so good.
ROMIERO.
⁠Alas! she did.
If I but droop'd or looked a little pale,
The stroke of her soft hand, her kindly words,
Her sweet breath on my cheek,—O! it did turn
The hour of pain to bliss!—And all this happiness
Was but delusion—but a hov'ring vapour
That covers for a while the fenny pool.
GUZMAN.
No, say not so! Is it not far more likely
That the delusion rests with thee, my friend?
ROMIERO (After musing, and without heeding what Guzman has said) . ”

“ LADY WORRYMORE.
⁠Clermont! Have I the pleasure of beholding the writer of that beautiful sonnet, which has been mentioned to me with so much praise?
SIR JOHN (presenting Clermont) .
⁠A poet who will think himself honoured indeed by the notice of such a critic as Lady Worrymore.
LADY WORRYMORE.
⁠O no, Sir John! an ardent admirer of the Muses, but no critic.—To what a charming department of poetry, Mr. Clermont, you have devoted your pen! The sonnet!—the refined, the tender, the divine sonnet! O how it purifies and separates the mind from all commonness and meanness of Nature! ”

“ I have believed true love
Of such a noble, high, confiding nature,
That neither scandal's breath, nor seeming show
Of fitful change, could shake its gen'rous trust.
'T were agony for me to think thee false;
But till thou front me with a rival—yea,
Till thine own words have own'd that thou art faithless—
I will believe thee true.
ROMIERO.
Believe, believe it! and on these dear hands,
A thousand times caress'd, let me be vow'd
Ne'er to offend again thy noble nature
With ev'n the slightest movement of suspicion.
Dost thou relent, Zorada? Dost thou love me? ”

“ GUZMAN.
Thou graspest my throat so hard, I cannot speak.
ROMIERO.
Well, well, then! Out with all their damned words,
Till they have proved the blackest tint of guilt,
And then will come the fatal end of all;
The sabre clutch' d in strength; the stroke of vengeance;
The horrible joy, that lasteth for a moment!
Let all this be; let horror be unstinted!
Let every misery light upon the head
Of that most wanton——No, the word would choke me;
I will not utter it.
GUZMAN.
Thou art beside thy wits; thou canst not hear me. ”

“ If so much grace and sweetness cannot please him,
He must be ill to win. And by my faith!
Perhaps she is this same mysterious lady,
To whom, as thou suspectest, his late visits,
So frequent and so long, have been devoted.
MARIAN.
Ah, no! I fear another has his heart,—
His constant heart, whom he, at least, will think
Fairer than this sweet maid, or all besides.
DUNARDEN.
And if it should be so, will nothing please him
But the top-flower of beauty and perfection?
The second best, methinks, ay, or the third,
Where fortune gilds the prize, might suit him well. ”

“ MONTEBESA.
Because I would upon your sadden'd brow
Print traces which may lead our poor Artina
To question thee; and thou, who art her friend,
Canst by degrees, with gentle, wise precaution,
Reveal to her what she must needs be told.
SABAWATTÉ.
I cannot: put not such a task on me,
I do implore your goodness!—No, I cannot.
MONTEBESA.
Hush, hush! I hear the footsteps of a man,
But not Rasinga.—It is Samarkoon;
I know his rapid tread.—Be wise; be silent;
For he awhile must live in ignorance.
Enter Samarkoon, and Sabawatté retires to some distance. ”

“ DICKENSON.
⁠It is not for me to judge of your honour's notions.
CHARVILLE.
⁠Thou wilt hardly guess what I am going to say.
DICKENSON.
⁠No, Sir, but something for your own good, I doubt not.
CHARVILLE.
⁠Nay, don't look so grave; I am only going to try a little frolic.
DICKENSON.
⁠That is what I should never have guessed, I confess.
CHARVILLE.
⁠O! only a mere whim; every body has their whims: it is a whim in your mistress, now, to have that door opened. ”

“ DUNGARREN.
The sound of their spades and their mattocks. O my brave miners! they will do their work nobly at last.
VIOLET.
A way to escape under ground! my ears ring and my senses are confounded. Escape and deliverance?
DUNGARREN.
Yes, love, and friend, and dear human creature! escape and deliverance are at hand.
VIOLET.
How good and noble thou art to provide such deliverance for me, believing me unfaithful!
DUNGARREN.
Come, come; that is nothing: be what thou wilt, if I can but save thee!—Life and death are now on the casting of a die.——The ground moves; it is life! ”

“ CLERMONT.
⁠It is a new and bright fancy of your Ladyship's, and never entered my mundane imagination before.
LADY WORRYMORE.
⁠Has it not? O, I have worshipped Petrarch, dreamt of him, repeated in my sleep all his beautiful conceptions, till I have started from my couch in a paroxysm of delight!
SIR JOHN.
⁠Ah, Lady Worrymore! you should have lived some centuries earlier, and been the Laura of that impassioned poet yourself.
MISS FRANKLAND (aside to Sir John) .
⁠I wish she had, with all my heart.
LADY WORRYMORE.
⁠But I have not yet seen your sweet composition, Mr. Clermont ”

“ ROMIERO.
I hear your voices murm'ring in mine ear
Confused and dismal. Words I comprehend not.
What have I done? Some dreadful thing, I fear.
It is delusion this! she is not slain:
Some horrible delusion.
ZORADA (aside to Sebastian) .
Fly, fly, dear father, while he is so wild.
He will not know and will not follow thee.
SEBASTIAN.
No, dearest child! let death come when it will,
I'll now receive it thankfully. Romiero,
Thou wretched murd'rer of thy spotless wife—
Romiero de Cardona !
ROMIERO.
Who is it calls me with that bitter voice? ”

“ It may, indeed, be lothly enough when it falls to their share, but for his living carcass, at least, you must own that is noble and goodly.
HARTMAN.
I own it not: to me there is something in his air, his form, his mien, in the glance of his eye, yea, in the garb which he wears, that is intolerable.
KRANZBERG.
The ladies of Lubeck think differently.
HARTMAN.
Let them think as they will! it makes me mad to hear of such stupid, such perverse, such blind partiality. Senseless, fickle fools!
KRANZBERG.
True, they are fickle enough; but never mind it, that will cure the evil. ”

“ DUNGARREN.
God forbid! God help and deliver us!
(Runs impatiently to a corner of the dungeon, and puts his ear close to the ground.)
I do not hear them yet: if they should fail to reach it in time, God help us!
VIOLET.
What dost thou there? What dost thou listen for? What dost thou expect?
DUNGARREN.
Means for thy deliverance,—thy escape.
VIOLET.
Say not so; it is impossible.
DUNGARREN.
It is possible, and will be, if there's a Providence on earth—if there's mercy in heaven. ”

“ GUZMAN.
Thy flesh and blood! lies flesh and blood of thine
So near us, and conceal'd?—A son, perhaps?
NURSE.
I have a son; but where he is conceal'd.
Or far or near, I know not.
GUZMAN.
Nay, nay, good Nurse; think of next month's confession,
When lying must be paid for. Father Thomas
For a small penance will not let thee off. (Here Romiero appears from behind the arras, with gestures of impatience, but draws back again.)
GUZMAN.
Know'st thou not where he is, this son of thine?
A handsome youth, no doubt. ”

“ ROVANI.
Nay, spare me, good Gonzalos! I, perhaps,
May, as I speak my jest or merry tale,
With restless eye keep peering to the side
Where beauty listens, too apparently;
But think not this attack on female constancy—
I mean this present individual push—
By any other motive has been prompted,
Than love and true regard for noble Garcio.
After the toils and dangers he has pass'd,
To see him thus received provokes me much.
GONZALOS.
Hush! be more prudent; speak thy mind less freely.
Thy brain is ever full of idle fancies:
Come to the air, and cool thy fev'rish spleen. ”

“ YOUNG ARDEN.
⁠The men that arrested me—let them come near. (To the men.) Be ye witnesses that with my dying breath I confess myself guilty of Robinair's death, and solemnly declare no creature but myself had any knowledge of it.—My strength goes fast; but this hand and this hand (pressing his father and mother's hands) are still warm in my grasp. Who else stands near who has loved me?—You, cousin, you have been very good to me; and, if I had strength, I would thank you.
MADALINE.
⁠My dear, dear Edmond! I love not my own brother better than thee: how shall I bear to think of thy sad end! ”

“ MENCIA.
I said not so in pity of thy state;
That bloody deed I know hath been the act
Of frenzied passion: in some foreign land
Live and repent: Heaven grant thee grace for this!
Let not man's hand, the brand of public shame,
Be on thy wretched head.
ANTONIO.
The hand of man, the brand of public shame,
Falls on the guilty head, by Heaven's appointment.
Thou riskest the salvation of thy soul
In aiding my escape; and for my life,
If of thy love bereft, I care not whether
The headsman's axe, or the slow hand of nature,
Shall rid me of it. Nay; the first were best. ”

“ Enter Malcolm, who bends over the grave for some time in silence.
MALCOLM.
And here beneath this trampled sod she lies,
Stiffen'd, and cold, and swathed in coffin-weeds,
Who, short while since, moved like a gleam of brightness,
Lighting each face, and cheering every heart.
Oh, Emma, Emma Graham, is this thy place?
Dearer than thee a lover's soul ne'er worshipp'd
Fairer than thee a virgin's robe ne'er wrapt;
Better than thee a parent's tongue ne'er bless'd.
Oh, Emma Graham, the dearest, fairest, best! ”

“ KRANZBERG.
Put me into credit with the world! Am I not in very good credit with the world?—Why dost thou shake thy head so? Am I not? I have broken no laws: I have disregarded no rules of decency. I have preserved a show of kindness to all men; ay, and have felt real kindness for some. What does the world know against me, that thou shouldst look so significantly?
CORMAN.
I don't say that they know any thing against you; but there is something in human nature called suspicion, that will sometimes contravene most provokingly all the good seeming that a painstaking man can put on. ”

“ RASINGA.
But thou 'It return again, and bring with thee
The sacred Book which thou hast told me of?
JUAN.
I will return again and bring that book,
If Heaven permit. But man's uncertain life
Is like a rain-drop hanging on the bough,
Amongst ten thousand of its sparkling kindred,
The remnants of some passing thunder shower,
Who have their moments, dropping one by one,
And which shall soonest lose its per'lous hold
We cannot guess.——
I, on the Continent, must for a time
A wand'rer be; if I return no more,
You may conclude death has prevented me. ”

“ GAUVINO.
He was the heir of all Ulrico's lands.
LUDOVIQUO.
True; so he was.
GAUVINO.
Ulrico loved him not, and oft opposed
His suit as most presumptuous. But for this,
Her brother's sudden end, the lovely maid
Had ne'er been Garcio's wife.
LUDOVIQUO.
All this is true; and yet, perhaps, those facts
Have on the mind of this poor dying wretch
Impress'd dark fancies, which the fever'd brain
Shapes into actual deed. Oh, it is horrible!
Canst thou believe one of his noble race
Could do a deed befitting ruffian hands,
And only such? ”