Oh, no, I love as truly as .... Where am I?
There's sleep hangs in the very air .... What! thou,
Thou, whom the evening of the Carnival
I track'd, my stately masquer, to thy barge,
And lost thee so .... what do I prate about? . . . .
A gondola there was not to be had,
Else I had chased thee—but I vow'd to love,
And on my knees here by those mild eyes swear,
That gleam so like a spectre! hence, avaunt!
Where is my sword gone? .... God! I do but dream.
'Tis useless watching thus: I'll sleep in peace;
This silent chamber hath sure a slumberous charm
I cannot counteract;—Guard me, good God.
Christ and good angels, guard me!(Sleeps.)
SCENE IV.
Master Robert Buckdale. Giuliana.
Giu. I trust my father will not hear of this:
'Twill chafe him. Even me, since our arrival,
He hath still put off from visiting the castle;
Nor knew I till last week that 'twas his own.
This is mysterious.
Rob.'Tis so.—Nay, Giuliana,
Let us not onward; rest thee, rest awhile,
A little while, in yonder mossy bower.
'Tis spicy sweet as is this sunny lawn;
And yon its fountain is musical as the hum
Of the gay bees that flit here; and its cool,
Pleasanter than the sultry noon.
Giu.No, Buckdale,
We must be wise and wary, who are yet
Unsanction'd lovers. Too long noontide meetings
Are not for us now: my father soon
Returns from the King's rising. In this place,
Fair sir, perhaps this evening.—Shall ye note it?
Rob. Yes, dear, with more religion, than a saint
His hours canonical. And after vespers?
For holy hours are fittest with mine angel
To meet.
Giu.Well—one hour after even-song.
Rob. I'll fail not, as I live.
Giu.Commend me, then,
To your brave brother. Brave he is, as this
Perilous quest shows him, and most noble too,
As, Buckdale, we well know. Your brother is
One I had loved, if ....
Rob.He had not had a brother?
Giu. Nay, said I so?
Rob.But meant it.
Giu.Doth it follow
I meant so, because so ye understood me?
Rob. No; but it follows from the wreathed kindness
Of those carnation lips,—whose premises
Are plainly smiles—whereon I infer hope.
Giu. Love's logic often is sophistical.
But fare ye well! farewell, good Master Buckdale.
Rob. No freer leave-taking?
Giu.Well, then, good Buckdale,
Good-bye.
