Life Is A Dream | Page 7

we should thus be stopt?Upon her threshold so uncivilly.
CLO.?Whither in Poland?
ROS.?To the capital.
CLO.?And on what errand?
ROS.?Set me on the road,?And you shall be the nearer to my answer.
CLO. (aside).?So resolute and ready to reply,?And yet so young--and--?(Aloud.)?Well,--?Your business was not surely with the man?We found you with?
ROS.?He was the first we saw,--?And strangers and benighted, as we were,?As you too would have done in a like case,?Accosted him at once.
CLO.?Ay, but this sword?
ROS.?I flung it toward him.
CLO.?Well, and why?
ROS.?And why? But to revenge himself on those who thus?Injuriously misuse him.
CLO.?So--so--so!?'Tis well such resolution wants a beard?And, I suppose, is never to attain one.?Well, I must take you both, you and your sword,?Prisoners.
FIFE. (offering a cudgel).?Pray take mine, and welcome, sir;?I'm sure I gave it to that mule of mine?To mighty little purpose.
ROS.?Mine you have;?And may it win us some more kindliness?Than we have met with yet.
CLO (examining the sword).?More mystery!?How came you by this weapon?
ROS.?From my father.
CLO.?And do you know whence he?
ROS.?Oh, very well:?From one of this same Polish realm of yours,?Who promised a return, should come the chance,?Of courtesies that he received himself?In Muscovy, and left this pledge of it--?Not likely yet, it seems, to be redeem'd.
CLO (aside).?Oh, wondrous chance--or wondrous Providence!?The sword that I myself in Muscovy,?When these white hairs were black, for keepsake left?Of obligation for a like return?To him who saved me wounded as I lay?Fighting against his country; took me home;?Tended me like a brother till recover'd,?Perchance to fight against him once again?And now my sword put back into my hand?By his--if not his son--still, as so seeming,?By me, as first devoir of gratitude,?To seem believing, till the wearer's self?See fit to drop the ill-dissembling mask.?(Aloud.)?Well, a strange turn of fortune has arrested?The sharp and sudden penalty that else?Had visited your rashness or mischance:?In part, your tender youth too--pardon me,?And touch not where your sword is not to answer--?Commends you to my care; not your life only,?Else by this misadventure forfeited;?But ev'n your errand, which, by happy chance,?Chimes with the very business I am on,?And calls me to the very point you aim at.
ROS.?The capital?
CLO.?Ay, the capital; and ev'n?That capital of capitals, the Court:?Where you may plead, and, I may promise, win?Pardon for this, you say unwilling, trespass,?And prosecute what else you have at heart,?With me to help you forward all I can;?Provided all in loyalty to those?To whom by natural allegiance?I first am bound to.
ROS.?As you make, I take?Your offer: with like promise on my side?Of loyalty to you and those you serve,?Under like reservation for regards?Nearer and dearer still.
CLO.?Enough, enough;?Your hand; a bargain on both sides. Meanwhile,?Here shall you rest to-night. The break of day?Shall see us both together on the way.
ROS.?Thus then what I for misadventure blamed,?Directly draws me where my wishes aim'd.
(Exeunt.)
SCENE II.?The Palace at Warsaw
Enter on one side Astolfo, Duke of Muscovy, with his train: and, on the other, the Princess Estrella, with hers.
ASTOLFO.?My royal cousin, if so near in blood,?Till this auspicious meeting scarcely known,?Till all that beauty promised in the bud?Is now to its consummate blossom blown,?Well met at last; and may--
ESTRELLA.?Enough, my Lord,?Of compliment devised for you by some?Court tailor, and, believe me, still too short?To cover the designful heart below.
AST.?Nay, but indeed, fair cousin--
EST.?Ay, let Deed?Measure your words, indeed your flowers of speech?Ill with your iron equipage atone;?Irony indeed, and wordy compliment.
AST.?Indeed, indeed, you wrong me, royal cousin,?And fair as royal, misinterpreting?What, even for the end you think I aim at,?If false to you, were fatal to myself.
EST.?Why, what else means the glittering steel, my Lord,?That bristles in the rear of these fine words??What can it mean, but, failing to cajole,?To fight or force me from my just pretension?
AST.?Nay, might I not ask ev'n the same of you,?The nodding helmets of whose men-at-arms?Out-crest the plumage of your lady court?
EST.?But to defend what yours would force from me.
AST.?Might not I, lady, say the same of mine??But not to come to battle, ev'n of words,?With a fair lady, and my kinswoman;?And as averse to stand before your face,?Defenceless, and condemn'd in your disgrace,?Till the good king be here to clear it all--?Will you vouchsafe to hear me?
EST.?As you will.
AST.?You know that, when about to leave this world,?Our royal grandsire, King Alfonso, left?Three children; one a son, Basilio,?Who wears--long may he wear! the crown of Poland;?And daughters twain: of whom the elder was?Your mother, Clorilena, now some while?Exalted to a more than mortal throne;?And Recisunda, mine, the younger sister,?Who, married to the Prince of Muscovy,?Gave me the light which may she live to see?Herself for many, many years to come.?Meanwhile, good King Basilio, as you know,?Deep in abstruser studies than this world,?And busier with the stars than lady's eyes,?Has never by a second marriage yet?Replaced, as Poland ask'd of him, the heir?An early marriage brought and took away;?His young