The Wonder-Working Magician | Page 8

the supposition,?That this lady you pay court to?Suffers naught by the admission,?Since you both have spoken proudly?Of her virtue and her strictness,?Tell me who she is; for I,?Who am held throughout the city?In esteem, would for you both?Speak to her at first a little?That she thus may be prepared?When her father tells your wishes.
LELIUS. You are right.
CYPRIAN. Her name?
FLORUS. Justina,?Daughter of Lysander.
CYPRIAN. Little,?Now that I have heard her name,?Seem the praises you have given her;?She is virtuous as she's noble.?Instantly I'll pay my visit.
FLORUS [aside]. May heaven grant that in my favour?Her cold heart be moved to pity!?[Exit.
LELIUS. Love, my hopes with laurels crown?When they are to her submitted!?[Exit.
CYPRIAN. Further mischief or misfortune,?Grant me, heaven, that I may hinder!?[Exit.

SCENE VI.
MOSCON, CLARIN.
MOSCON. Has your worship heard our master?Now is gone to pay a visit?To Justina?
CLARIN. Yes, my lord.?But what matter if he didn't?
MOSCON. Matter quite enough, your worship;?He has no business there.
CLARIN. Why, prithee?
MOSCON. Why? because I die for Livia,?Who is maid to this Justina,?And I wouldn't have even the sun?Get a glimpse of her through the window.
CLARIN. Well, that's good; but, for a lady,?To contend were worse than silly,?Whom I mean to make my wife.
MOSCON. Excellent, faith! the fancy tickles?Quite my fancy. Let her say?Who it is that annoys or nicks her?To a nicety. Let's go see her,?And she'll choose.
CLARIN. A good idea!--?Though I fear she'll pitch on you.
MOSCON. Have you then that wise suspicion?
CLARIN. Yes; for always these same Livias?Choose the worst, th'ungrateful minxes.*?[Exeunt.
[footnote] *The 'asonante' versification in 'i-e', which has been kept up through these six scenes, ends here. The seventh scene commences in rhymed five-line stanzas, which change to the asonante in e-e, at the beginning of Lysander's long speech.

SCENE VII.
A HALL IN THE HOUSE OF LYSANDER.
Enter JUSTINA and LYSANDER.
JUSTINA. Consolation, sir, is vain,?After what I've seen to-day:?The whole city, madly gay,?Error-blinded and insane,?Consecrating shrine and fane?To an image, which I know,?Cannot be a god, although?Some demoniac power may pass,?Making breathe the silent brass?As a proof that it is so.
LYSANDER. Fair Justina, thou indeed,?Wert not who thou art, if thou?Didst not weep as thou dost now,?Didst not in thy pure heart bleed?For what Christ's divinest creed?Suffers on this sinful day.
JUSTINA. Thus my lineage I display:--?For thy child I could not be,?Could I without weeping see?This idolatrous display.
LYSANDER. Ah, my good, my gentle maid!?Thou art not my daughter, no,?'Twere too happy, if 'twere so.?But, O God! what's this I've said?--?My life's secret is betrayed!?'Twas my soul that spoke aloud.
JUSTINA. What do you say, sir?
LYSANDER. Oh! a crowd?Of old thoughts my heart hath stirred.
JUSTINA. Many times methought I heard?What but now you have avowed,?And yet never wished to hear,?At the risk perchance of paining,?A more accurate explaining?Of your sorrow and my fear;?But since now it doth appear?Right that I should be possess'd?Of the whole truth half confess'd,?Let me say, though bold appearing,--?Trust your secret to my hearing,?Since it hath escaped your breast.
LYSANDER. Ah! Justina, I have long?Kept this secret from your ears,?Fearing from your tender years?That the telling might be wrong;?But now seeing you are strong,?Firm in thought, in action brave,?Seeing too, that with this stave,?I go creeping o'er the ground,?Rapping with a hollow sound?At the portals of the grave,?Knowing that my time is brief,?I would not here leave you, no,?In your ignorance; I owe?My own peace, too, this relief:?Then attentive to my grief?Let your pleasure list.
JUSTINA. A fear?Struggles in my breast.
LYSANDER. Severe?Is the test my duty pays.
JUSTINA. From this most perplexing maze?Oh, sir, rescue me.
LYSANDER. Then hear.?I, most beautiful Justina,?Am Lysander . . . . This commencement?With my name need not surprise you;?For though known to you already,?It is right, for all that follows,?That it should be well remembered,?Since of me you know no more?Than what this my name presenteth.?Yes, I am Lysander, son?Of that city which on Seven?Hills a hydra seems of stone,?Since it seven proud heads erecteth;?Of that city now the seat?Of the mighty Roman empire,?Cradle of Christ's wider realm,--?Boon that Rome alone could merit.?There of poor and humble parents?I was born, if "poor" expresses?Well their rank who left behind them?Virtues, not vain earthly treasures.?Both of them by birth were Christians,?Joyful both to be descended?From brave sires who with their blood?Happily life's page had reddened,?Terminating the dull scroll?With death's bright emblazoned letters.?In the Christian faith well grounded?I grew up, and so well learnt it,?That I would, in its defence,?Even a thousand lives surrender.?I was young still, when to Rome,?In disguise and ill attended,?Came our good Pope Alexander,?Who then prudently directed?The high apostolic see,?Though its place there was not settled;?For, as the despotic power?Of the stern and cruel gentiles?Satisfies its thirst with blood?From the martyrs' veins that shed it,?So must still the primitive church?Keep concealed its sons and servants;?Not that they decline to die,?Not that martyrdom is dreaded?But that rebel rage should not,?At one stroke, one hour