_Ire._ Farewell, my brother!

I do obey; I bide occasion, waiting For what the years may bring.

_Theo._ Repent thy sin.

END OF ACT II.

ACT III.

SCENE I.--_Cherson, two years after. The palace of_ LAMACHUS.

ASANDER _and_ GYCIA.

_Gycia._ What day is this, Asander? Canst thou tell me?

_Asan._ Not I, my love. All days are now alike; The weeks fleet by, the days equivalent gems Strung on a golden thread.

_Gycia._ Thou careless darling!

I did not ask thee of the calendar.

Dost think a merchant's daughter knows not that?

Nay, nay; I only asked thee if thou knewest If aught upon this day had ever brought Some great change to thee.

_Asan._ Sweetest, dearest wife, Our marriage! Thinkest thou I should forget, Ay, though the chills of age had froze my brain, That day of all my life?

_Gycia._ Dost thou regret it?

I _think_ thou dost not, but 'tis sweet to hear The avowal from thy lips?

_Asan._ Nay, never a moment.

And thou?

_Gycia._ Nay, never for a pa.s.sing thought.

I did not know what life was till I knew thee.

Dost thou remember it, how I came forth, Looking incuriously to see the stranger, And lo! I spied my love, and could not murmur A word of courtesy?

_Asan._ Dost thou remember How I, a feverish and hot-brained youth, Full of rash pride and princely arrogance, Lifted my eyes and saw a G.o.ddess coming----

_Gycia._ Nay, a weak woman only.

_Asan._ And was tamed By the first glance?

_Gycia._ What! are we lovers still, After two years of marriage?

_Asan._ Is it two years, Or twenty? By my faith, I know not which, For happy lives glide on like seaward streams Which keep their peaceful and unruffled course So smoothly that the voyager hardly notes The progress of the tide. Ay, two years 'tis, And now it seems a day, now twenty years, But always, always happy.

[_Embraces_ GYCIA.

_Gycia._ Yet, my love, We have known trials too. My honoured sire Has gone and left us since.

_Asan._ Ay, he had reaped The harvest of his days, and fell asleep Amid the garnered sheaves.

_Gycia._ Dearest, I know He loved thee as a son, and always strove To fit thee for the place within our State Which one day should be thine. Sometimes I think, Since he has gone, I have been covetous Of thy dear love, and kept thee from the labour Of State-craft, and the daily manly toils Which do befit thy age; and I have thought, Viewing thee with the jealous eyes of love, That I have marked some shade of melancholy Creep on when none else saw thee, and desired If only I might share it.

_Asan._ Nay, my love, I have been happy truly, though sometimes, It may be, I have missed the clear, brisk air Of the free plains; the trumpet-notes of war, When far against the sky the glint of spears Lit by the rising sun revealed the ranks Of the opposing host, the thundering onset Of fierce conflicting squadrons, and the advance Of the victorious hosts. Oh for the vigour And freshness of such life! But I have chosen To sleep on beds of down, as Caesar might, And live a woman's minion.

_Gycia._ Good my husband, Thou shouldst not speak thus. I would have thee win Thy place in the Senate, rule our Cherson's fortunes, Be what my father was without the name, And gain that too in time.

_Asan._ What! You would have me Cozen, intrigue, and cheat, and play the huckster, As your republicans, peace on their lips And subtle scheming treaties, till the moment When it is safe to spring? Would you have me cringe To the ignorant mob of churls, through whose sweet voices The road to greatness lies? Nay, nay; I am A King's son, and of Bosphorus, not Cherson-- A Scythian more than Greek.

_Gycia._ Nay, my good lord, Scythian or Greek, to me thou art more dear Than all the world beside. Yet will not duty, The memory of the dead, the love of country, The pride of the great race from which we spring, Suffer my silence wholly, hearing thee.

It is not true that men Athenian-born Are of less courage, less of n.o.ble nature, More crafty in design, less frank of purpose, Than are thy countrymen. They have met and fought them, Thou knowest with what fate. For polity I hold it better that self-governed men Should, using freedom, but eschewing license, Fare to what chequered fate the will of Heaven Reserves for them, than shackled by the chains The wisest tyrant, gilding servitude With seeming gains, imposes. We are free In speech, in council, in debate, in act, As when our great Demosthenes hurled back Defiance to the tyrant. Nay, my lord, Forgive my open speech. I have not forgot That we are one in heart and mind and soul, Knit in sweet bonds for ever. Put from thee This jaundiced humour.

If State-craft please not, by the headlong chase Which once I know thou lovedst. Do not grudge To leave me; for to-day my bosom friend, After two years of absence, comes to me.

I shall not feel alone, having Irene.

_Asan._ Whom dost thou say? Irene?

_Gycia._ Yes, the same She was crossed in love, poor girl, dost thou remember, When we were wed?

_Asan._ Gycia, I mind it well.

Send her away--she is no companion for thee; She is not fit, I say.

_Gycia._ What is't thou sayest?

Thou canst know nought of her. Nay, I remember, When I did ask thee if thou knewest her At Bosphorus, thou answeredst that thou didst not.

_Asan._ I know her. She is no fit mate for thee.

_Gycia._ Then, thou didst know her when thy tongue denied it.

_Asan._ How 'tis I know her boots not; I forbid My wife to know that woman. Send her hence.

_Gycia._ Nay, nay, my lord, it profits not to quarrel.

Thou art not thyself. Either thou knew'st her name When we were wedded, or unreasoning spleen Doth blind thy judgment since. Thou canst not know her Who has been absent.

_Asan._ Ask no more, good wife; I give no reason.

_Gycia._ Nay, indeed, good husband, Thou hast no reason, and without good reason I will not spurn my friend.

_Asan._ Gycia, forgive me; I spoke but for our good, and I will tell thee One day what stirs within me, but to-day Let us not mar our happy memories By any shade of discord.

_Gycia._ Oh, my love, Forgive me if I have seemed, but for a moment, To fail in duty. I am all, all thine; I have nought but thee to live for. Childish hands And baby voices lisping for their mother Are not for me, nor thee; but, all in all, We joy together, we sorrow together, and last Shall die, when the hour comes, as something tells me, Both in the selfsame hour.

_Asan._ Nay, wife, we are young; Our time is not yet come. Let us speak now Of what I know thou holdest near thy heart.

I do remember that it was thy wish To celebrate thy father's name and fame By some high festal. If thy purpose hold For such observance, the sad day which took him Returns a short time hence; I will employ Whatever wealth is mine to do him honour, And thee, my Gycia. Honouring the sire, I honour too the child.

_Gycia._ My love, I thank thee For this spontaneous kindness, and I love thee; I am all thine own again. Come, let us go; Nor spare the wealth wherewith his bounty blest us To do fit honour to the ill.u.s.trious dead.