Ah! how true it is a son Is the source of many sorrows!--

CLAUDIUS.

But, my lord, reflect . . .

ESCARPIN.

Consider . . .

Think . . .

POLEMIUS.

Why think, when misery follows?-- Cease: you add to my affliction, And in no way bring me solace.

Since you see that in his madness He is now more firm and constant, Falling sick of new diseases, Ere he 's well of old disorders: Since one young and beauteous maiden, Whom love wished to him to proffer, Free from every spot and blemish, Pure and perfect in her fondness, Is the one whose fatal charms Give to him such grief and torment, That each moment he may perish, That he may expire each moment; How then can you hope that I Now shall list to words of comfort?--

CLAUDIUS.

Why not give this beauteous maiden To your son to be his consort, Since you see his inclination?

POLEMIUS.

For this reason: when the project I proposed, the two made answer, That before they wed, some problem, Some dispute that lay between them Should be settled: this seemed proper: But when I would know its nature I could not the cause discover.

From this closeness I infer That some secret of importance Lies between them, and that this Is the source of all my sorrows.

AURELIUS.

Sir, my loyalty, my duty Will not let me any longer Silence keep, too clearly seeing How the evil has pa.s.sed onward.

On that day we searched the mountain. . . .

POLEMIUS (aside).

Woe is me! could he have known then All this time it was Chrysanthus?

AURELIUS.

I approaching, where with shoulders Turned against me stood one figure, Saw the countenance of another, And methinks he was . . .

POLEMIUS (aside).

Ye G.o.ds!

Yes, he saw him! help! support me!

AURELIUS.

The same person who came hither Lately in the garb of a doctor, Who to-day to cure Chrysanthus Such unusual treatment orders.

Do you ascertain if he Is Carpophorus; let no portent Fright you, on yourself rely, And you 'll find that all will prosper.

POLEMIUS.

Thanks, Aurelius, for your warning, Though 't is somewhat tardily offered.

Whether you are right or wrong, I to-day will solve the problem.

For the sudden palpitation Of my heart that beats and throbbeth 'Gainst my breast, doth prove how true Are the suspicions that it fostered.

And if so, then Rome will see Such examples made, such torments, That one bleeding corse will show Wounds enough for myriad corses. [Exeunt Aurelius and Polemius.

CLAUDIUS.

Good Escarpin . . .

ESCARPIN.

Sir.

CLAUDIUS.

I know not How to address you in my sorrow.

Do you say that Cynthia was One of those not over-modest Beauties who to court Chrysanthus. .h.i.ther came, and who (strange portent!) Had some share of his bewitchment In the stupor that came on them?

ESCARPIN.

Yes, sir, and what 's worse, Daria Was another, thus the torment That we both endure is equal, If my case be not the stronger, Since to love her would be almost Less an injury than to scorn her.

CLAUDIUS.

Well, I will not quarrel with you On the point (for it were nonsense) Whether one should feel more keenly Love or hate, disdain or fondness Shown to one we love; enough 'T is to me to know, that prompted Or by vanity or by interest, She came hither to hold converse With him, 't is enough to make me Lose the love I once felt for her.

ESCARPIN.

Sir, two men, one bald, one squint-eyed, Met one day . . .

CLAUDIUS.

What, on your hobby?

A new story?

ESCARPIN.

To tell stories, Sir, is not my 'forte', 'pon honour:-- Though who would n't make a hazard When the ball is over the pocket?--

CLAUDIUS.

Well, I do not care to hear it.

ESCARPIN.

Ah, you know it then: Another Let me try: A friar once . . .

Stay though, I have quite forgotten There are no friars yet in Rome: Well, once more: a fool . . .

CLAUDIUS.

A blockhead Like yourself, say: cease.

ESCARPIN.

Ah, sir, My poor tale do n't cruelly shorten.

While the sacristan was blowing . . .

CLAUDIUS.

Why, by heaven! I 'll kill you, donkey.

ESCARPIN.

Hear me first, and kill me after.

CLAUDIUS.

Was there ever known such folly As to think 'mid cares so grave I could listen to such nonsense? (exit.

[Enter Chrysanthus and Daria, at opposite sides.]

DARIA (to herself).

O ye G.o.ds, since my intention Was in empty air to scatter All these prodigies and wonders Worked in favour of Chrysanthus By the Christians' sorcery, why, Having you for my copartners, Do I not achieve a victory Which my beauty might make facile?

CHRYSANTHUS.

O ye heavens, since my ambition Was to melt Daria's hardness, And to bring her to the knowledge Of one G.o.d who works these marvels, Why, so pure is my intention, Why, so zealous and so sanguine, Does not easy victory follow, Due even to my natural talent?