P s A Geminy of Vipers A DRAMA. In Four Acts. * A. H. HICKERSON. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1894, by A. H. Hickerson, in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. TMP92-009173 A GkEMINY OF VIPERS. By A. H. Hickerson. DRAMATIS PERSONS. Sebastian, father to Roderick. Humphrey, uncle to Theophilus. Roderick, an infiidel, in love with Eudora. Lubin, his friend. Theophilus, suitor to Eudora. Alphonso, servant to Roderick. Salmon, servant to Theophilus. Gershom, a hermit. Pike, ] Peak, I Gershom's imps. Other imps. Poke, J ACT I. SCENE I. Open court in front of Sebastian' 's /louse. Ente-- Sebastian, Lubin, Humphrey and Theophilus. Sebas. Crown'd be the billowy seas with caps of valorous strife ; Surged high midst the sprays of glitter- ing toil enfold; Seethed fathomless in eddying conten- tion by brainless antic; So my thoughts play their antics in mind troubled even at repose. Sun is there none to an age when sun- shine might dwell Like purity on sin, casting sin out as tor- tures from hell. Life is there none to a life whose advance points with pride Backward to one sunless morn as they lay side by side. My son of that morn bursting out from the clouds of the womb Made woman a mother, has sent man nigh to his tomb. Full-plenished, fair-clad, bright-visag'd, with ill-fitting smile, Grace I the greetings of dear friends; yet dare I the while Abate heart beneath it, clad cheerless in hope that doth kill Orestes, friend to Humphrey. Antonia, mother to Roderick. Eudora, a rich heiress. Adessa, her waiting maid. A Messenger. Guards, Attendants, etc. SCENE : Greece. Sweet happiness. Friends, bear with me pray, 'tis a son's froward will. Lut>. Your mind is uneasy in strife made conflicting, Because of a son's froward will, so de- picting Thine own. Factions have fellows else there were no strife, So you are a fellow to this one now rife. Hum. Yet just is the cause as strong the strife, As thou canst weigh it to its full, just weight, And find no diminish, no increment there; A father deep-pitted 'gainst a son once so fair, Now set in contention — a Tyro arose From a mightier source to greet many foes; And 'sconced in such power to scatter alarm, It reacheth the father to do him this harm: The father ensconced on the side which is right, Cannot strike nor defend 'gainst his son in the fight. Theo. Now friends, if ye be friends, or be not friends, So foes: pray now, appease me. Stand- ing here, A GEMINY OF VIPERS. [Act i. I am a hungered like a ravenous wolf, Catching at flying morsels aimed at him ; And so in snappish humor for a bit, Stand I myself for just one gracious grain Of information dropped 'twixt rambling bits Of thy mysterious talk still unappeased. Through snapping at the fragments of thy speech, I fear I make myself a well-worn fag, Though fag I well might be for aught my ears Do bring me. In short, my friends, thy meaningless words Speak to me a meaningless tale . Sebas. Now how a tale Can strike such havoc to my heart, elud- ing ears So long and pert as these of friend The- ophilus, Is past my comprehension. Lub. Why, that's it; They are too large by many cubits drawn To harbor, and contain, much less con- ceive A sound so shallow small, as thy vast story Doth reverberate. Hum. Or hath he not a feather in his ear, That pricketh him to senseless humor of a tale In its true real significance ? Theo. Thou mockest me with jest not justly got; Therefore, alas, not friends, but foes I've got. Lub. What ho! he hears, but hearing- would upbraid Us for a merry jest disposed on him In a light and passing humor for a joke, Bestowed in friendly recompense alone In payment to a pair of outward ears, And for it get receipt returned again In only swift reproach. Sebas. Come friends, I fear Our humor will forsake us to deny A friendship erstwhile deeply felt by all. So while away such purposed raillery On those for whom you harbor not, In sweet-toned entertainment, stanchion- love Whereon a friend does lie. 'Tis not a thing well done in friendship's sphere, To prick a friendly heart by words severe, Languaged 'gainst words unwilling spoke. Lub. What hear! The grave Sebastian wisely speaks such fear; So wisely heed, our friendship not to sear. Theo. Well then, if thou'rt so decided, pray let me hear Thy story plain withal, despite my bung- ling ear. Sebas. Well, be it so. The story runs like this: I have a son as you my friends all know, As thou know'st, too, Theophilus, and tbat much To thy great sorrow, touching which mine ears Have served me better even than thine own, In that a tale purporting so to be Of this same good Theophilus reacheth them, By way of quaint vague catchings at odd times Of certain frivolous rumors now afloat, Which, now that they've had mention, might as well Be said again as left unpaid, swell not, To my crude way of thinking, in thy breast A bitterness one whit too sore or small, In any kind proportion or rude touch, Swaying it to a lighter or heavier make, To add or take away in present mood A humor so befitting but that thou Wert grievous sad as 'twere thy wont to be, In just effect of cause so justly great. Theo. If this be all thy story to be told, Pray quit its sad narration, for its humor More than scorcheth me to a living coal, Only to leave me in a shaking ague When 'tis done, and so, by turns, before I catch a breath to say which vast ex- treme I stand demented in, I'm now hot beast, Now ice-cold stone — dementing incon- gruity. Sebas. Why then, thou'rt truly as re- port doth make Of thee— A very mad, amphibian sort of fellow, Ready to singe thy neighbors by a look, Or freeze them by a touch. Theo. Allow me then To freeze thee from the ai dor thou art so Disposed to ever show in railling me, Heating thee by all entreating looks To immediate continuance of thy tale. Lub. Why hark ye now, Sebastian, my good friends, Theophilus turneth wit to goodly ends. Hum. And turning more a wit to good- ly ways, He merely speaks of touch and beaming gaze. Scene i.] A GEMINY OF VIPERS. Lu/>. , And turns himself, a man of goodly sense To meet our own poor wit. Sebas. Why then, I'll recompense Such wit, as it should be rewarded, I Will finish now my tale. I'luo Say rather, thou Wilt put a tail to it; for as to thy finish- ing it, It were a better tail thus added than A tale not told. Sebas. Say as to my finishing it, it were A better tale thus told, than tail not added ; For I'll not add a tail to tale that still Remains no tale. Lub. Now ne'er did anything come in so well. For I bethink me, by a sudden coming in Of truant memory, that I have urgent business, Even at this hour, which, to meet well, In opportune arrival at my appointment, Entaileth now my quick departure hence. Sebastian, I'll not wait to hear thy tale, Since hearing it withal, 'twould be but that I've heard before in many-mouthed syl- lables. So then, adieu, until to-morrow;' I will see you then. Hum. How, now. It seems to be the order to be tailed ; Therefore, Lubin, if thou hast none, I'll be Thy tail, and follow thee behind, to make For thee a pretty wag, and stay with thee Till thou dost cut me off, that, when thou dost, I'll bleed sad tears, and wag no more a tail Of sweet submissive friendship at thy back, But offended will I die. Adieu, Sebastian! My dear nephew, dine with me at eight, Meanwhile hark thou to what Sebastian will relate. Sebas. Kind friends, adieu to both, I'll see you both upon the morrow, I trust in mood of better cheer. [Exeunt Lubin and Humphrey. Enter RODERICK. Rod. What now! was that my dear friend Lubin Methought I heard in parle with others wrought, Who has just now escaped before my very nose, Outwitting my endeavors to o'ertake him ere he leave ? Why 'tis his very shadow I do see retreat, As who could not detect a saintly form By saintish shadow sprawl'd upon the ground, A thing too humble much to stand erect, Proclaiming his own goodness; be it so, I'll call good Lubin back ; what Lubin, ho ! Lub. [From without] Who calls ? Rod [ Aside"] Now this were, in good point of truth, A pretty twain of wagging hypocrites, Standing to each with back to belly wag'd, As though the one were misadjusted tail Screw'd on the other for a certain use, But useless it hangs dead to its true func- tion. Well, so these christian braggarts are begot, Like strings of useless, ever-dragging tails, And so all tails, no heads. [To Lubin] Thy true friend, Roderick, calls for thy return. Canst thou not come ? Lub. [From -without] Believe me, Rod- erick, It doth grieve me more to leave thee 'Gainst thy express'd desire to stay, Than I expect to find relief from In the purpose of my stray; Or forget the pangs of merely By my doings whilst away. Thy love will be just supporter To mine own the livelong day, And the love I bear thee, Roderick, Is a love that comes to stay. Therefore though I now must leave thee Grace my absence as you may, Loving as I love, dear Roderick, Grace it thus, of thee I pray. Rod. Were he not christian, I could love him more, Yet being christian, I cannot love him less. Thus 'tis a strange fantastic wooing of The mind to heart, and of the heart to mind, Sets strife afloat most bitter in rebellious- ness To adversary parts of love and hate, Plung'd deep in one poor soul to make him miserable — What news with thee, my father? Sebas. None withal, save that which grieveth me ; Though this were news not new, I know, to thee; For the which thou hast to thank the prattle Of a father's grief-lash'd tongue. Rod. [Aside] Can the heart of any parent be pierced to greater agony than A GEMINY OF VIPERS. [Act i. this inflicted by a parent's censorious tongue made so with grief ? Theophilus, dost thou fare well ? Tltco. As fairly well as might be, save for a surfeit Of bad dreams by night, and worse thoughts through the day. Rod Perchance such state comes as effect from a foul liver, And thou hast over-bile contained in thee, Which wants a purge or so to counteract Its vile influence o'er thy other parts. Were I a doctor of old brittle bones, I'd fix thee such prescription right and good, As would soon teach to thee the meaning true Of good sound health, and make thee swift forget The meaning of foul parts. But being only of the common kind, I only can commend thee to thy God. 1 heo. Thou speak'st as though thou mock'st His sacred name, Which ill-becomes a man in any state, Much more in thine whose altitude, like that Of mighty Everett, pinnacles on high Thy lesser neighbor's crests. &bas. [Aside] Why, hark to them! I'll let them at it now, And thus Theophilus soon my tale will know. Rod. Now thou'rt a wily wag with wagging tongue. 'Tis from this great advantage I do speak, The vantage-ground of high indifferent rank, Whose summit shrouds me from rude scrutiny, Whilst I, secure, look down on other's faults. Theo. Would'st thou be a God ? Rod. Nay; nor would I have a God. Theo. What, an infidel! Why man, thou art usurper of the very breath thou drawest, and cannot call it thine, but for the sanction of a God. Rod. Now he that hath a question in his mind That I can blow a breath in lusty gale As strong as any christian ever dare, Whv bring him forth, my good Theophi- lus; And if he do out-blow me in the test, Straightway I'll turn christian. Theo. It is true, I know thou art a blower of strong words, So long as they be aimed at credulous ears, But there's a power unseen yet not un- seen, Unfelt though felt, unheard of; nay, but heard By every listening ear that hath a soul At welfare, which, like iEolus in his cave, Thou wilt some day have chance to blow against In strumpet blasts of shattering con- demnation, Until thy very liver turneth pale From hollow torment, and thy tongue hang out, Distorted, swollen, black, but for the ap- plication Of one poor drop to comfort thee. Rod. Well, teach me how to be a chris- tian. I stand as docile as a child at lesson, Ready to be taught. Theo. As docile as a wolf; I would as lief teach docile wolf as ferine child. Rod. Is tbis thy hard belief ? I had it in my mind a christian had a part, Each part to be performed, not as a duty picked, Or willed so suiting the performer; but rather, In submission through a love thou call'st divine, Which purports to descend from one — called God. I heo. Thou'rt l'ight; thou quotest our belief as though Thou wert even one of us, and used this means Of playful prodigality to guage thy friends To a higher, juster level of appreciation Of thy worth, whose quality, truly spoke, Doth well deserve it. Rod. (), christian flatterer! What vein of christian charity contrives To grant thee leave to flatter one like me, Whose atheism flings back scorn to thee. But then if I have said your creed aright, Thou art thyself, in turn, in greater wrong, So cease in this behalf thy joys to gratu- late. I may be many things but when I'm prodigal, My prodigality will go waste in some other direction. I'll be stone dead before I'll be a hypo- crite, Who, with his sick'ning, simulating ways, Love-beaming face, sweet-smiling lips and eyes, And blackest devil's heart in deep dis- guise, Makes wise men fools and fools most wondrous wise; Scene i.] A GJEMINY OF VI PEA'S. Harsh mimicry to instincts of a soul Whose ever present thought is set in truth ; Sweet joy to him who smirks with Janus- face To guage the deed to a devil's winning grace. No, no: of all mean things on earth to me, The meanest of them all I'll never be: I'll never be a hypocrite. Theo. But this thou wilt, Thou may'st be many things from out the which Allow me make fair choice just what thou art. If thou'rt not hypocrite, of other things That may be worse, or may be not so bad, Thou art that which makes thy friends truly sad; Thou art an unbeliever. Rod. Oh, my poor friends! Now you have cut me deep with the un- sheath'd dagger Of remorse, struck ruthlessly in my con- science, Rankling there a bitterer reproach. Oh, hated war Of troubled ragings, wrest from soft- suag'd love A love for me that I may, cradled low, Fall fast in beauteous sleep on cupid's arms, To dream of my poor friends so loving me. Theo. There is a way to gain their kind est love If thou see'st fit to take it. Rod. Name the way. Theo. By giving up thy ways. Rod. Why, then will I Be friendless evermore. Give up my ways To tread a darker course ? Theo. A lighter course. Thou art thyself engulf 'd in darkest night, And groping on do stumble in sad plight. Rod. Well, thou with kindness kindly aimed at me, Hast lighted me beyond obscurity. I need not fear if harmful pitfalls lay In lurking ambush dangerous to my way, Since by the candle of thy kind advice My path's illumined though I have no eyes To see my course. I'd have it otherwise. Theo. You turn a grave theme to a jest. Rod. With joy I would now thee infest. Theo. To counteract thine own sad breast ? Rod. No; give thee joy, 'tis my behest. Theo. To give thee joy is my request. Rod. And make thy heart quite sore disteess'd? Theo. Ay! that thine own will ne'er be blest. Rod. So thou canst meet a jest with jest. Theo. And meeting it give you the best. Rod. And greeting it give you no rest. Theo. I'll have the last word. I'm your guest. Rod. So like a bird you're in my nest. Theo. And like a bird I'd be caress'd. Rod. Such boyish actions I detest. Theo. Yet thou would'st fain grace thy conquest With gentle touch on lady's breast. And so I do outjest you. Rod. And no you turn a passing jest In graver mood* to one thus less'd Of lighter tenor framed. So now I do outwit you. Theo. Well, but this is jest, not wit. Rod. But what is wit but jest unwrit ? Theo A jest is rude, a wit is keen. Thy ways are rude; this I have seen. Rod. I pray thee now, what dost thou mean? Theo. I mean thy life is built upon a jest, In jest thou liv'st ;is in a grewsome jest Thou wilt soon die to dwell in warmer clime: But I'll tell you of this another time. Rod. Would'st leave me in such dire connection ? Theo. It were better thus to leave thee, Than in a fat and rolling condition Of contentment, too pleased with thine own self To give unto thyself a thought save that Born of contentment. Adieu, Sebastian, Fare you well. I leave thee now with thy son. God be with thee and him. I now know thy sad story and I pity thee, As I reproach thy son. Sebas. Fare you well, Theophilus. I am a good mark for the aim of thy commis- eration, as my son is for thy scorn. [ Exit Tlienphilns. Rod. Now this were one full funny freak Turned out of door as though to seek Another f 3llow like him. But outwitted in the search Turns back disgusted with the world, Left sadly in the lurch. Sebas. Come Roderick, thou dost see how thy friends Take thy perversed moods. I pray of thee A GEMINY OF VIPERS. [Act i. Turn swift away from these, a christian be With them, with me, and with thy dear mother Who so loves thee without a like return. Thou art to us, to all, as thou stand'st here, Though a beloved son and well-liked friend, A thing too loathsome far for us to touch In cherishing caress; though beauteous in Thy moulded form and haughty height, as if It were the grace of Baldur that crowned thee o'er, A thing far too disgustful for our eyes To dwell upon in feast of that repast Thy father and thy mother hunger for. Roderick! feast thou thus two fam- ished souls Upon the crumbs of thine enforced re- generacy. Quench their mad thirst with gushing waters, Fountained from the wells of thy new happiness. Let thy new life give them new life; Thy peace them peace, thy love them love, Thy heavenly hope them hope of life eternal. Rod. And if there be a devil let him have his way, Or be a God let Him come into stay ? No! no! my own sweet master I prefer to be, 1 ask no living man to be a slave to me, Nor will I be a slave to any man. Sebas. As thou thyself art greater than a toad, So stands thy God to thee. Thou art a God To a poor toad, as it, itself, is nothing but a toad to thee. Thus God is quite as good a God to thee as thou art To the toad; and as the toad is loathsome to thy siyht, So thou art loathsome to the sight of God. This is the law of all mankind, as 'tis the law of God. So as a lord to a poor toad, Thou art a slave to God. Rod. I may be slave bound in which chains I am thus held in love; but I am not a slave To God or man. Sebas. Which makes thee more a slave To sweet Eudora; for were it otherwise, and thou Didst look to God for thy deliverance, Eudora so Would look to thee for her support, and be thy slave Rather than to have you hers, with she your master, You without a God. Rod. Dear heart! methinks she would Be God enough for me, by whose sweet medium, Godless as I am, thy heaven in crude imagery, Must needs be mine here on thy dismal earth. I were content with such a heaven as this. Sebas. Ay! truly would'st thou be, as who should not. There is a heaven in pure Eudora's eyes That shines in lustrous azure as from the skies; There is a heaven in dear Eudora's smile That gives good cheer to comrades all the while ; There is a heaven in all Eudora's ways That sets my heart with warm love now ablaze; There is a heaven in good Eudora's soul That buoys her high above my poor ex- tol; The grace of heaven enshrines her noble heart With richer grace that ne'er can from her part. Indeed, when thou dost win this hi aven- ly sun, Thou wilt be blest — but not till thou hast won. Rod. Would'st thou so taunt me with a hampering fear That I cannot win my Eudora dear ? Why man, as I do speak I feel it now, Valhalla's crown cloistering my brow. What, thou hast so inflamed me with thy prate, This minute I'll to her and learn mv fate! [Exit. Sebas. Now I'll lay wager he does soon come back Like some poor hind awearied from the rack. But I must haste to sweet Eudora's side, xlpprisins: her ere he does me outstride. [Exit, SCENE II — Room in Eudora's house. Enter Eudora and Adessa. ides. How pale you look, sweet lady, Are you sick to-day ? Your looks pro- claim it. End. Do they ? Then, Adessa, they do Scene ti.] A GEMINY OF VIPERS. Practice on deceit in so proclaiming it. I am not sick; that is, my body's not. Ades. Yet still, I know you're sick, Else why this pallid hue on cheek and neck, More pallid than this shedding light could fleck; Or these sad drooping eye-lids, tearless, dry, Bespeaking anxious mind and restless eye? Eud. This pallor soft is fleck of twi- light dim, As it falls gently from far heaven to earth, Spreading a softness o'er harsh, vulgar men, To soon conceal their deeds from better men. Ades. A pretty answer; but these drooping eyes ? Eud. Did'st thou, Adessa, e'er note in the skies A certain drooping, languid gleam of light, Like soft, sad waves, that is best viewed at night, Which seems to creep into our lonely hearts, As we affrighted gaze transfixed? It starts Our very beings. So mine eyes do yearn And wax quite pensive to thy sure con- cern. Ades. A prettier answer yet; but why should eyes So yearn that have no cause to yearn ? End. Oh! wise And mighty arbiter, must I confess Before my judge, without chance to re- dress A grievance, that, pinned to the wall, leaves me But one alternative ? Enter SALMON/ra« behind, unnoticed. Ades. Oh! now I see, As I knew you were sick, and know it still, I know the nature of your malady. Sweet mistress, you're in love. Eud. Oh fie! but stay, If not in love, I am in worser plight. I am between two loves. Ades. Between two loves! And love such fiery stuff; oh, my poor heart; Dear madam, you'll be burned. Eud. I know it would Be cooler did I stand between two fires, Since men in love — Sal. Are such conceitful liars. Save your grace, fair lady, but I'm just come From one of these same makers of a lie, To herald him to you, to live or die. Ades. Would you so rude stalk unan- noune'd, uncall'd Into the private presence of a lady, Like one who knows not manners, what they are, But churlish, awkward, rush in at an hour, Untimely and inopportune to her, As though thou would'st with greedy jaws devour Two such sweet morsels as my lady and me? What would'stthou, man ? Thou'lt ne'er get hold of me, Nor this sweet lady thou dost see by me. Sal. If I had thee, I'd sell thee for a goat, Then take the money and cast it in a moat. If I had that fair lady I would keep Her safe from harm as a shepherd does his sheep. End. How now, Adessa, this knave hath a wit, And knows which way to aim it so to hit The rightful target with its wonted charge ; He wounded thee to death, me not so large. Sal. Fair lady, I meant not to wound thy smell, Thy taste, thy touch, thine ear, thy sight, thy face; But rather meant I simply to foretell The coming of my master with good grace. Eud. Who is thy master, man, and who art thou ? Sal. His name, fair lady, is in name plain 'The', With 'Op' to follow in a 'Hi' old muss, Then comes low 'lust' in all without the 'T'; In short, my lady, his name's The-oph-i- lus. I am his servant, Salmon; Salmon at your service. Eud. What! that of christian blood? Is he Thy master ? _ Sal. If he have blood, why yes, I've never Seen him bleed, but he was bred a chris- tian: This I've seen. Eud. 'Tis he; go bid thy master in; yet stay! LO A GEMINY OF VIPERS. [Act i. Stay yet awhile; soft man, I had forgot; 'Tis strange I had forgot that on this day I plighted answer to this same begot, And through sheer sympathy for his christian faith, Half-promised him — Ades. Hush ! lady, say it not, If you cannot say it with better cheer. In your affairs of love, let your heart speak, If it do not, 'tis perjury you do swear, Eud. I know, I know, and I must swiftly choose Between two loves; no, three; nay! nay! 'tis four. Four loves to choose from, and if I should lose But one of them, that one which I adore, I lose my life, and all that it contain. Now heaven, prepare me that my strength remain! Enter THEOPHILUS. Thou'rt welcome, good Theophilus, what's thy news ? T'heo. My news is something sadly sweet to me, As sweetly sad I fain 'twould be to thee, Coming from a sadly sweet newsmonger. End. Thou'rt sweet as one compared with whom thou'rt younger; Thou'rt sad I know not why. Theo. Then say I'm sad Because I'm sweet; and sweet because thy sweetness Sweetens me. Eud. 'Twere better then that thou wert not so sweet, If sweetness render thee in mood so sad; For those things sweet which are so droomy sad Digest not well, but lie like heavy sponge Upon the organs of the stomach, breed- ing certain Melancholy to a brooding soul. Theo. Doth my sweet Sadness breed to thee, my soul, such Melancholy to thy soul, that thou dost brood When I am near to thee ? End. No more when thou Art near than when thou art away. My sadness comes from elsewhere rather than From thee, thy absence, or thy presence. Theo. Tnou art Grown cold, Eudora, why this mark'd and strange Indifference ? Etid. Heaven marketh strangeness in the air, Oppressing stillness filling us with dread, Which heralds to our sense the brewing storm. Oh! seek swift refuge from this coming storm, Even while this precedent of dead calm Doth warn thee. Iheo. O God! what is this I hear? What calm is this that presages a storm? What storm to follow that the calm por- tends ? What sad destruction is to be the end ? What miseries to harrow me: extend My griefs ? Dear lady, pray do not sus- pend My griefs, my joys, my all upon the thread Of thy provoking hesitancy ; speak, I'll know thy will. Eud. [Aside] 'Tis thus I'm forced to say to him, What I would fain not say. Why do I wait? This coldness hath not answered him; I would That love were not so ardent hot, but that, To meet a current of cold words that go In issue from the arctic-frozen region Of a heart, it might be cooled of its hot ardor. 'Iheo. Speak, lady, give me cheer or death. Eud. [Aside] I cannot give him cheer: I must not give him death; yet what have I To give him but a cheerless death ? But come, I may as well be brief and have it o'er, That, like a wound inflicted in a trice, Its flow half-stanched, half-healed, for- got, before Its pain is felt, I may annul some pain, By practicing quick brevity myself. Therefore, I'll brave myself to speak. Iheo. Thou torturest me, fair lady, with thy art Of long postponement. Pray speed me life or death. If life, why quick; if death, why quicker still, That all my joys may die a single death, And not a slow one. Eud. Well, I will pleasure thee: And since thy mission is a quest of love, I'll base my answer on the theme of love. We all do stand upon our own defense, Defending what is right and what is just, Protecting those about us who are weak, Defying those about us who are strong. There is a pleasure in this justful strife That warms us ever to a grander fight, Scene ii.] A G EMI NY OF VIPERS. 11 And though crowns victory proudly on our brows, Saves him defeated from unjust indigni- ties. So let me speak to thee and let thine ears Ope gently to my speech to kill thy fears. ludo. I fear my fears will kill me: pray thee speak. Eud. Well, if they do let me with pity meek Guage thy sad death by sadness of mine own; For dying I die too, not through love's zone, That binds us with a tie that comes from 'bove, To soothe us to more willing thoughts of love, But rather through warm sympathy. Dear friend, Know that I love thee to this self- same end, And loving thee, thyself would I impel Far from the baneful brink of earthly hell, That dying thou wilt die not cruel death, But living thou may'st live, thy indrawn breath Sustaining thee through all thy pilgrim- age, And all thy strifes in which thou may'st engage. I love thy noble heart, sweet-tempered will, Thy christian truths, thy pride that doth instill Within thy breast an innate honor deep, Which doth from lewd intent thee ever keep. Does this suffice ? Theo. Is this all to be known ? I starve for life, and must yet gnaw a bone. Eud. Some say the sweetest, most de- licious meat Clings closest to the bone. 1 heo. Am I to eat What I have seen a cur disdain to touch ? And this from thee: nay, heaven, this is too much! Eud. In wounding thee I wound myself and thee; Look thou as thou dost feel, look thou to me; Upon my saddened eye, my trembling hand, Then if thou canst, thou may'st me repri- mand. Theo. Love cannot blame. Eud. Why then, love should forgive, And crown defeat with resignation. Live Thou to this end, and living thus thou wilt Outlive thy present passing passion. Tkeo. Such hopes built On such unstable ground are like unto Light feathers in the air that spin and spew The devil's dancer's jigs in merriment; 'Tis false, delusive hope; my joys are rent. Eud. Believe me sir, I am myself be- reft In so disposing of thy honorable love. Had I the power I would, with advance deft, Speed thee thy joy as swift as any dove. lh,o. I believe"thee, lady, and believ- ing thee, Will leave thee, lady, yet still loving thee; For I will always love thee, leave thee I. Or be with thee, what it be, till I die. Eud. I fain would have thee know why thou wert not Successful in thy suit, as 'tis my lot To so advise thee now before thou goest Perchance forever from my sight. Thou know'st That this may be; and being so I'd have Thee think of me with gentle thoughts. As I have said, I love thee for thy traits, And brood the folly that ordained the fates Requiting not so worthy an affection. But love is love and if it be true love Comes from that higher source we know naught of, We have no small control o'er its descent; It falls upon us shrewdly, swiftly bent. In sudden, silent mystery it does come, Whence no one knows but that perchance from some Sweet tided land. Oh, Love! Thou who art wrought From sequestration like a happy thought, Bursting forth from thy oblivion's seat To joyous revelation calm and sweet, Oh, Love! thou art a great and mighty king; Come crown thy queen and to her com- fort bring. This is the love that, loving, I must feel Before I can requite. Theo. To thee I kneel And do thee reverence ; thou art a queen Deserving of, uncrowned by, love serene; That though uncrowned, still being worthy of, Thou wilt be crowned as thou dost merit love. Eud. I thank thee sir; now rise and go thou hence; L2 A G EMI NY OF VIPERS. [Act i. Sweet thoughts to thee: let this be my defense. Theo. Thou teachest me the lesson how to love, As thou hast taught me how to stiHe love Met by thy unrequital. Fare you well; I'll now depart to loveless parts of hell. [Exeunt Theophilus and Salmon. Eud. How sad he was; thank heaven it is achieved, Though my poor heart like his, is all bereaved. Adessa! Ades. Yes, my lady. Eud. Where hast thou been, Adessa? I had quite forgot poor thee, and that poor Salmon, too. How fared thee with thy sponge ? And did he thy heart plunge To weeping miseries ? Ades. I was the sponge; and he the wringer, For he did wiing my hand past my en- durance, Till now I am as dry as the dryest sponge. That man is the fag-end of a fool. Eud. It seems that he hath fooled with thee, Leaving thee the fag-end of his foolish- ness. But didst thou note, Adessa, my mis- guided fewd With good Theophilus ? Ades. I did, my lady, and I did pity thee and him. Eud. Did pity him because he is so good, And me because I cannot wield his good- ness Its reward. I would that I could love him As I should, Adessa; for he is worthy Woman's purest love. Ades, And being worthy, meets with disappointment. That conjurer we call love, and think 'tis sweet, Doth conjure many a trusting, credulous heart To worlds of bitterness. Eud. Then mocks his grief; But there, Adessa, this is sad for me To dwell upon, since I, with this same sceptre Of injustice, rule the miserable fate of one, Ay! one whom I esteem as well as I esteem myself, To evil destinies. There, come, I'd have a little air. The thought of it expugns me here with guilt, As though, though gone, his spirit still remain To haras-* me. But hark! a foot falls. Ades. 'Tis thy good friend Sebastian comes in haste, A.nd he doth carry with him marks of great disturbance, Like as if some wild- eyed devil had him in pursuit, And he did strive most eagerly to out- distance him. Eud. Doth he look drunk ? Ades. If to look drunk, is to act wild, why yes, He hath a 'drunken look. But here he comes. Enter SEBASTIAN, excitedly. Sebas. Pardon, dear lady Eudora, my hazai"dous And undue intrusion into thy sacred sol- itudes, I know he who is guilty of an impropri- ety > So unbecoming as this deed, must needs explain His curt unceremonious behavior to her offended, Else why should he be pardoned ? Eud. Thou art welcome, Lord Sebastian, to my house, and to my privacy. But how is this? Thou seem'st so wrought about? What evil tide has so o'erwhelmed thee now, That thy old wonted calm desertest thee? Sebas. Why, I have had a hot and mighty race, And breathless, all agore with copious drops In fever-heat, close-press'd, urged swift- ly on, My sinews strained and pitched to their highest tension, Guaging a natural stride to an over- reach That Avell-nigh tore my two limbs wide apart, As eagerness o'er-topped anxiousness in my mind, Presenting their crazy conditions fore and bind Attrite in hideousness, coursed through a fitful vein ; So in such hot-haste speed have I ar- rived, Out-striving him whom I've at last out- strived. Eud. Pray make thy speech more plain ; thou art too much Scene ii] A EMI NY OF VIPERS. L3 For me: else I am much too dumb for thee. With whom or what hast thou vied such endeavors ? Sebas. With one, dear lady, who from thee ne'er severs. Eud. Who from me ne'er severs, why my lord, Thou hast not run a race with me ; how then ? Sebas. Not with thee, but thine. Eud. Not me, but mine! Sebas. Ay! thine, dear lady, thine; thine own On wings of love. Eud. Thou sinkest deeper in mysteri- ous talk As thou continuest. Canst thou not en- lighten me, my lord? Thy mystery breeds my interest; then let mine, A child begot, by thine, a father got, Know more of its strange parent. Pray enlighten me. Sebas. Thou art enlightened; I can see thou art, Thou canst not screen from me what's in thy heart; Thy face was never made to play deceit Upon a father's wits. Pray be discreet. Eud. I am discreet, but I am no deceit. Sebas. Then thou art not a woman ; For where's that woman framed of prop- er stuff, Boasts not of gross deceit? Eud. Thou art not only in part wrong, But two parts wrong. How can a face that cannot play deceit, O'er-top a body substanced from deceit? Sebas. Like uveous fruit depending from its vine, Whose pungent parts lie hidden 'neath its rind; For edge thy teeth on its soft round out- side, And thou dost find deceit on its inside. Eud. Ay! there it is, but not upon its face. Sebas. So woman's lies though it show not on face. Eud. Put woman through what that poor grape goes through, And lo! perforce her all of good and bad, Sweet traits, stanch truths, and dark ana evil thoughts, Long pent-up virtues, low discouraged lusts, Will spring from her freed from their dark confines, At the first cracked embrasure rendered sure, Apertured by the test of hard ordeal, To sudden light as sudden to discovery. I would that thou conceive of some such test To bring out my deceit and all the rest, And though thou finds't in all an hund- red faults, For every grain of rare deceit thou finds't, I'll give to thee an hundred pounds in gold, Then give thee back that purchased for thy use, That being all thou hast I'll envy thee, That being all I had thou'lt envy me. Sebas. Thou makest what is thick as rare as air, The weft of cold deceit is not so rare As fleecy webs that float upon the air. Eud. I'll test that with a pound of rarest air, And with a pound of cold deceit as rare. The air will not sustain the rare deceit, The cold deceit will rot the rarest air. Sebas. But as thou breathest air, so rnay'st Thou breathe deceit, the one being pon- derous As the other. Eud. The heart's diastole 'gainst her return Expels the crimson stream through its canals ; So breathing out what I inhaled befere, I rid myself again of cold deceit. But come, this jargon tells me not of thee, Why thou art here, nor of thy strange condition. My name is silence; let thine be elo- quence, That thou rnay'st favor me, mine ears, my heart, With some kind explanation. Sebas. 'Tis meet I should, for my pur- suer Will now soon be here, that, if he do, And nip me in this cage, caged with his search, I'll lose my cause, and thou wilt lose some peace, Since gaining greatest joy thy joys would cease. Ades List! some one comes; I ween 'tis thy pursuer. Sebas. It is: I know that step. It is the step of fleet Alphonso who Doth tread the earth like silent stealthy wind; His legs mere aglets dangling here and there, Do touch the barren ground with such a zest, 1 1 A OEMINY OF VIPERS. [Act i. Thatlo! fresh verdue springeth quickly up But from the moisture left from one bare step. This same Alphonso, my dear lady her- aldeth His master, my unworthy son, though loved son, Roderick; who comes to thee to learn how thou Regardest his affections, which though true and loyal As any lady could desire, I desire thee not To grant him their requital, but pending thy respite, Play on his feelings, on his heart, his mind To steadfast his religion to our kind. Oh, my poor suffering heart is hid so deep In my lost son, that, pardon me, I weep For his degeneracy. Ades. Be quick, he comes! End. Let him not ia, Adessa, yet awhile; Inveigle him by all artful means outside To give us needed time to think, to act; Pray haste thee, use thy shrewdest, ut- most tact. [Exit Adessa. Now, my good lord, what is thy high desire ? Speak sir, let thy good cause me so in- spire That, being thine, thine will be mine, to wield A common issue; our own joys to shield. Sebas. Ay! Good Eudora, that were well to heart; A speech like that to mine ears doth im- part Where thy ambition lies. Oh ! why should one Sway such infinite power, where two has won No laurels from the one! End. Speak Lord, and then Perchance some power we may sway o'er him Who now can strong defy us. I have much Respect upon my powers to subdue This now unruly son of thine to ways That may fill thine own self with just amaze. Sebas. I would the fates so willed it End. Doubt it not, I go into this cause with one fixed aim, My purpose to subdue thy son and tame His unnatural freak. Mark thou it well, my lord, Before I've done with this, thou'lt have a son Thou'lt be quite proud of. Sebas. I rest great faith in thee ; And now for the better end of thy ad- venture, Pay special heed that thou dost so adjust Thy manners, speech, thac he'll not thee mistrust, And so mistrusting, stand aloof from thee, Refusing to ingratiate with thee; Thy pleadings, thy sweet overtures to waste Upon hard barren grouud like so much paste Upon a palette. End. I'll mark it well, my lord, Thar, hath he but one mote of incredulity, I'll shatter it with points of feigned in- nocence, That, falling on his head with well-aimed force, Will prick him to a credulous good humor. Sebas. I trust thy shrewdness, lady. End. But I would have a little time In which to better think, to so devise The method of my plottings and my deeds, That they be precedent to a happier end, To crown us both with that we now de- fend. Sebas. Would'st thou escape ? Eud. Ay! ay! my lord, I would be calmer than I'm now, To meet this hot-head son of thine, and vow To him what I must needs avow. I'll out Aud stroll in listless manner round about, Bathed in the dews of a calm and peace- ful night, Encircled by the beams of soft moonlight. Adieu, my lord, let it be known to thy son, That Eudora cannot audience him to- night, This is the better way to win our fight, And in the end rejoice in a battle won. [Exit. Sebas. Oh! never did this earth hold one so fair, As this same sweet Eudora who would dare Launch her frail barque on the bosom of a deep Where ready dangers may upon her leap. What go den virtues lie hid in her heart, None but her God can to the world im- part; None but good deeds in charity bestowed Can tell of virtues lurked in heart's abode. There comes a dream to pilgrims on this earth Scene hi.] A GEMINY OF VIPERS. L5 Whose name is virtue — comes at hour of birth; Clings to them through their gladsome childhood days, Until the pilgrim don maturer ways. 'Tis then the hour when all to changings forced, Are snatched from youth, and from youth's sweets divorced, Some left to plod a weary road alone, Some scourged, and beat and fed upon a bone ; Some revel in high pomp, affluent wealth, Some bowed beneath the bondage of ill- health ; Some turn to vassals, some to monarch kings, Some rise to rule, some fall to underlings. Some surfeit high in superfluity, Some mope content in mediocrity; Some grovel low in dull adversity, Some die unknown in sad obscurity. There is but one on earth, in wayside borough That stands unchanged — this is the chaste Eudora. Enter ADESSA and ALPHONSO. Adessa. Back! back! thou knave! Sebas. Let him come in, Adessa, thy mistress, Who has flown, so willed it. Where is my son, thy master, Alphonso? Alph. By now upon his way to Lady Eudora's, my lord. Sebas. Did he so guage thine arrival here to serve as a precedent to his own, whereby the hour of his coming might be arrived at ? Alph. I think not, my lord. My lord, your son seemed somewhat out of his prettier moods when he dismissed me on my present mission ; and with such a tone of command, such as that I have never been the object of its address before in my experience as serving- man to your son, my master, that in sheer dread I ac- tually flew to this, my destination, only to be blocked on the last stride to its ac- complishment, by some one whom at first I mistook for a fairy, but who eventually developed into this charming creature, whom it is now my delectation to gaze upon. Sebas. Thou fool, it were better to court danger than to court a woman; for court- ing woman thou dost court a double dan- ger, either in a surfeit of good, or a super- abundance of bad. Alph. Yet this is now my medium, the means of my delight; I see no such ex- treme of good or bad in this. Sebas. The season of extremity is not yet due; But it will come as winter follows sum- mer. But there; go meet thy master, give to him this news: Say shrewdly that Eudora doth his pres- ence now refuse; Keep secret thou my presence here, look well to this, thou knave; On pain of my hot fury which will not from pain thee save. Adph. 'Tis as you say, my lord. Farewell, sweet one, I'll see thee soon again. [Exit. Sebas. Adessa, thy fair mistress, feel- ing indisposed, Waived meeting my son Roderick till some other time, That, so respiting, our laid plans are not disclosed. Ades. Where is my mistress ? Sebas. Out in the night sublime To let thought cope with thought to bet- ter join Our purpose to its deed. Ades. Why then I'll join My mistress and perchance prove shin- ing light, 'Gainst pale moonbeams that flood the tranquil night. [Exit. Sebas. 'Tis well she goes to give her mistress cheer; 'Tis well I go, lest my son catch me here. [EiH. SCENE III. Room in Humphrey 's House. Enter HUMPHREY. Hum. Now plague, thou plaguer's tool, I would thee hence; Plague thou some other fool in my de- fense ; Wield to him grimly grim illusive taunts, Enshroud his mind with false delusive haunts. World! world! thou art a mixed and mon- grel lot Of farce-brained fools, who, brainless, praise and plot; Praise loud each deed, plot 'gainst each other's souls, Condoling griefs, each grieving heart condoles Its own, for what? to grieve again the heart Just balmed from grief; so does this world depart From holiness, and so do men play fools, Greet fools, consort with them, use them for tools To thus achieve some mercenary end, L6 A UEMINY OF VIPERS. [At'T I. Promote intent where good and bad do blend. Would I could die to live somewhere again, Or would that I could live here now, as when I lived a child, when innocence combined Itself with happiness. Oh, joys! confined Within thy limitless retreat, dissolve My anile dotage ; tune my heart's resolve To meritorious intent boundless bent, From meretricious deeds let it be rent! 'Tis some hallucination of the brain That pricks my conscience with its bitter bane, Opposing deed with intent, wielding this In incongruent metamorphosis. But why am I am affright and wildly dream Strange fantasies ? Absurd to me they'd seem Another time, unwrought by circum- stance, As that now wrought by my extrava- gance. Look hand, thou trembling stranger to mine eyes! Wherefore comest thou to me in this disguise ? Thou art as weak and meagre as faint breath If thou dost palsy at the thought of death. Away night dreams! Away diurnal thoughts! Chase tbou each other where thy chas- ing fraughts More dark destruction than is freighted here; Chase where thy victim lies upon a bier. Cold death is thy cold issue, coldly greet Thine offspring; save thy name disgrace, defeat! Who comes ? Enter ORESTES. Avaunt! Orestes, thou would'st come Upon me like the doom of death; I'm dumb With fear, my very fear enforcing speech From dumbness to a piping, piercing screech. I am unnerved to-night, pray give me cheer, What hast thou learned, Orestes, why now here ? Ores. I've learned that's bad: bad news propelled me here. Hum. What! learned that's bad: bad news propelled thee here! Oh! say it not; my heart succumbed with fear, Now gorged with it, expanding, it will break ; Already it begins to sink and quake Like twitchings of a sleepless eyelid drawn , That, 'gainst command, blinks ruefully ere dawn. What is thy news, Orestes, is't so bad Thou can'st not tell it ? Ores. Would I could. Hum. Oh! mad Espousal to a mad decree of fates, To grasp for that our peace emaciates To dwindlings of itself, ourselves en- throne With bitterness, with death, with hell's bemoan. Why do I curse since cursing naught avails ? Why do I rave since raving never fails Of making that already bad still worse ? Yet there is some sweet comfort in a curse That soothes my brewing spirits to some peace, Though I lose all in losing one dear niece. Ores. Dear to thy heart ? Hum. Ay! ay! dear to my heart, My soul, my life, my joys from me depart When I do think how dear Eudora is To my forsaken self. Ores. More to thy purse, I wis. Hum. Well, love were strongest built upon a purse. Ores. But take the base away love will disperse. Hum. True, true; why should it not? What mountain peak, Majestic, soaring high, could rise to seek The ether in the sky, had it no base To stay it to its ever-constant grace ? Ores. In the light of thine own reasons, then, thou love'st No more Eudora. Hum. I could sheath a dagger in her heart And thank the deed, since it beats not to my Advantage, as that depended on by her acceptance Of my nephew. Ores. Is thine own house in danger of a fall ? In losing this, dost thou lose house, lose all? Hum. Ay! all! all! all! my house, my lands, my suffrages Will to my bondsmen go to pleasure their dire ravages. Hark, friend Orestes, to thine ears let me Vouchsafe to tell the cause of my ennui: Two years ago I ventured forth in trade To foreign countries, export merchan- dise, Scene hi.] A G EMI NY OF VIPERS. 17 That in return vast fortune may be made ; Large moneys I expended in the enter- prise, Till soon exhausted my poor purse be- came, And I was forced to borrow, though my fame Was such that I no trouble had to obtain Sufficient to encounter pressing debt, And place me thus beyond immediate loss. Well, in this state of venture and of risk, All progressed well till on an evil day Grave tidings reached me from my mer- chandise, That, from some cause unknown or else withheld, My goods were to great jeopardy ex- posed, That I might ne'er them apprehend, nor worse, Receive my money for their late export. I did not place much credence in this tale, For though the tidings gave me much to fear, Left much to hope for. Ay, indeed, the word Came in such doubtful tone that I was urged By friends, and by my bondsmen, too, to cease All lamentations. But now another evil day doth come; My bondsmen, who in past, so generously Sustained me from suspense and from despond At my reported losses, having now grown anxious, Do me encompass with loud importuni- ties, Entreating my quick settlement with them. This could I do, and do ten times the more, Did I but have within my empty purse One-tenth the value of my merchandise, Which I'm afeard ere this is squandered all. Ores. What of Eudora? Hum. Nay, pray ask me not; This was my last dim substance of a hope, That, seeming first as strong and taut as rope, Has now, alas! waxed to a single thread. Alas! alas! are hopes and prospects dead. Ores. Perchance 'tis not so bad as thou dost fear: The mother from her eanlings steals away, That they become more anxious she re- turn. So might it be Eudora hath refused Thy nephew that he might return again To later get that he desires from her. I know these lovers are a wily lot, Withholding this to give that they've not got, Bestowing that they've got yet giving not, To finally court love upon a cot. Hum. If thou dids't know this lady thou would'st not Associate her name with coquetry. She is as true as chaste, withal reserv'd, As true as her reserves of filtered gold, As chaste as the pure gold that crouches there, As rich as I, myself, am nude and bare. Ores. But thou may'st yet amass thy- self with wealth, If thou but utilize thy native stealth, And at the proper time make proper strides Into occasion, when she most confides In thee, thy prudence, judgment, and thy wits, To gain advantage to thyself, that fits Thy sad necessities. Hum. Did I not this ? Did I not with the keenest, shrewdest wit Foresee my nephew's hot uxorious love, And urge him on to its indulgences, With mine own eye upon mine own ad- vantages ? To what result ? Why, Theophilus is re- fused, And you and I, for money, stand abused. Had he been so successful in his suit, My coffers would have filled; I to refute These charges made against me, clearing me From debt to my hard bondsmen, stifling me. My nephew I can twist about with ease, And do with him whate'er it might me please; Bah! why dwell I on futile, barren ground ? I might twist now till to a ball I wound This barren nephew of my flesh and blood. 'Twere best I kill him for his want of blood, And end this farce in a tragedy of blood. Ores. Yet still, withal, there might be some rebate, Thy mind's recourse should have its full debate. Full many a fight begins with facing death, And ends in vict'ry wielding greater death. is A GEMINY OF VIPERS. [Act i. Hum. True, true: thou'rt right, Orestes, thou art right, And though I now face death I'll to the fight Once more equipped with reenforced arms; Beware, Orestes, that my fight alarms Thee not; for like a beast pressed to its bay, If so it be, I'll wield death and dismay. Hark! by my soul, here comes the weak- ling now; He who could not a stronger love avow But that to lose it all. Soft, good Orestes. Let not his mood distraught us, nor divest us Of our own sweet selves; list, sir: our moods Must cure his sad complexion of its droop, To sponge him to a still more willing dupe: So doff that look and don a prettier smile, To greet his entrance in a pleasant style. Enter THEOPHILUS. Ores. Mark, Humphrey, his dejection in his gait. Hum. Fain would I mark erection on his pate. Ores. And let the mark stand for thy pent-up hate To gratify revenge, thee satiate. Hum. Soft! he speaks. Theo. Eudora! Hum. What said he, sir ? Ores. Eudora. Hum. Bah! Eudora; sweet Eudora! Lost saint of my heart's passions, lost Eudora! Oh! thou dear angel; angels plot my death When thou dost lose thyself to me. Orestes, How do I mince this phantom thing Of unrequited love ? Do I steep it with that remorseful air Instinctive of that pain a heart must bear At such a loss? How this does sicken me! Were love sought for with half the ardu- ousness That lost love is bewail'd, Ne'er would there be an issue of lost love, Ne'er bitterness entail'd. Ores. He speaks again. Theo. Dear heart, dear heart, lost soul; Dead hope, dead hope, once dear, now dead! Hum. Thou mole, Go burrow in thy hill and there lament In darkness drear thy fate to thy content. But I must put a bridle on my prate, To stop this tirade of my heart's deep hate; Stand by, Orestes, I'll now speak to him An uncle's deep condolence. Theo. Light is dim, Love dead, heaven has grown cold, earth is a hell, Hell is my doom, doom reigns in me pell- mell. Hum. Come, come, Theophilus, why art thou in this garb entranc'd ? Did'st thou not note when I to thee ad- vanced To greet thy pitiable approach ? Theo. Methinks I dream'd; Why uncle, is this you? And thou, Orestes ? My eyes! my brain is in a whirl; my heart In pensile anguish, lifeless of a throb, Cold, cheerless, ice, beats but to wail and sob My heart's love's requiem. Dear uncle, stay my hand; Nay, not my heart, my heart now to ex- pand, Must needs be new — replenish'd with new life, Ere it be mine again — to 'suage this strife. Hum. Stay, nephew, be not so. Ores. What is thy cheer? Hum. Here are thy friends, Theopilus, even here and here. Thy uncle's love for thee is all so great He'd sacrifice his life to reinstate Thy wonted peace of mind within thy mind, And dying, think he'd done a deed not kind. Theo. I thank thee, uncle, but when thou canst kill This grief, I'll be a suitor to thy skill. Hum. Thou know'st, Theophilus, that my credit now Lies at the door of questionable attack, That all my wealth must to the bondsmen go, When so the whim possess them to en- force. But what to thee my poor griefs are to me, Thy griefs will be my griefs as thine to thee; So shifting thine to mine and mine to me, I'll make thy griefs my griefs to leave thee free. What is the loss of gold to loss of love ? One comes from below, the other from above, One comes from filthy dregs of quagmires deed, Scene hi.] A GEM IN Y OF VIPERS. Ml The other falls from heaven like gentle sleep. Oh, nephew! let me with a gentle hand, Dispel thy gloom, upon new hopes thee stand. Thco. Thou talk'st of something futile of success; Hope in a dream may tangibly impress, But hope in truth intangibly depress. Hum. Dost thou say this ? Well, let me have a say; And whilst I say let thine ears have a heed, Thy heed a head ; thy head a perspicuity. Say first thou art in love, thy love pro- found, Say she thou lovest thy hopes would all confound, Say thy love's name commences with an E, Say this same E is known full- well by me ; Say my best friendship I through her enjoy, And say through this I may forthwith employ The means by which thy pleasures may be crown'd By sweet Eudora's lips so ripe and round. Hark! nephew, say'st thou but the need- ed word, I'll to Eudora fleet as a carrier's bird; Learn from her lips — those lips so ripe and round— The cherry of her droppings; dropping, bound Back to her lips, be it not sweet to me, And being bitter, be not sweet to thee, For her maturer thought and later speech, That time abetting love might love her teach. Theo. Cans't thou do this ? Hum. Ay! can and will, and more. This instant will I start, even now be- fore Thou canst find breath to speed me on my way; Let me beseech thee, nephew, here to stay, Whilst good Orestes and myself betake Our two selves to this errand for thy sake. Meanwhile thou canst regale thyself in feast From mine own table till thy needs have ceased. I will'd thee here to dine with me at eight, But now I will that you for us not wait, Since it will throw thy dining much too late. Look for us back by ten. Adieu my nephew until then. [Exeunt Humplirey and Orestes. Theo. Oh, fate! thou'rt kind; thy kind- ness is to me What hope was; now I can new hope foresee; And viewing this the vista of my peace, I'll take him at his word, till my needs cease. [Exit. ACT II. SCENE I. A Lonely Place in Wood Surround- ing Eudora's Seat. Enter EUDORA. Eud. Oh lovely night! Oh, soft, still night serene! Oh calm moonlight, shed thy rich beams on me; Skim o'er dull earth thy shadows and thy sheen, Like phantoms strangely wrought upon the sea. For I have need of thee, oh gentle night, And thee, thou peerless, beauteous mooii so bright; Need, too, have I of thee, thou shadows drear, Have need for all, to banish fear, brood fear! {Strain of nmsic without. But hark! what strange weird music steals from thence, As though from heaven it fall upon my sense. Oh welcome thou, thou cool and soothing draught, I, who pass pleasures by, untouch'd, un- quaff'd, Will, turning, drink of thee, thy bitterest lees, To still my heart, my joyless soul to please. [Aneels and listens, SONG FROM WITHOUT. We roll, we roll our balls along, We sing, we sing a jocund song, We dance, we dance a nimble jig, We don, we don a grotesque rig, We sail, we sail into the air, We join, we join our brothers there, We clink, we clink our glasses high, We drink, we drink our glasses dry, We float, we float upon the breeze, We sneeze, we sneeze, we sneeze, we sneeze, We fall, we fall to our warm den, We roll, we roll our balls again. Eud. As cold and cheerless dawn is fore'd away By advent of a bright and cheerful day, So this quaint music soothes me to a rest, Lulls me to sleep, instills peace in my breast. [Falls asleep. 20 A GEMINY OF VIPERS. [Act ii. SONG WITHOUT. But when we're sad, we sigh, we sigh, And this is when to die, to die, We carry one away, away, Oh, this is one sad day, sad day; For love we each so well, so well, That we to each can't tell, can't tell, How well we do love each, love each, Though we do scream, and screech, and screech. Come, come to us, Gershom, Gershom, Bring to us our meerschaum, meer- schaum, So we can draw sweet peace, sweet peace, Our sorrows now to cease, to cease! Enter ADESSA and ALPHONSO during song. Ades. What bitter plaintive music. Alph. It is Gershom And his imps: they do revel high to- night. But come, sweet life, what say you to my suit. Ades. 'Twould suit me best to find my mistress now. Alph. And finding her 'twould be some other whim. Ades. And finding her, I durst not find a him. Alph. Then let 'him', finding her, find thee out first. Ades. Nay, nay, sir, find that last that's worst. Alph. In finding thee I find that which is best. Ades. Me better than my mistress— I'm mistress'd. Alph. And I thy future lord, am now a lord. Ades. A pretty lord: thou canst not wield a sword. Alph. I'll teach thee that I can some near-dawn'd day, And lunge me at thyself to thy dismay. Ades. Stop sir, beseech! thouput'stme in a fright. Alph. Why fright? I said not near- twilighted night. Ades. Thou coarse-spun knave! I'll now no more of thee. Alph. For why? Why but because I tickled thee. Ades. Be careful that thou tickle'st not thyself. Alph. In tickling thee, I tickle, too, myself. Ades. To tickle much is said to court sure death. Alph. I'll run that risk as long as I have breath. Ades. Thou zany-headed knave, thou art not gallant. Alph. No neither; neither am I gall nor ant. Ades. Too bitter for gall; too idle for an ant. Alph. But serve me fair; too idle for an ant, Too sweet for gall; so therefore right for thee. Ades. Thou art not right till thou dost prove to be. Alph. How prove ? Ades. Go seek my mistress. Alph. Mistress mine, Art thou not mistress in thy right ? Ades. Not thine Till thou dost find out mine. Alph. Where shall I look ? Ades. Look high, look low, in meadow, laughing brook. Look o'er far mountain, dale, look every- where; Look everywhere, where there's a mote of air. Alph. Then I must needs have sub- stance of ubiquity. Ads. Which ne'er can be since thou hast such antiquity. Alph. My nimble limbs should tell you I'm not old, That I am not a father to myself, But rather they should long ere this have told I fain would be a husband to thyself. Ades. How well thou pleadest and for what a cause! Methinks Alphonso, thou wert best to pause Before you step on strange ground such as' this Of venture for anticipated bliss. Look wary, sir, and well; the ground might break To duck thee and thy love in Cupid's lake. Alph. I'll take the risk, fair Goddess; wilt thou be The ground upon whose strangeness I am he Who will adventure forth ? Where is the lake? Let me plunge in, some precious jewels take. Ades. Soft, soft, young man! thine ardor heats thy brain, Creating dreams thou canst not yet attain. Get thee now gone, my mistress search in speed; 'Tis then I'll think to merit thee thy meed. Enter RODERICK. Alph. Heavens, my master! Scene i.] A (IEMINY OF VIPERS. 21 Ades. Thy master, Lord Sebastian, and thyself Seem to have been forgot. Alph. In thee, thou elf; Thou art the cause ; thou didst entice me thence. But quick, my master comes. Ades. There's no defense; He must not see us here. Alph. We'll run and look For thy sweet mistress by the laughing brook. [Exeunt Adessa and Alpkonso. Rod. Did I hear voices speak ? Or was that heard But faint far echo off these distant hills Of my heart's dreadful beatings ? Cap- tive thou! Cag'd and secur'd 'gainst plunderous hand of man, Corsag'd in prison of steel, mew'd in hermetical bands, Thou'rt strange in mystery shrouded! Beat thou on, Thou mystic dispenser of dear life and love, Thou monarch of tyrants, terrible wield- er of death, Thou thing of quivering flesh; cease thou but once, One single throb omit; lo! life is gone, And love is gone, yea all but death is gone. Oh death! how like unto thee is this horrid place, How fitting, how appropriate is thy thought. How like a chill enforc'd comes thy white face Before mine eye, before mine own cold face! There is a something in this loathsome aii- That seems to savor death; would I could tear Away from earth this fulsome tyranny; Dethrone the mighty monarch; from him wrest That power with which in one spare moment, jest Is quick cut short, the jester pressed to bend 'Neath the throes of an untimely, sudden end. But why wince I and o'er these matters mince ? I'll mince them now no more, nor neither wince At their illusion's dreams! Begone, thou thief, Thou ravisher of peace; I would as lief Be dead myself as have thee reign within, To rule destruction and' abet lewd sin. So, cease this quibbling, heart, lest quib- bling still, Thou wilt, forgetting, cease to beat at will, Whilst I, perforce, cease my short pil- grimage, To dwell forever in death's vassalage. Still I do wonder, wondering, stop to muse: What would the world regret, what would it lose Were such a thing as I myself to die ? Would any my death reverence with a sigh ? I have a father, stern, commanding, true, Him I revere as is a father's due, And he loves me, for I'm the only one; Would he, I wonder, grieve for a dead son? I have a mother, sweet and sweetly fair, Who dotes on me — the son whom she did bear Into this hapless world of woe and joy; Would she, I wonder, grieve for her dead boy? Of all my friends, dear Lubin I love best, Ay, better far than I love all the rest; My heart misgives me when from him I rend; Would he, I wonder, grieve for his dead friend ? Ah, what of thee Eudora, thee I love Far better than them all, thou gentle dove ; To think of aught is but to think of thee, Were I to die, would'st thou grieve much for me ? And what of thee, Sir Roderick, infidel! Thee who believeth not in heaven and hell; Accepts no God, revileth His fair name; Would'st thou grieve much to die in such a shame ? Ah, who can tell? Can any on this earth From ancient sage to merest babe at birth ? No, none, not one: there's none on earth can tell; Or if there be, then there's a heaven and hell. But there! I'll seek Eudora, learn her mood, Break my long fast to feast on daintier food. \_He turns ami espies Eudora still asleep. What! by my life; were this loved sight wrought real, 'Twould not more clearly to mine eyes reveal That I do languish for! Stay thou, O dream; Let not thyself dispel thy lovely self, 22 A GEMINY OF VIPERS. [Act ii. As thou at dead of night art wont to do, When thou hast wafted to some sylvan bower, Or perch'd unsafe the victim of thy power Upon some inaccessible mountain peak, To thus forsake him, leave him, so to speak, At the bare mercy of the treacherous winds, Till he, awearied, bruis'd, and broken, finds Strange, sweet relief at being torn away To fall, fall, fall to earth, and falling, lay Affrighted, blear-eyed, or be dashed to death, To wake at last for very want of breath ; Stay thou O dream, to fascinate my sight, I feast upon thy boards, and feasting, might Be wafted to my heaven, for reigning there, Repose upon Eudora's bosom fair. Now dreamer's dream, methought Eudora moved, Though not mine eyes but rather instinct proved To my distracted self that she did stir; What ! this a dream that I must this infer? I'll to her now and softly, gently touch Her soft smooth cheek with my soft hand; why such A softness to a softness softly brought Must needs bring softness to a heart hard- wrought, And soften any anger lurking there; Thus I'd approach a tigress in her lair, To turn ferocious mood to intent meek, And seeking peace, much more would I then seek. [Eudora moves and partially raises, her head. Why stay, foul hand, perchance thy soft- est part Is far too coarse to soothe by touch a heart As tender as Eudora's is. End. Who speaks ? Rod. Who speaks; 'tis thine own pre- cious self that speaks, Nor ne'er did two such words from two such lips Strike two such listening ears with two such tips To two such cordial tinglings of delight, As thy two words have done. End. Why, I'm affright, Why this is Gershom's place, 'tis said by some Strange things have happened here! Why did I come To such a place, alone, at such a time ? A\>d. [Aside] Now tongue, be wise; let thy speech be sublime, For thou dost court an angel here on earth, And in this venture all my joys I girth. [Eudora slowly rises. Lo! rising out of beauty's beauteous cot, Thy beauty rises out of beauteous spot, Thyself a downy bed reposing thee, Thyself a beauteous queen exposing thee. End. Do I still sleep and do my senses quib? No, by my troth, as man doth want a rib There stands the shortage now before mine eyes; Him whom to cherish is but to dispise. Rod. As man's deficit is for woman's make, Let my deficit so stand for thy sake. Thy God, 'tis said, created man of dust, Then placed brave Adam's rib in Eve's fair bust. End. But Adam was a christian, not like you, Disclaiming God and Christ, worse than a Jew. Rod. And Eve, an evil temptress, lewd, unchaste, The very name of Eve doth evil taste. End. But we are not all Eves; true woman's shrine Encloses virtues rare withal divine; The very name of woman beggars lust, Protects her from its taint, its tabid rust. 'Tis not in woman's sphere — thank God for this To tarnish woman's name, her virtue hiss ; But rather in her sphere who would de- fame Pure womanhood by falling 'neath the name. There is this line— thank God again for this — Dividing lust from virtue ; Oh ! to kiss The feet of Him who founded a decree Debarring lust from sailing virtue's sea. No woman need have fear who would adorn The name of woman, shielding it from scorn. A name well guarded from pollution's spoils Is well worth guarding, worth a life of toils; For lo ! behold true woman as she stands, Untarnish'd and untouch'd by ruthless hand? ; Her virtue unimpeach'd like mountain snow Beyond man's reach from the valley far below. Rod. [Aside] How must I woo this fair and dainty thing, So like the innocent bird upon its wing ? Scene i.] A GEMINI" OF VIPERS. 23 How can I win a heart so good and pure, That cannot stoop to sin nor sin endure ? My soul misgives to deign unworthy speech, My tongue seems cleav'd, refusing to be- seech Of her a hand, a heart, a love, a life That soars so high above mine own poor life. Still that withheld from hazard's wild degree, Like dross, lies idle, bringing naught to me; 'Tis unwise husbandry to hoard great wealth, Which by fair usance and with proper stealth Might be redoubled, bringing rich return In welcom'd interest, earning all to earn. 'Tis thus I'll hazard my affection's gold Upon Eudora's answer as 'tis told. Eud. My lord, is this a fitting time and place For thee thy presence and thy moods to grace ? What passing wanton humor drew thee here Where naught dwells save a grave and rising fear ? Rod. Canst thou stand here on this same very spot Ingeniously pretending to know not Why I have wended my footsteps this way When thou hast wended thine this self- same way ? Ingenuous ay, dost thou pretend to be, If thou dost think to slyly hoodwink me. What would'st thou do did I retaliate And with ingenuous quirk return thy bait? Might I not say in vain apostasy, That I stole forth in silent ecstasy, To vent a humor, passing though it be, Befitting silent night, the wold, the lea ? Could I not with the same ingenuous air, Me even here you standing even there, From here to there soft whisper to you so That I am here because I'm here: nor go Shall I until it suit my will; nor stay Unless it suit me best to go away ? This humor of a man is much disguis'd, It creepeth in his heart all unappris'd, And lurking there pulls him first here then there, Gives him no peace. Poor man! he does not dare Give in return one reprehensive rake, Else in repay more peace itself betake. Eud. Then rakes rest render, peace a pricker's pierce, The one to balm, the other to make fierce. Rod. Why so stand I, pricked, pierced, and probed with doubt, Balm for whose pains do I exist without. End. Then truly spoke, bad humor drew you here. That peace might prick, withholding peaceful cheer. Rod. Let discipline which cruel peace controls, Teach me by torture how thy heart con- doles The pangs of such a peace. Then let my pride Vault high to Jupiter's place, there dwell; confide My secret soul in beauteous Venus' ear, And whisper her a love that she may hear In unperturbed stillness, ruminate Upon that heard, my life to radiate. Eud. Thy moods do make thee rave. Rod. No, no, not they! Say this one does. This is a mood to stay, To make men rave, to make men's bos- oms shake Like rumblings of the earth, the earth's fierce quake. Eud. Doth not ambition's aim point high for one Who is as Godless as thyself? Rod. Oh, sun! Oh, venus bright, exalted star on high, Thou art my fix'd ambition even nigh, The constellation in my sky of hope; What would I give could I with thee elope, With thee forever dwell! Yea, I would fain Give other hopes, loves, joys for thee to gain ! Am I unworthy one so chaste as thee ? Look! I before thy grace on bended knee Invoke thy pardon — mercy's grandest sphere From whence is gently dealt to mortals here Boon'd ransoms, granting life to fetter'd joys— Oh! grant in mercy life to my mew'd joys- I, thy pedestal, thee my apex 'bove, Light my base life with the candle of thy love. Eud. Thee I did oft behold a prattling babe With these same eyes, myself, like thee, a babe, In years, from now, some score or more agone ; Dost thou remember once upon the lawn, When thou in rompish humor for a freak Did'st peevish, plan thy babish hands to 24 A GEMINY OF VIPERS. [Act ii. To captivate the aphrodite bright As she did wing herself away in fright, Eluding thy babe's grasp to thy chagrin, And soaring high, turn, mocking thy chagrin ? As young a babe as I myself was then, I have recall'd this freak oft and again; I do recall it now to my regret, Because thy moods did then such romps beget. Rod. Fair lady, I bethink me thou dost wrong In tuning argument to a nursery song, To bring to bear on man's maturer age The memories of a child's wild freaks; thus guage By them what in the man doth dwell; Pray pleasure me, my lady, how canst tell? Eud. Why 'tis an easy task, a simple thing; God guag'd our thoughts, our minds to subtly bring, By means of pron'd instinctive pow'r so will'd, " In swift transmission, heart to heart in- still' d, From mind to mind in tutor's mission bent, To give, to take, receive as it is sent. That instinct thou dost note in bird and beast Is this same instinct dwells in man, in- creas'd By God's decree sprung wisely from a love, Surpassing that bestow'd on beast or dove. By means of this innate instinctive power, Thoughts can read thoughts hid deep within the bower Of man's most sacred reveries. Rod. What then! I know the greatest step in life is'when Bold boyhood seeks to stride a manly gait, But mincing, stumbles o'er a step so great That few accomplish taking it. But come; Thou would'st not say lhat I am still so dumb That I am still a mincing, brainless youth : Methinks I merit more than this, for- sooth ! Eud. What is thy meed— what thou dost best deserve, That thou will get, get from God's own reserve. Thy youth thy life's own truthful prece- dent, Thy life thine after-life's true precedent; The way we live in youth we live in age, 'Tis thus in age to heaven our hopes we guage. So we do view it in all nature's works, In field, in sky, in air it surely lurks; Night's roral fusion, verdure's chrystal bath Bathes verdure's double in her aftermath. But there, I must betake me to my house Lest by my absence I will it arouse. Rod. Stay yet awhile; though yon bright moon doth beam, The very thoughts of thy departure seem To throw a darkness over me. Stay near! Eud. Stay near! for what? Did I in- vite thee here Or thou me bid, that thou should'st coax me so, So that, perforce, when will'd, I cannot go? Rod. I would not coax thee, lady, no, not I, Though I did languish for thee, for thee die. Eud. Why then, thou'rt gallant; what would'st thou of me? Rod. Why thee, thyself; no other gift but thee, Gelded from whom I'm rack'd as a trou- bled sea. Eud. Thou cravest that 'tis not for me to give. Rod. What, art thou not thyself; thine own to live, To do, to will as thy propensities Deem meet to dictate thee ? Defense it is That I must claim my right, to wield de- fense For thee from thine ungallant fop. Eud. Expense Thyself thy troubles that now trouble thee, Attack thyself if thou wouldst service me. Thou art the fop, or if not fop, as near A fop as any who to me are dear. Rod. Oh heart! thou put'st a shadow o'er my doom Which death itself could brighten of its gloom. Am I a fop, a morsel in my broth, Dank-refuse in the sea? There, there, I troth A love that springs from anxious, loving heart; Deny it not, make not my true love smart. Eud. Troth not a plighted love that thou canst not With equal strides requite as thou hast trothed. The name of love with ancestry so chaste Meets desecration on the lips 6f him Scene i.] A GEMIXY OF VIPERS. 25 Whose heart beats forth a life so base impure As thine sustains. Red. What! must I this endure From her whose love I counted as secure, Which now falls off like a discarded robe, To leave me standing nude as a beggared Job, Deprived of the habiliments of warm love, Deprived of sweet Eudora's cherishing love? Now, heaven forbid! Such want of warm array Doth chill my soul to cold and seared dis- may, That my poor blood c'oth freeze and doth congeal Within my sluggish veins. Eud. There, canst thou feel, And feeling, canst thou still dwell on pure love, As though there were no heaven for us above, No purity in the love that comes from thence, To nourish in my heart a strong defense 'Gainst such poor stuff as thou dost offer me, The poorest that could come to me from thee? Thy oracle I'll repeat: ' Oh, heaven for- bid!' Destroy this farceful thing; from me it rid. Rod. Didst thou, fair lady, ever stop to note How soft a thing a heart is that does dote On some beloved soul? Didst thou ere pause To mark effect of words that are the cause Of that soft heart's repining? If thou didst not Look thou into these eyes to note the theft Which thou hast made — a loving heart bereft Of thine affections. Eud. To gaze on what ? Didst thou, In willful humor, purposeless to aught, Save that to entertain a straggler's mood, In wandering slow about, now here, now there, Ere trace a thoughtless course o'er hill, in dale, In some cool shady nook, some still re- treat, In meadow, woodland, richly-scented bower, Lost to thyself, enrapt by fragrant flower, Till lo ! thou pause on some clear stream- let's bank, Enchanted, spell-bound, thine own heart appalled ? To gaze on what ? To gaze on thine own self, In image not quite as thyself, in all Thy fair exactitude, but rather cast In portray by a scrawl more rude, made so By the rippling bosom of the streamlet. Well, so I gaze on my sad heart, as I Look through thine eyes on thine, which mirrors mine Back to mine own sad eyes. Rod. Why then, if thine Be sad like this and mine be sad like thine, 'Tis folly our ambitions with more sad- ness to entwine. Eud. Yet folly is the only course left for us now to tread, Since one of us is infidel, the other chris- tian bred. Rod. Ah! sweet Eudora how canst thou with heart as hard as iron Surround my life so cruelly with miseries that environ, And make sad captive of my joys in chains as hard as heart; Oh ! surely thou would'st not say nay, and then let me depart! End. Were I to say I would say yea, but my conscience speaks to thee, Thus it doth say a bitter nay, and sends thee far from me. Rod. Dear love, I'm blest, thou would'st say yea— Eud. But my conscience would say nay— Rod. Oh! what foul hand so foully made That foul thing we call conscience. End. Soft! man, Thou would'st not ridicule a friend in the presence of his friend, Would'st thou then desecrate my God, in the presence of His friend ? Rod. Thou hast a God, make me thy slave. Eud. When thou hast God, I'll be thy slave. Rod. I will not be a slave to God. Eud. Then I'll be none to thee. Rod. I would not have thee be my slave, Save that fond love doth make of thee ; I am to thee bound in strong love, Thus I would have thee bound to me. Eud. 'Tis useless for thee further to discourse; For plead thou till thy very throat grow hoarse I'm obdurate: I stand upon firm ground, I'll have thee not though I two hearts do wound. 2G A GEMINY OF YIPEES. [Act ii Rod. In the light of all things born in reason's zone, Why strain thy answer to this unjust tone? End. By reason of celestial justice sent To teach a temporal justice what is meant By that we know as justice here on earth, Which wroughts dismay when sorrows should be mirth, Which proffers pleasures when men should be scourg'd, Upholding vice when vice should be sub- merg'd. Rod. Should my heart, bleeding, bleed then thus for thee ? Is this thy justice ? Poor it seems to me. End. That justice is the surest and the best, O'ertopping deeds to crown love with love's crest, Omitting naught that constitutes an end, A goal of bliss where all things mutually blend. Rod. Why such, methinks, will be my only goal, When I have thee, my true heart and my soul. End. Indeed I do, myself, so warrant this, Else thou wilt ne'er me win, my lips ne'er kiss. 'Tis so decreed to be my fated fate To love a tyrant who doth his God hate; Well, be it so; until thy views do change, Come not to me with love nor love's harangue. My purpose question not; for purpose- less — Save to indulge a whim, this I confess — I take my stand, my stand to strong de- fend, Defending thee and me, thee strength to lend. My heart unfolding like a fragrant bud, Diffusing, loves thee better than life's blood; If dear they be, let these dear words from me Bring joy and comfort, peace and strength to thee ; 'Tis all at present I have mind to give, Unless, in reason, thou livest as I live. Rod. By what shrewd argument, deep- seated awe, By what infinite order or what law Would'st thou have me to change my manners, modes, To revolutionize my thoughts' abodes ? By what law would'st thou seek to low'r the skies To earth's humiliating plane; or rise Lewd earth to heaven's immense, ethe- real sphere, Surround pure heaven with earth's at- mosphere ? Thou would'st not say the seas are out of place, Nor the white-wing'd argosies that sail their face; Else when doth water on a mountain stand, Or sbips go skimming o'er so much dry land? Forgive me my infringement on thy speech, But it is meet I quote thee, thee to teach: Yea, ' we do view it in all nature's works, In field, in sky, in air it surely lurks,' Proclaiming to our senses, to our eyes That all things have a place on earth, in skies. Do nostrils greet th' aroma from the rose That limbs may speed to haunts of carrion crows ? Do ears pause, list'ning to the lutist's touch, That eyes may seek some chattering baboon's hutch ? Why were a man's five senses given him But to enhance conception to a neater trim ; The blind, the deaf, the palsied, and the fool Do learn but little in Dame nature's school; And learning naught of her concinnity, Wax worse denied her close affinity. But I who have two eyes, have pow'r to see, Two ears to hear, hear whilst mine eyes do see, Who have a smell, a taste, a touch, a heart To beat them all to rhythm and to art, Have also reason and a reason's throne: I am, fair one, a master of my own. End. Well, if thou would'st thine own vain master be, Pray thee, oh liege! vouchsafe to pleas- ure me Two reasons why thou art an infidel; Do this, and if they please, I'll love thee well. Rod. Would'st pawn an angel fair to me induce My chiefest hope, my heaven to traduce? It may not be so pleasant for thine ear To list to reasons that do not revere Thine own opposing moods. End. On me let blame Lay his dread hand if thou dost aught de- fame. Does this thee of thy fear exonerate ? Scene i.] A GEM IN Y OF VIPERS. 27 Why then to me thy reasons pray relate. [Enter Humphrey and Orestes from behind^ unperceived. Rod. Forsooth, I will have had when I have done A meed worth having, that, so quickly won, Methinks 'twill fright me much and pain me more To own so much on such a pygmean score. Therefore, Eudora, lest thou think'st with me, With me and with my reasons disagree, I'll make them clear, precise, to thee im- press With their true meaning. Eud. Haste : do not digress Lest thy delay convict thee, me convince That thou art without reason and defense. Rod. I'm strong in both nor I know not the one I'm stronger in, nor that the weaker one, For but to say I'm strongest in them both. Eud. Now, by my soul, upon my sacred oath, I perjure not myself when I do swear Thou canst no reasons give. Oh! what a snare In which I have entrapp'd an unknown beast, That, being captive, mourns for strength deceased, That claiming both a reason and defense, Claims but tneir titles, both at truth's ex- pense. Rod. Avaunt! fair lady, do not perjur'd be By swearing such an oath 'gainst mine and me; For with two reasons I will now dispel Thine ill-gain'd glory that doth in thee dwell. The first of these let be my first defense, For thee to please, and me to recom- pense: For thee to know why I am infidel, For me to prove there is no heaven nor hell. Of all men's moods and whims this side the grave, Hypocrisy doth most our hearts deprave; Of all men's virtues here in this short life, That virtue we call honor is most rife; Of all extremes extant in this wide world, Which wide- estranged tenets have un- furled, Thus hypocritic humors rank the worst, Whilst honor for its beauty ranks the first. Oh, what a mix'd-condition'd world is ours That men must jostle elbows in the bowers Of their light recreations with their base And vice -corrupted brothers in disgrace! Was ever virtue proned in human heart So deeply rooted that to gain a start Years intervene ere its first bud is blown, When lo! 'tis found that virtue ne'er was sown? Why should the eye be coddled and de- ceived By counterfeit of that to be believed ? Why should the heart accept a loving friend Who is as viewed but for a venal end ? Yet such deceit is practiced every day By man on man whene'er man thinks he may. , Had I a necklace made of hearts de- ceiv'd, Tears that have well'd from trusting hearts bereav'd, With one I'd circle Saturn's satellites, The other flood the seas to Saturn's heights. We are but pygmies in an advanced age, Some cringing, some libelling, some in rage ; A cony fabled meeting humble newt, So meeting to engage in wild dispute, Is like the spirit of these envious times, When boys are babes and men ne'er reach their primes, For very dwarfishness of mind and soul, Reducing manhood to a seminole. Now I bethink me of a certain one Who would, methinks, deceive the shin- ing sun Were it within the power of a man The ethereal space with treacherous glance to span. This one I've known quite well for years, in truth, Have known him all my life from very youth ; Nor good, nor honor hath he that is real, Though good and honor doth he daily steal By usurpation and by practie'd fraud Upon his fellows and upon his God; For he must needs have God who would deceive, Else he from goodness men would ne'er reprieve. Hum. Orestes, by Saint Jove, he doth mean me! Ores. Ay, ay, my lord. Hum. Hark! stay once more; let's see. Rod. I also have a friend most kind and true 28 A GEMINY OF VIPERS. [Act ii. Whose name is Lubin, one who would not do A fellow man a wrong for all the world, But who doth ever cheer hearts that are hurl'd Into the vortex of some deep remorse; Condoling griefs, respecting some lone corse, Perchance, which death snatch'd hastily away, Whilst he from home and friends was far away — But there; mt thinks thou know'st this Lubin well. Eud. I do : nor doth a better man now dwell Upon this loveless earth. Rod. Thou pleasest me [ When thou dost fairly speak my friend to | me; For once I mind when we were boys at | school, Brave Lubin, being my senior, strong and j cool, Like lightning laid a bullish ruffian low, Who wantonly attacked me for his foe. Now I did always love him till that time, But then love to her highest realm did climb ; Nor never since has she been lower'd thence, But still remains in my heart's promi- nence, That hearing his bare name pronounc'd to me, My heart doth pause expecting him to see; For he is always in my heart, my mind, Conceal'd from men within affection's rind. This rind's so tender. Lo! it oft doth burst. 'Tis then with Lubin's love I am im- mersed; 'Tis then with Lubin's self I am pos- sessed; 'Tis then with Lubin's hand I am car- essed. End. Thou art most right in loving Lubin so, For he deserveth all thou dost bestow. Rod. Ay, he to me is dearer far than I Am to myself; lor him I fain would die, If but to die would be to make him live, That dying hard I might him more joy give. Indeed 'tis this same very stubborn thing That causeth me my dearest friends to sting Because I cannot be, nor do, nor say As they themselves, in their own 'cus- tom'd way. As I love Lubin so I hate the one Whom hating, I would likewise his haunts shun. I ne'er can be a christian hypocrite, Nor with an hypocritic christian sit. Before I'll place belief in thy belief, I'll have these bloomingJaypocrites make brief Their visits to this extrageneous place, And rid the world of a time-worn dis- grace. Eud. 'Twould be to render earth yet more venust But to corrupt the world to deeper lust. Men's vices are as filaments in the air Which settle unawares in eye, in hair, Defying search, eluding capture still, With fix'd persistence their poor victim fill With grosser thoughts, intents of darker make, Till he is tempted his own life to take. But haste, thy other reason: it grows late. Red. Art thou not pleased out here with thy pleased mate ? End. Pleased only since I'm here to hear him reason. Rod. When love prompts rest to talk is out of season. End. Then let love romp to thus un- bridle speech. Rod. But love let loose will soon com- mit a breach. Eud. Then muzzle her though thou must needs be dumb. Rod. I'll muzzle her though I will not be dumb, Lest my first speech be insufficient proof To turn thy mind to mine and my behoof. As long as great illustrious men are known By virtue of their names and deeds alone, They are great men indeed, whose far-off light Falls brightly on their lessers in the night. What dreams of greatness fill our awe- struck brains, As we, admiring, watch their latest gains! We are to them mere subjects, they our kings, Fear'd and revered by us— poor cringing things. A great name gets abroad o'er all the land, From mouth to mouth transmitted, ever grand, And as it speeds gains fragments of re- nown, Till it attain distinction for its crown. For each ear hearing each tongue swells to it Scene i.] A G EMI NY OF VIPERS. 29 An added virtue, wisdom, and rare wit, Till it become an oracle sublime; The public mind condemns it as a crime, If private understanding worship not This king with reputation illy-got. And so we all are crazy for a gaze To gratify the craving and the craze. Hearts cannot seek a rest till eyes have seen; Eyes restless as the hearts till they have seen. But there! it is the touch that ruins all, Dissolves the myth, from mythic spheres lets fall Long cherished hopes we had to view a God, Regales our eyes with what? With man's own fraud! Still we are wiser having seen, ourselves, Anticipated power dwarf 'd to elves. So with such wisdom I do turn to thee And say; who knows, might not thy God so be ? Eud. Art thou a living man to ask of me, A living woman who can hear and see, Such sacrilegious questions of my God ? Begone pretense! Thou art thyself a fraud! Rod. But hear me, lady ! Eud. No! I'll hear thee not; Thou hast condemned thyself. [Enter ADESSA and ALPHONSO. ., -, ,, A/ f My mistress! What? ides, and Alph. j M £ masber! what? End. [To Ades.~\ Peace! Rod. [To Alph. ,] Cease! [ Roderick withdraws to one side and kneel- ing, l>07vs his head. Ades. We have been looking high and lqw for you, We came to this same spot to look for you, But seeing not yourself sped swift away To look for you some other obscure way. We've searched in every rill, and delve, and nook, We've — Alph. That we have, and I plunged in the brook, My head submerg'd, my feet without on high, My shoulders wet, my legs quite high and dry. End. Why, this is strange: I've been here all the while, Ere since I left my house in sudden style ; Straightway I bent my foot- steps to this cover, To 'scape that which I met in yon hot lover. But how is this ? By thine own sheepish looks, Methinks thine eyes searched else than delves and brooks, Else thou perchance had'st seen me sit- ting there, Where thou dost see my torment droop- ing there. But come! let's haste away from this dark place. Ades. What's this, fair lady? I see in your face That which doth frighten me. End. O, it is naught Save that all lovers buy that's dearly bought, In pawn for which they squander life and soul To bury love at last in a grave-like goal. Ades. Oh dear, these loves of yours will bury you Within your grave ere we have time to rue Your sad demise. But there! Am I not right, And have you not this very minute's flight Cross'd words with your sad lover, who, lov'd well, Is still repuls'd for being infidel ? Now I do have it by your guilty eyes, His pensive posture; that to my surmise, The broken spirit of a wounded bear, As he lies dying in his lonely lair, Exemplifi3s the humor of your lord, Whose joys now die to requiems of dis- cord. Now, lady, can you heed to the tirade That comes from one— though but your serving- maid — Who loves you dearly for your beauteous self, Nor asks a gross return in penury pelf, But only what of love you have to give ? I'll tell you of a plot; your love may live To its fruition's end. What say you to it? Would 't please my lady to have us do it? Eud. If but to please thyself, why yes you may; But to please me, I am afraid the day Will be long dawning. Ades. I pray you say not so. Who knows to-day what vane the wind will blow Upon the morrow, or what near cleared sky Will burst a cloudless splendor from on high. Come, now, have better cheer. Eud. Well, what's thy plot ? Perchance its mood will brighten mine ; why not! 30 A GEMINY OF VIPERS. [Act ii. Ades, It will: I know it will else love were dead, For through this plot you'll have your love to bed Ere one more setting sun turn down the lap Of one more faded day. Alph. Why such a hap Metbinks I could enjoy at such a time. Ades. A vaunt, impatience thou! An- other time Will be too soon for thee, who, when thou dost Attain thine object's end, I fear will lust A sacred right: disgrace thy marriage bed. End. Come lovers, both; I vow you both turn red On such a theme. Ades. Not I! Alph. Nor I! Eud. Nor I! Who then? Not one of us; O, innocence! We all would crave a love, quaff its essence, And flout its face. But there, let's to our plot. Ades. Why simply told, the plot is this : Methought, Perchance — but soft; he may us hear; there now — That what persuasion, love and friend- ship's vow Fail utterly to bring, perchance, to force By fright, so stubborn-like a will, coerce Him from his stubbornness, might be the means Of bringing out this freak from his ex- tremes. Alph. But how do this? 'Tis not so easy done To fright him who so many fights has won. Ades. Ne'er lived that warrior proned with thoughts so bold But that a vein of cowardice controll'd, Sometime, somewhere, some moments of his life, That to have fought at such weak times, the strife Would surely have been lost. Well, now mayhap We can wield such a fear o'er this mad- cap, By taking him in dead of night, in sleep, When eyes are closed from wary vigil's keep, To bring unto his half-wak'cl vision's gaze Great marvellous demons, seething fires ablaze, Till lo! he think hot hades scorcheth him, And waking, pray to God to succor him. Eud. How now, Adessa, thou art one rare bit Of concentrated wonder and good wit. Thy plot is wisely struck upon, most shrewd, And may be wielded to its wonted good. Now to bethink me of this hermit's place, Doth swift recall to me the hermit's face. I've heard it said by men who ought to know That Gershom— so they call him — though man's foe, Hath strange unearthly power, wielding it At will and to what purpose he sees fit. Indeed, I'll have him at the scene of fun To help us win that which is now most won. Come, we'll to Sebastian's house: there rendezvous To meet this Gershom and his magic crew, And there promote a scheme to win this fool To a christian's way of thinking by God's rule. | Exeunt Eudora, Adessa and Alph. Enter HUMPHREY and ORESTES from their concealment. Hum. Curse these long-winded chris- tians; 'twere better To be hypocrite than have such long foul air. Orestes, awake yon sleeping dog: Why Lo! He sits asleep upon the magic rock, To sit on which is but to sleep forever, Save to be woke by feelings of repug- nance Wielded o'er the senses by another. 'Tis so: I'll wield him wakeful wretched- ness To score accounts with him. He spurns i.ie as A hypocrite: I him an infidel; Now we do meet in this appropriate spot, I'll turn the meeting to frustrate the plot Whereby this scorpion is to be turned christian. Orestes, yield him thy quick wakefulness By thy wakeful hand; make sure this earnest jest, Whilst I the temper of my sword do test. Ores. I pray you, sir, be cautious — Hum. Bah! bah! bah! thou trembling sinner thou; Look to this hap; that man or either I Upon this spot this very night shall die. This world has held us twain quite long enough: Scene i.] A (i EM I NY OF VIPERS. 31 'Tis much too small to hold such cross- [ grain 'd stuff. Ores. It is as you do wish, but I would stead You to a cooler course. Hum. Avaunt, I'm dead To thy advices. Go wake my adversary. I'll put him in a state, indeed, contrary To his present plight, or be thus wrought myself. Go wake my present foe. Ores. Ay! ay! but watch thyself ; I fear he'll prove a wily adversary. [Goes and puts his hand on Roderick, who sud- denly awaking, springs to his feet. Thy lady-love has left thee in the charge Of two rare gentlemen who would enlarge Thy views to more sedate reflections. Hum. Come! Aside, Orestes! Infidel, prepare thee for thy death Or thy defense ! Rod. Methinks cold death's defense, Defending my grieved heart from its tor- ments Is all that's left for me. Defending else, Nor hand, nor heart, nor will collude their might To shield me from cold death in any fight. Hum. Would'st stand distraught for me to murder thee, Thee not to wield thy sword to vanquish me? Thou art a fool as well as infidel, A coward, too, thou art. Prepare! to hell I'll send thy soul that thou may'st then regret Thine earthly life, sigh for one drop to wet Thy parched tongue. Rod. Back fiend, foul hypocrite! What would'st thou with my life ? Hum. I'd have thy life To still thy caviling tongue, whose lash- ings pour'd But now into mine angry patient ears Thy hate, thy fate; for see, in Vishnu mood, I will defend mine honor and my blood. AW. Now heart, leap not from out thy narrow bounds At this outrageous insult. Thou hypo- crite; thou eaves-dropper, Thou insidious, feline cur; I'll fight thee for this fault; Else otherwise these hands of mine were free From thy rank blood. Look to thy fate, thou traitor, For when Roderick unsheathes his sword from off His broad ensiferous loins, a death is nigh, A death that's not his own, but that near by. Come, thou in Vishnu, I in Siva mood. Will battle each, my god to make thine brood. [ They draw and prepare to fight. Ores. Soft, some one approaches! En(er Gershom. Ger. Stay ! who would so Trespass upon my premises to foe Against each other. By God's love! Two vipers drawn, Wild-eyed, aghast, like bullocks in a bawn To end two vipers' lives. By Lucifer's descent, Though it were meet to let such snakes be slain, It were not meet to let the vipers twain Die on my sacred privileges. Ho, fools! I know ye both, and had I but to spit By proffer'd choice to spit on one of ye, I'd know not which to spit upon, else be My heart misgave me that I spat not well For leaving one unspat upon. O hell! When did thy gates ny ope that two such frauds Escaped thy bourn ? Earth now thy luck applauds In being rid of these, but would remise Thy gift again to thee, for this disguise Suits not this beauteous world! You vi- pers you, One with your eyes asquint to trace the world Of her renown'd inhabitants, the other Posing as a god, nor neither worth The water of a toad, but that to cause Eruptions on the earth for goodly men To mourn the presence of, let fall thy swords; Begone base wretches both and get thee hence, Lest I do call my imps to my defense! Rod. Thou wicked wizard, fain would I cope with thee, Had'st thou not evil power with which to see Through premonition's eye the deeds of men. Ger. Ay! see them ere they spring from out their ken, The which in thy head finds its basest base, Breeding act to humanity's disgrace. Rod. Silence, witch! 'Tis thine old dotage saves thee, And not that vested in thy haunted soul. Ger. Yet 'neath this scorned power wilt thou soon 32 A GEMINY OF VIPERS. [Act hi. Fall cringing at my feet in death's cold swoon. Rod. I fear thee not! away! [ 7o Hum.} 'Tis well for thee that this in- trusion came, Else ere this time thy life had ceased to shame The lives of worthier men. Hum. Beware thy life ; I'll have it out with thee in later strife. Ger. Beware you both, I'll smite you both with death, Ere thou hast time to catch a last bare breath . [ Exit Roderick. Hum. Come, friend Orestes, let's from this sorcerer's grot To good Sebastian's, aid them in their plot. Ores. Ay! ay! and to advantage by it, too. Hum. To an infidel's sure misery, a christian's due. [Exeunt Humphrey and Orestes. Ger. Now there be something in this scheming twain : I would now I had let them their bones slain. But soft, another comes. Enter a Messenger. Mess. Is thy name Gershom ? Ger. I'm called that, man, Though I've another name not known to man. What would you have with me ? Mess. My "master bids thee haste to him. Ger. Who and where is your master? Mess. My master is Lord Sebastian : he now is at my master's house. Ger. Dost know the import of your swift dispatch ? Mess. Naught but that 'tis of much consequence. Ger. Well, Gershom is much sought for, much retained, Nor ne'er hath he a summons yet dis- dained. Speed thou back to thy master, say to him, 'Twill give me pleasure to confer with him. [Exit messenger. There, I must haste. What! I myself in plot? Soft; if I am, there's some will wish I'm not. {Exit, ACT III. SCENE I. Room in Sebastian's house. Enter SEBASTIAN, ALPHONSO, ANTONIA, EUDORA, ADESSA and attendants. Eud. How slow and tedious do these moments drag; How creepingly these snails on missions lag! Methinks did all the pleasures of this life Last half as long as moments of such strife, And they in their prolongings take joy's wings To waft a soul beyond their borderings, Life had been better guaged. ,5. has Yet patience is the name Of him who can so patiently acclaim At all times, light or dark, as they do fall To temporal man, a cheerful mood through all. Whence comes the virtue patience but to cheer, When circumstance yields naught save that that's drear ? Eud. But patience hath but little power to quell My present agitation. Ant. O! I can tell; Ay mine, a mother's heart can tell what thine, A lover's feels. Ne'er did a moment line Himself to such an unproportioned length ; Nor ne'er did I feel such a need for strength To stay me through these dragging mo- ments drawn, Until that knave return with old Ger- shom. Eud. Methinks we all are with impa- tience tried. Alph. Had I the knave I'd stretch his dronish stride. Sebas. Perchance to talk of other things will serve Our patience to support, our hearts to nerve To do what is to do this very night. Alph. Myself, I had as lief to wait till light. Ades. What, art afraid 'f this Hermit and his imps ? Alph. Ay, more than I'm afraid to tell you it. Ades. Well, I'll you this: thou coward, you'll rue it. Nor ne'er wilt thou get me, for being 'fraid. Alph. Then thou wilt always be a wait- ting-maid. Ades. Which I will be before I be the mate To one who carries such a coward's pate. Eud. This maid of mine is chipper at all times; Scene i.] A G EMI NY OF YIPEFS. 33 Would I had her light heart, her laugh- ter's chimes. Sebas. 'Tis to be hoped and prayed that we're as gay This time to-morrow, as we're sad to- day. Enter HUMPHREY and ORESTES. How now, good Humphrey, thou back here so soon? I did not thee expect to see till noon Upon the morrow. How 'rt thou, Orestes? Ores. Resting well, my lord; our God has blest us. Sebas. How blest ? Ores. By speeding us to thee to aid thee in thy plot. By His dear guidance, we met thy messenger: learned from him what in the wind was brewing, gave heed to our two selves, one to another, in brief consultation, actuated by which, to final conclusion drew, that it would not ap- pear unseemly in the act, decided there- fore ourselves accordingly and posted us to thee to see the fun and aid in its pro- motion. Sebas. Thou'rt welcome both; I give it thee, spiced to thy palate's taste, with my profoundest gratitude. But art thou not unusually pale, Humphrey ? Hum. A little incident occurred upon our way, Which might have ended in a bloody fray ; 'Tis this, my lord, to think what might have been That makes me pale; 'tis naught. What's to begin? Sebas. Naught but to wait till Gershom come to us; For we rest on his skill to succor us. Ant. And thy skill, too, Sir Humphrey, believe thou me, I know thou art most cunning in thy thoughts, As thou art cunning in thy thought's re- sults. Thy mind elastic, thy two hands are true To thine elastic brain; for what they do. Is not what they, but what thy will doth do. Thy hands subservient to thy strong- set will, Thy will subservient to that greater will Whence thou derivest thy Tyr-tireless strength, Thy hands their cunning, and thy head its length. Alph. [Aside] A devil's dowry is such vermin's wealth, For thence come his great cunning and his stealth. I'll watch Sir Loptur with his artful smile, I warrant he is here to play his guile. Enter Messenger. Sebas. What, knave ! thou odious pot- terer: why dost Thou tarry so on this important trust ? Where's he for whom thou wert in haste dispatched ? Mess. I left him, master, with his own- self matched, Nor ne'er could such another match be found In one lone man that treads the mother ground. End. Think'st thou he hath the wis- dom, mother wit To aid us in this plot, in urging it ? Mess. My lady, he's all wisdom and all wit, A dark magician whose weird wand can flit Before the gaze a thousand devil's imps, That revel in the air like lank-legg'd shrimps. Sebas. But what said he toward coming, man? Mess. Quoth he: ' Speed thou back to thy master, say to him, 'Twill give me pleasure to confer with him.' Enter GERSHOM. Ger. Thou art precise in memory and speech. But how much later have I been to reach This late-wrought schemer's domicile than thee ? Mess. I have but come: belike you crowded me, My very tracks thine for thine own fit use, Befitting thy fleet foot, nor tight, nor loose, To urge thee ever to a swifter gait, To haste thee here with me, like mate and mate. Ger. A pretty mate, thoa fool, for one like me Who holds domain o'er earth and o'er the sea, Who can, if willed, transform thee to a sheep, Or close thine eyes forever in deep sleep ; Set thee astride the mongrel-fashioned steed, Or turn thee to a hungry swine; to feed Upon thy swine-coarse potale to grow fat, Or change thee to a frightful mewing cat. End. Hast thou indeed such marvel- lous power as this ? 34 A GEMINY OF VIPERS. [Act hi Does not repute speak thy strange deeds amiss ? Ger. My lady, thou wert better an- swered not In words that savor of my magic grot. Let that done in thy service soon disclose To thee and to thy friends what Gershom knows Of the black and necromantic art and power, Before which man and beast alike do cower. Sebas. 'Tis well, Gershom, we'll test thee of thy art, And if thou hast ability to impart What wisdom thou possessest to this venture, Thy presence here will rest beyond our censure. Gcr. Thy needs will be attended with painstaking, For I surmise 'tis a goodly undertaking. Ant. Is't good to slay the wolf to save the fawn That capers lightly o'er the terraced lawn? Or pluck with rough and indurated grasp The babe from out the tainted mother's clasp ? These things, O hermit, thou wilt say are good, As this that gives joy to chaste mother- hood. All things are good that hath a goodly end, No matter what the deeds be that portend To its accomplishment. Ger. Thou art not wrong In these thy spoken views. The siren's song Heard floating on the still and calm-lit night, Enthralls the sense in rapture and de- light, Drives dull care thence to parts beyond our reach, Presents new bliss to us that doth us teach What 'tis to love; alas! to love in vain. O siren's song, from thee there's naught to gain Save that the heart, the soul, the life must hate, Save that which ne'er its ardor doth abate. Yes, yes, my lady, thou should'st have recourse To any means a purposed end to force. 'Tis right if intent point to goodly end, 'Tis right if mother's joys are to defend, Pure motherhood, its noble life uphold: Then falter not, thy purpose make more bold. Ant. Ay, this I'll brace myself in all to do, Since justice crowns the deed to purposed good. O sir, my heart has been most sorely grieved, And I have found small joys in my past life Through all its tedious hours of day or night. Yea, nights to me have been mere night- less days, Days brightless with the nights of waking sadness; My days but dayless nights, as dark and drear As the darkest of dark nights, for aught of cheer The heavenly sun has given me; and all because My own of flesh and blood, God pity him, Is shrouded in such madness. Sebas. Come, sweet Antonia, court thou a holier hope, And rest thou in its friendly fold, we will have cause To don a cheerrier garb upon the morrow. Come now, let's first stead hope by prac- ticing Our wits upon the furtherance of our scheme. Gershom, thou know'st, I believe, I have a son named Roderick ? Ger. Ay, my lord. Sebas. Who pleaseth a perverse mood To be an infidel. Ger. Ay, my lord. Sebas. To the sorrow Of his parents and his friends. Gcr. I see it now about me. Sebas. Well now, it has been thought upon And purposed, too, to force this dolt, by some means Yet unhit upon save vaguely, to become a christian With his parents and his friends. Canst thou help us in the undertaking ? Ger. Soft now awhile, my copious thought needs here A moment for reflection. This is an Enterprise as intricate as 'tis good. Hum. [To Orestes] Orestes, mark the hermit well, For he regards us with mistrustful eyes, And if the chance to nip us in our own designs But come, he'll do it. Let fall, therefore, no hint Scene i.] A GEMINY OF VIP BBS. To give him this advantage o'er our presence here. Ores. Of his least move I will be close observer. Look, even now he moves to speak. Ger. 'Tis done: this Roderick is al- ready christian turned. Sebas. Impossible ; this is no jest, speak not in riddles to our anxious ears which starve for something more definite than innuendoes. Ger. When Gershom opes his lips to speak, he speaks, And when speech issues from his opened lips, 'Tis words which sparkle with a wit and sense Of that discoursed. Well, so I will speak now, And what the language of my lips may be Catch thou it to thy hearts as gentle truth, To gently nourish there renewed hope, That he whom you so love but not revere Will, ere another sun, be christianized, Revered by all and by all highly prized. Eud. We do in interest grow; pray haste to thy mysterious direction ; I am a-tremble with mine eagerness. Ger-. Thou hast a noble love, my lady dear, That causeth thee thy trembling and thy fear; But on the morrow thy love will requite A love as noble as thine is tonight. Eud. I trust thee, Gershom, and I honor thee, O, pray thee haste and win my love to me. Ger. Now, ne'er did Gershom have so sweet a task As this that thou dost of him sweetly ask. I'll crown all past attempts in this great deed. Have I, my lord, thy sanction to proceed? Scbas. I am as anxious as Eudora is. Ger. And thou my Lady Antonia ? Ant. My answer is my lord's. Ger. Then all are anxious for this one event, Yet none more so than I myself am bent To cope the evils that have ye aroused To these marks of concern: misfortune housed Within thy noble gates. What's th' hour, my lord ? Sebas. The clock even now chimes twelve. [Clock strikes, Ger. A funeral knell Proclaiming death to low laments that dwell Now in thy souls. List to this ringing doom! Its dying echoes toll woes to their tomb, Make beauteous once again this dismal earth By resurrection of dead joy and mirth. Almost appropriate hour, my lord, is this To wield thy son this metamorphosis; An hour, which, at dead and hush of night, Dooms day to death, gives birth to day and light. But say, has thy son yet retired, my lord? Sebas. The hour of ten saw him well lodg'd and feathered. Ger. So: this were good. We'll soon have him well tethered In the meshes of our dark authority. Hast access to his chamber ? Sebas. Now that we Must ascertain. Perchance some mood of his Hath locked us out. His idiosyncracies Do sometimes prompt him to exclude himself Away from every one save from himself, And keep him thus until some happier humor Doth release him. Ger. Art sure no artful rumor Hath apprised him of thy plans ? Sebas. Why no ; Unless the winds have whispered what we know, No traitor would betray us in this deed. Hum. [Aside] How his hawk's eyes upon my face do feed; I must with wary hand beguile his wits, Ere he upon my own dark purpose hits. Ger. 'Tis well, withal, to be upon our guard — But there, let's haste, no longer to retard The progress of a plot that must needs win A fool from infidelity, a soul from sin. Now gather close and pay as close a heed, Whilst I give brief direction for thy need. I have a potion which when so applied, Wafts him, my victim, to deep sleep, dream- eyed To lie in comatose to suit my will In all like death, yet never doth it kill. My plan is this: to thus annul his sense, Whilst I command my imps to bear him thence To my abode high in my mountain grot; For these familiar walls perchance will not Tend toward deception's aid in wheed- ling him To that complete deception my cave dim Is sure to guile him with. Alphonso thou, Haste thee along to guide the footsteps now 36 A G EMI NY OF VIPERS. [Act hi. Of these thy followers to the mountain's brow. Have naught of fear for Gershom will be there Ere thou hast climbed one-half of na- ture's stair. Be cautious all for there be lurking steeps That may precipitate ye to dark un- fathomable deeps. End. Ay, ay, Alphonso, haste thee, lead the way, This deed to accomplish ere the dawn of day. [Exeunt all but Sebastian, Gershom, Humphrey and Orestes. Ger. My Lord Sebastian, pray thee come with me, Search thy house well, get thou the right- ful key To ope the door, beyond whose present bar Thy son secure doth sleep, from us as far As though he slept on Neptune's distant breast, Higher a million times than great Olym- pus' crest. Sebas. Why tarriest thou, Sir Hum- phrey, why not go To bear the other's company ? Why so slow ? Hum. I did but wait a word of Ger- shom's cheer; My modesty forbids infringing here. Sebas. Gershom, bid them depart, if it thee please, Whilst I go fetch my ring of household keys. [Exit Sebastian. Ger. O modest spirit thou, whence comest thy shame To so beguile thyself, thyself defame, Defaming modesty in thee to dwell. This is my cheer: thou'rt welcome to my hell! [E tit Gershom. Hum. Hear'st thou that, Orestes, the fiend is a wicked sorcerer. But haste, these moments are as drops of crimson blood When blood itself, has almost ceased to flow, For very rarity of the precious stuff. Hast thou a dagger keen, unsheath it quick. Ere this damned fiend to his drowsed vic- tim nears, This dagger will have stretch'd the vic- tim's years Into eternity and eternal woe. Orestes, quick; the dagger, let me go — I know a secret passage to this room : I'll use it now to haste impending doom. Orestes heed, wait for me down beneath, And when 'tis done I'll drop thee on the heath The bloody thing; make way with it at once, For it must not remain with us, to dunce Wise deed to an unsystematic end. Haste thee below whilst I above defend The cause that brought us both so quickly here: Be brave Orestes, thou hast naught to fear; But me, think thou of me. OGod! O God! Preserve my strength, my motive justly laud! [Exeunt Humphrey and Orestes separately. SCENE II. Bed Chamber of Roderick Showing its Interior and Exterior Vieivs. Roderick Lying Asleep upon his Bed Within. Enter HUMPHREY by Private Approach to Chamber. Hum. Now Humphrey thou art here use well thy time, Have done the deed ere thou art caught in crime. But what a darksome place— yet dark- ness will Abet a deed whose import is to kill. Fie! fie! unhappy wretch, why tremble so To stab one who is thine own mortal foe, Who stands in way of thy deep coveted wealth ? O hand be brave, dispatch with native stealth An act whereby thou wilt reap rich re- ward In double yield of purse: thy nephew lord And happy spouse to sweet Eudora's will; Speed speed, this hindrance thou must surely kill To save thyself and nephew from dis- grace, Though it imprint woe on thy haunt-writ face! Why, is this sleep that holds my victim bound ? 'Tis more like death itself, this posture, mound. Well then, 'twere such a small thing to imbed This dagger in that now already dead. There, there, what dead can breathe this living breath ? Deceived illusion, thou deny'st kind death ; Deny'st my freedom from a murderer's taunts ; Deny'st my soul's redemption from hell's haunts. Scene ii.] A GEMINY OF VfPERS. :;: God I strike, O God strike Thou not me For striking him that will set me free, free From earthly woes; that will raise heavenly hope. Curse this dark place, mine eyes grow dim, I grope As in a blindness bound, yet open-eyed, My sight doth mock my vision to deride. 1 cannot do this thing but yet I must: Why fool, why standest thou back on one poor thrust That will in all put death where now there's life, Put peace in thee where now there's hellish strife! Can I call God to witness this foul deed ? Fool, fool, God's eye, incessant in its heed, Looks down upon thy head, thy quiver- ing hand, Spurns thee with scorn and silent repri- mand; Thy weakness sneers, thy cowardice contemns: Kill, kill thy victim ere He thee con- demns! [Approaches the bed and hovers over it, raises his hand to strike, yet in an uncertain attitude, still hesitates. ] Enter SEBASTIAN and GERSHOM on exterior side of chamber. Sebas. Quick Gershom and be soft, in- sert the key; Unbar the way to our hope's victory. Ger. The key doth fit its native hiding place As snugly as thy son lies in disgrace ; The bolt doth yield before its gentle touch Even as he will yield to my hand's magic touch. Sebas. Then push it with thy magic hand ajar; Why tarriest thou the door to thus unbar? Ger. For thee, Sebastian, who must now depart; I'd be alone in my specific art. The presence of another might dispel The magic of my wand. Haste to my hell That is to be thy son's ere dawn of day, For his deliverance to his great dismay. Sebas. Is this enfore'd in interest to the deed ? Ger. It is, my lord, else I'd not have thee speed. Sebas. Well then, I'll go to be thy bet- ter aid. Ger. 'Twill aid me better than if thou had'st staid. [Exit Sebastian. Now Gershom, concentrate thy force to work ; Thy duteous subjects let no duty shirk. Ope thou the door: behold him victim- iz'd — [ T/iro-cs open the door, glides hastily and noise- lessly in the chamber, and sees Humphrey in the act of stabbing Roderick. ] Damned fiend! Back! Back! Thou treach- erous snake despis'd! Darest thy ban'd fang hiss forth a viper's hate, Thy serpent's eye charm to a dreadful fate, With but an aim to murder as enthrall'd, The object of my kinder aims forestall'd? Fiends, furies, sieze the murderous hyp- ocrite ! Enter PlKE, PEAK rtWPOKE, with numerous other imps who surround HUMPHREY. Bear him away to the darkness of my pit, Consign him to its torments till it please My heart his soul from torment to ap- pease. [Some lead him away, some remain. Hum. Thou curs'd magician ill will it serve thy boon To turn a Humphrey into a graceless loon. {Exit, guarded by imps. Ger. To turn a snake into a harmless toad, Save him defenseless from thy envious goad. O God! How canst Thou from Thy virtu- ous place Look down upon such fiends in their dis- grace ; Refusing discipline to overthrow These studied evils of man's direst foe! O Thou wise King, in pity art Thou wise, Earth's Benefactor dwells beyond the skies, Unseen, to guage men's deeds, what they may be, His censure slow, man's meed eternity. If I were God, had God's infinitude, Yet still myself, as He hath me imbued With human passions, having such a power, Methinks my passions would surmount the tower Of my endow'd infinitude. From high I'd bolt destruction to this hateful spy, Though all the thunders of broad heaven's reserve Were called to kill, I'd ne'er my purpose swerve. O God, when I do give my thoughts to Thee, Thy greatness, matchless strength, divin- ity} 38 A GEMINY OF VI PEL'S. [Act hi. Thy incomparable chastity, Thy might, How dwarf'd do I appear in my own bight! But then, whilst I have power to wield a cause, It is not meet to hesitate, to pause, When others so depend upon my skill To aid them in their griefs, their troubles kill. Come, come Gershom, where is thy wonted might? Hast thou grown vapid ? Art thou weak to-night ? No, no, as thou hast this foul murderer doomed, So wilt thou see him almost murdered, groomed To her whose virtue is as God's own light, The happy bride to him whoso present plight Degradeth her to harbor such a love, So like a lion courted by a dove, But who by virtue of this night's great deed* Will give unto Eudora her just meed, Requiting as requited, loving loved, Lo! two, yet one, two doves though singly doved. Come imps, prepare, this burden to trans- port Beyond these limits hence to our resort. Soft, let this potion waft him to deep sleep, Lest intimation of the act do creep Into his half- waked brain to thus dispel Poor nature's trance in which he now doth dwell. There, bear him hence to our dark moun- tain grot, Nor stop till thou hast reached the magic spot Where magic reigns on earth, in sky, in air, Striking dismay to them that tarry there. Away, away, thy nimble limbs to stride A lightsome gait far up the mountain side : Repose thy burden when thou readiest it, Upon my downy coach, there let him sit; For to lie down constraineth any sight, And I'd have him see all to see to-night. [Exeunt imp; bearing Roderick away. 'Tis well O Gershom, thou art ever great, Thy passions staid, ambitions satiate. Fly fly thou home, a victory yet to gain, Disdaining this as thou wilt that disdain. {BxU. SCENE III. 4 Mountain Gorge. Enter ALPHONSO and Attendants followed by Eudora, Antonia and Adessa, with guards, etc. Ant. O dear, my o'er-strain'd limbs, long past endure Refuse their functions. I must here immure Myself, my wearied self, and pause to rest To stay exhaustion that hath me op- press'd. Why nature has embastion'd her rude hills, Bisecting chasms with her rippling rills In this impassable manner, I am dumb For want of explanation, lest 'tis to numb My poor tired limbs for plodding, strain- ing so, 'Gainst their own inclination ever slow, 'Gainst this incline of mountain-graded steeps, 'Gainst pitching down far into mountain- ous deeps. My years have made me dotish and in- firm, My sorrows do infirmity confirm; The sorrow that impell'd me out to-night Comfirms infirmity and in such a might, That I, o'er-come, succumb beneath its weight: Friends, tarry here, my strength to re- instate. Alph. God save me from another such a night; I would to God it were now broad day- light, Ades. And I would have another braver guide Than thee, thou coward in a coward's hide. Alph. Thou art affright thyself, thou know'st thou art, Else why look wildly round and often start As though some wicked spirit haunted thee, Compelling yet constraining thee to flee? Now as for I, myself, as I'm a knave, I wonder at myself for being brave Sufficiently to say that I'm affright, Sufficiently to come out in this night, This mountain gorge, this hideous, howl- ing place. There, there, thou art affright: 'tis no disgrace If thou art truly so to say thou art, But 'tis disgrace to fear, deny the part With trembling ashen lips, with sinking soul, That doth evince thy fear, defy control. Ades. My lips a'tremble, my lips ashen white, My soul a'sinking, and on such a night! Bah! bah! This moonlight would allay my fear. Scene hi.] A GEMINY OF VIPERS. 39 If fear I had, which I have not, my dear. Alph. Why, by my love, this "dear" is first I've heard Thee utter since thou hast on me con- ferred Thy golden heart with all its golden worth, Nor gentle words, nor fond, in love nor mirth Hast thou addressed me till this very night, Till now, this moment. Oh, thou art affright, Else why shoulds't thou now humbled call me dear, When thou at other times offend mine ear With coarser epithet ? Why then thou'rt free From fear. O woman thou, I now have thee Where every woman once has stood at bay, Defeated, wroth, chagrin'd, lost in dis- may At being read aright by her right lord, Sham'd for her fickleness, acts unto- ward. End. Come, come, cross'd lovers, stop thy tongues' wild pace. To indulge light moods at such a time and place Is not discreet when other moods oppose. What, ho! attendants, what's the stir? Who goes? Alt. Soft, hark! faint voices on the nether air Come floating to my fright- wrought, sensitive ear From spectral depths below; my heart appalls To list to sounds from nature's haunted halls. End. Then thou'rt unfit to guard the life of one Who scorns such fear, or any 'neath the sun. Att. Ay, lady, but— but this is 'neath the moon, Whose shadows turn brave man to gib- berish loon. End. Why, then, I'll say beneath the termagant sky; Why need of fear as long as God's on high, With care directed to his subjects all ? Fool, fool; thy faith, thy trust in God is small. See else yourself, there is no cause for fear; For these faint, distant voices that you hear Come only from Sebastian and his friends, Whom God, perchance, in our extremity, sends To our assistance. Come, Antonia, dear, Arise to greet thy lord approaching near; Let his strong arm supply thy need to thee, Supporting that no other arms are free To ramble o'er. Enter SEBASTIAN, LUBIN and THEOPHI- LUS. Alph. Hail, Lord Sebastian, hail! Hail thou good Lubin and Theophilus, hail! Thy presence here doth serve my soul to ease From foolish fright that now my soul doth tease. Seb. Why tarry'st thou? Alph. To let thy wife have rest; Long ere this stop she had o'er-taxedher best. Sebas. What thou, Antonia ? God for- give the vein Subjecting thee to this unnatural strain. Ant. There, there! Could any wife and mother true Remain behind when such work is in view ? Sebas. Ay! thou art true as thou wert truly won; O, would I had as true and good a son As thou art wife— had I but that as this, Indeed would bliss be crown'd with sweet- est bliss. Ant. And would a mother's love be crowned with love, A father's pride with pride. O, God above; Hast Thou an ear to give unto the griev'd, An eye to note th' afflicted and bereav'd, A heart to pity them in sore distress, A hand to help, to strengthen, and caress? Lend Thy kind heed to this griev'd couple now; Let kindly looks arch kindness in Thy brow; Let pitying heart unfold her priceless hoard; Let hand outstretch to bless new joys restor'd. End. O, good Antonia, what a heart thou hast, That, first in sorrow, thou should'st be the last To censure Heaven but to give Him praise : We all were better had we thy just ways. Ant. Thou art thyself as good as I dare be, For thy benevolence and thy chastity. 10 .4 GEMINY OF VIPERS. [Act hi. Sebas. Thou'rt both like two white daz- zling flakes of snow, That for thy goodness 'twould be hard to know Which is Eudora's, which Antonia's place, But for dissimilitude of form and face. But there, had we not best resume our way ? I note a glim in the east that heralds day. This Gershom will, I fear, dislike ap- proach That on his patience doth so much en- croach. How now Eudora, do I note thy gaze Of deep surprise, of justly-wrought amaze, Directed on Theophilns, Lubin, here? I should ere now have explained their presence here. 'Tis simply this: when I did leave my house, All in a fever to o'er-take my spouse With her accompanying train, and pity- ing friends, Who should I hap upon but these two friends, Who, you all know, are friends to him, likewise, That causeth all our discommodities. Well, when I told them of our wild affair, They pled to come along— so here they are. Ant. Thou'rt welcome both, good friends, to our adventure. The more because you join us in our censure, Yet in our love for my per versed son. Iheo. We thank thee, lady, for we love thy son. Lub. And 'tis our love that prompted us to come To aid in his conversion, turn him from His dark, oblivious course. Ant. O, you are kind! Two such true friends, we search long ere we find. My lord, methinks now with thy strong support, I can resume my way. We must report To Gershom ere the sun his vision peeps, Above horizon's ragged line of steeps, Lest his bright eye the hermit's pow'r dispel, His imps abash, destroy his frightful hell. Sedas. Ay! ay! let's haste ourselves — Enter ORESTES hastily. Oies. Friends, pardon me! But is my friend, Sir Humphrey, not with ye, Nor been with ye within the hour agone ? Sedas. Why, no, Orestes. Ores. He left me on the lawn To wait his pleasure from your house. 'Tis strange, I ne'er did see him leave the place. More strange, For I did search for him; more stranger still, For ne'er could I espy a frieze or frill Of Humphrey's absent self. I fear me much He's fallen in this cursed hermit's clutch. Sebas. Why this, indeed, is strange whose strangeness is To me as strange as any stranger is To strangest strangenesses. Art sure you search'd In every nook, high, low, smirch'd and unsmirch'd? 'Tis much too strange for me to soon be- lieve That Humphrey would our trusting hearts deceive. Ores. I left your house as silent as the tomb, Nor no one place more silent than the room Sir Humphrey was last seen within. Ant. My lord, Dost thou forget that 'quester'd stretch of sward, Whose foliaged arbors well might screen a man From Io's argus-watcher, Juno's scan? Why, then, could not Sir Humphrey have escap'd These lesser watchful eyes that are not shaped With lens so piercing as great Juno's eyes, Which could, themselves not pierce through this disguise ? Sebas. Why even so, Orestes, thou'rt illus'd, Or, if not this, say thou wert so enthus'd With thoughts of our anticipated freak, That thou grewest weary and thine eyes grew weak With drowsiness. Say that, perchance, you slept, And whilst you slept Sir Humphrey past you crept. Say anything, Orestes, sad or glad, Save that Sir Humphrey is so monstrous bad He'd do aught wrong to loving, trusting friends ; But rather naught save that from which depends That strongest friendship's sponsor of good will, Without which sponsor friends would soon friends kill, Scene iv.] A G EMI NY OF VIPERS. 41 Soon murder all great ties which bind great souls, And friendship's love and all that love controls. I'll warrant now Sir Humphrey has long since Reached Gershom's dark abode and his dark imps.' Come let us haste, his patience not to tire, Lest we ourselves incur great Gershom's ire. Ores. It may be so, my lord, or so I'll say, With your permission may I lead the way? These hills are to my feet like velvet stairs, So easy of ascent are they and theirs. Their widest fissures I do span with ease, So come my friends, I'll guide ye, ye to please. Sebas. Thou could'st not please us with a welcomer word; On, on, Orestes! this waste is absurd. Friends get you gone ; away, away with ye! Come sweet Antonia, rest thyself on me. Thus do you give my life its chiefest joy, To counteract the pain caused by our boy. Thus go we to this grot in hope and fear; God grant we may return in hope and cheer. [Exeunt, Sebastian supporting Antonia. SCENE IV. Gershom's Grot. Enter GERSHOM in State with Train of Attend- ing Imps. Ger. Are all things ready ? Imps. Ay, my lord! Ger. Then heed; Stand well thy guard. Let not our pris- oners feed Upon the ravenous thought of how to 'scape, And feeding well, digest the thought to shape Digestion's organs, to its freedom find Aperture, small or large, or any kind Through which to strain their offal bodies out. Be cautious, true, let there remain no doubt As to the sound security of the chain Which menacles hand and foot 'gainst ambitious brain To be at liberty set. Stay! when I sound The signal word, bring him whom sleep hath bound Forth from his loathsome cell my wrath to meet; Do all this well: be punctual, wise, dis- creet. Some ready be to welcome them we expect, Lest they conclude their presence we re- ject; And when they arrive upon the grot's terrene Place them where they can see, them- selves unseen. Guard their demeanor from rash over- tures, Lest they force arms to peri-curvatures; And place constraint o'er undue haste and din Of chattering that their tongues might revel in. Preceed this by example set thyselves: Be ye thus sage and mute like dumb- mouth'd elves. Be also mild and courteous, do not flaunt, But grant them any whim their hearts may want. I'd make this farce to bait this foolish fish, Appear to him whose sense it is my wish To so delude, as some dread horrid dream, His soul to torture with strange sights that seem Before his awe-struck eyes to paw and prance, Like countless devils in a devil's dance. Away, away! each to his post repair, For soft! they come. Remember and beware ! Enter ORESTES, SEBASTIAN and ANTONIA, Eudora, Adessa, Alphonso, Lubin, Theophilus, Attendants, and followers. Welcome thou, my friends, retire to where conducted, That you may see, unseen, uninterrupt3d; For what you see to-night perchance will awe The bravest one among you, thy blood draw Away from fear-still'd heart, thy lips turn white Thine eyes to witness such a painful sight. Lose not thy trust in my esteemed worth, Pray thou allow not anxious hearts to dearth The trance-like spell I wield o'er son and friend By cries of tongue to cause a fruitless end. My might is great, protection greater yet, Nor greatness knows no bounds save more to get. Yea, he who knows the Tao needs not fear 42 A GEMINY OF VIPERS. [Act hi. The bite of reptiles, beasts that prowl anear, Nor birds of prey that soar the lither air, Disporting in their realm so light and rare, Yet pregnant with foul matters from be- low That fires the fatal swoop of the fatal foe Down on the earth, down on earth's hab- itants That live unshielded and without de- fense, Save for protection rendered by Tao; Invulnerate 'gainst death and living foe. Thus vested in such greatness and de- fense, Fear not that I will give thy hope offense Save that for his advantage and content. Tomorrow thou wilt say this hour was spent To richest profit and to noblest ends. Think, think, O souls, what on this hour depends! Is love a thing so meagre and so small, That love afflicting makes hearts chaff and gall At love's afflicting bane that renders new Affection's ties, makes them more stanch and true ? This discipline borne upon a wayward son Racks but to reap that which could ne'er be won By aught of else save necessary pain Inflicted on him loved, his love to gain In later times when he then sees the good Of a parent's jurisdiction, fatherhood. Now we have here two vipers deep in sin, To gaze on whom for beauty each might win The admiration of admiring eyes — Such as the Dorians gave to eulogize The snow-white pair, the princely dei- ties — But for their sins which turn to obsequies The latent humor of our wrathful gaze To chast them with the horror of hell's blaze. I'll stand condemner with Postumius grace, Yet not to pray but to condemn the base. As condemnation merits punishment, I'll cast them both to outer banishment, There to lie low in everlasting dread, Forever dying, dead, yet never dead; Forever living in this livid state, Nursing hell's agony, this to be their fate. This our intent to make real seem unreal, Unreal seem real and so with Roderick deal. What ho! foul imps: bring forth the in- fidel, His sense to craze by goadings of our hell! [Exeunt three or four imps. Friends, hark! when they do usher Rod- erick in, Nor stir, nor wince, nor groan, nor raise a din. Have patience, faith: do this to humor me, That, if thou dost, I'll give back unto thee A comelier son and friend than ere be- fore Thine eyes have gazed upon; one to adore. Screen well thyselves. Re-enter imps bearing RODERICK. There now! my charm hath lasted long and well; The energumen needs diversion's spell To spice his torment, cause his soul to quake, His heart to burst, eyes bulge— awake! awake ! \_Awakes suddenly and stares about him in be- wilderment and fright. The imps retire, leaving him standing before Gershom who holds him in a semi-state of catalepsv, spell-bound^ yet alive to the horridness of his surroundings. ,] Infidel! Hast thou a word to say for thy doom'd self; And know'st thou where thou art, or that thou hast This minute come to hell through port of death, Or what sad grievance brought thee here aghast ? Rod. What sayest thou? What ful- some place is this That ears do hear hot seething fires hiss; That eyes in office to my senses render A scene so foul that in me doth engender This mighty, trembling fear, this horrid dread ? O where am I ? Dost live or am I dead ? Gey. This is thy hell, thy narrow, seething hell, In which to live, to die, forever dwell! 'Tis life from death, death after living life, 'Tis death from life, life after dying strife. 'Tis thus thy death, thy life: thy life, thy death, Thy hell, thy home, hell's-fire thy only breath. Rod. Last eve I, in my chamber, sleep- ing, lay; Scene iv.] A GEMINY OF VIPERS. 43 But this — what horror's this? O, what dismay I now awake to? What surroundings fell? Has death encompass'd me, and is this hell? Poor spirit of a man whose pride was once The reigning king of prides! Alas, thou dunce, Thou fool, where flies thy spirit and thy pride That demons have the power thee to de- ride ! Ger. Thou art thy spirit but pride knows nauarht of thee, Down, down, therefore, bend thy stiff- temper'd knee! Let fall thy haughty gaze, this is not earth, But hell where fools are taken for their worth. Rod. Then earth were hell, and this must needs be earth Since earth, my hell, made joy in me so dearth. Why then, if this be earth, the other hell, And earth a hell, say I, on earth I dwell! Ger. What good to thee, if hell be only earth, Thou dwellest still in hell. Cease mock- ing mirth That only can condemn thee all the more, For striving out of hell to shrewdly soar. Dost any ling'ring thought in thee yet live That this is earth, cease thou the thought to give Existence in thy frenzied brain: for lo! Raise thy deluded eyes to heaven, and grow Accustom'd from thy hell to heaven's bliss, And by compare observe what thou dost miss. There sits thy mother, there upon her right Thy father stands enshrined in heaven's light. Good Lubin, too, that friend whom thou dost love Enjoys great prominence in that land above. Lo! by his side, Theophilus, mild and true In heaven dwells with naught on earth to rue. Why there's Alphonso, there's Adessa fair: Great angels that on earth could not compare With thee no more than lamp to sun With sun his brightest, lamp its end nigh run. Who else is there? Who else? Why look'st thou wild Upon such purity, love, grace undefil'd ? Thine eyes blaspheme, as thou thyself art curs'd, When they do feast on her who is im- mers'd Of God's redeeming grace. O, infidel! Dost thou doubt now that thou dost grope in hell ? Rod. O God, canst thou rule power in this curs'd place, Strike me oblivious from this deep dis- grace ! Hell's torture might I brave without a cry, But not those pitying looks from friends on high. [Falls upon the ground, overcome. Ger. Ha! be thou brave that thou de- ftest me, Thy courage quick I'll test; thou may'st then see What 'tis to scorn perdition's dreadful bane Whose foul effects allayeth not a grain, But ever groweth in intensity To gratify a mad propensity To wrought revenge on thy poor doom- cursed soul, That casteth thee beyond thy friends' condole, Who disappear behind fair heaven's gate To leave thee to lament thy fearful fate. Thy doomed soul must suffer as it pleased Thee to defy great Heaven's love unap- peased. Hell claims her victim by ordained right, Nor naught sufficeth but thy soul to blight Forever in her flames. O, infidel, pre- pare, Thy doom is fixed, nor friends, nor God can spare Thee now from hades' fire engulfing thee ; This is thine end, thy fateful destiny. Ne'er didst thou hear such thunders as hell's bolts Whose deep-toned mutterings belch forth trembling volts; Ne'er didst thou dream of such fear- fetching imps As these that are hell's prancing, pan- dering pimps. Ne'er didst thou cringe before a might- ier power Than this before the which thou now dost cower. 44 A GEMINY OF YIPEES. [Act hi. Die, die, yet live, a living death for thee, Dwell ever in perpetual misery! ■Rod. God, were I out 'f this accursed place Forever would I dwell in Thy good grace. On earth once more I'd serve Thee well and true; Alas, too late! I meet a fool's just due. God! God! death creepeth o'er my senses swift: Eternity is death — hell's ransom-gift. [Sleeps. Ger. Well done! He calls upon Jeho vah's name; Tomorrow's sun will see him humbly tame. Imps, speed! transmit him to his lone- some room. [Exeunt Imps, bearing Roderick. Sebastian, friends, come forth! Another doom Awaits another fool, a villain, beast, Whose thirst for murder ne'er hath found its feast; But that the thirst remaineth in his heart, Ne'er can the feast cleave murderous jaws apart. Enter SEBASTIAN and the others from their con- cealment. Sebas. O, wondrous man! The end is that I crav'd: I feel within my heart my son is sav'd. Ger. Peace! voice not praise on my poor pygmean power Which is God's own that in me hath its dower, That, wielded through this medium of man's hand, Has served thy son to save by repri- mand. But stay, the cravings of this night are not appeas'd: There yet remains another, God be pleased, To chastise and to punish for an act, Though not committed none the less a fact; Since he with murder lurking still in heart Confronts a murderer's doom; for 'tis no part To do what intent prompts withal to do, Though unaccomplish'd deed base will ensue, So much as 'tis a part to will the thing Crav'd for, frustrated. This is what doth bring Worse condemnation on the head of him Whose heart, approving, whose hand, murderous, grim, Is staid from doing what is in the heart By timely interruption whose no part Of its existence comes from willer's will, Whose deepest motive is one but to kill. Sebas. Why, who is this ? Ger. Why, who ? Canst thou not guess ? And guessing must thou ignorantly di- gress From sighting true and skillful guessing aim On one who rests even now 'neath thy just blame? He who, himself, digressed from thee in time, But for my presence, to commit this crime ? Sebas. What! Humphrey? Ger. Humphrey, ay! indeed. Sebas. Pshaw ! pshaw! No other man on earth observes that law Which governs christian deeds to fellow mate More closer than Sir Humphrey does. End. Now wait! I have myself suspicion'd for a time That Humphrey's heart approves not acts sublime, That acts themselves screen but a heart unfit For any save a hateful hypocrite. Sebas. O! what a baneful thing sus- picion is, Whose venom wroughts within the hu- man mind Deep miseries of mistrustful, trusting love, That doth outrival in its venom'd force The deadly scorpion or the adder's tooth ; Makes hate a murderer of forbearing love ; Makes love her own destroyer, killing love; Denudes her of her beauty and her flower, Supplants her grace, her wisdom, and her power By crowning on her devastated throne A royal tyrant, causing hearts groan Beneath the thralldom of a king, called hate, To ever curse their sad unnatural fate. The amaranthean bud with perfume rare, The breath of frost its fragrance doth im- pair; So virtue sitting deep in true-born heart Doth fade and die, doth from its virtue part Touch'd by suspicion's tainting, impure breath ; O where, O where can be a sadder death, Or where a fouler wielder of a death, Or where a comelier victim of a death ? Scene iv.] A G EMI NY OF VIPERS. 45 Ger. Why, for the first had it not been for me, I could ere now have shown the first to thee. As for the second, thou wilt soon see it As thou dost gaze upon the hypocrite. The third, though it has not as yet been clone, To-morrow thou wilt see it in thine own son; Not comely victim of a cruel death, But comely son saved twice from cruel death, That as thou on his beauteous form wilt gaze To mark enhancement in him thou wilt praise And bless the act that foil'd a traitor's scheme From robbing thee of him whom you esteem; To aid the which, thy thanks to propa- gate, Compare him then to such a cruel fate, Then let thy voice cry out in stifled breath : 'O, where a comelier victim of a death!' For virtue newly graft in new-born son, Is virtue's virtue being newly won. Sebas. How now, mysterious man, thy phrases set 'Twixt illative conjunctions do beget, As husband to my fractious, wife-like mind, Strange sons of thought in her, sons so unkind That I, perforce, I, my mind's strict abode, Have been forsaken by this episode. Do I infer from thy misshapen speech That Humphrey would commit so gross a breach As that to murder my beloved son ? Is this the meaning of thy words just spun ? Ger. The very same, my lord. Sebas. Why, if this be, Bring forth the villain, let me his face see, That if he look but innocent and shy, I, mindful that he's hypocrite, will fly Straightway to the conclusion of his guilt, And punish him accordingly. Ores. Thou wilt ? And where is thy authority to wield Such punishment ? Sebas. Why, that of son to shield, Of motherhood's long preservation stay Against such tyrants, fiends that would so slay An unsuspicious, unoffensive soul. Why dost thou ask ? Ores. Why do high waters roll To nether lands, but that to seek some place More native to their moods and native grace ? 'Tis so my query poureth in thine ear j Which doth befit it more than my mouth's gear. Eud. Why, Lord Sebastian, this being Humphrey's friend, 'Tis only meet that Humphrey he defend. Ger. Then I wonld say, watch friend as well as him Who had the heart to do a murder grim ; For what the one would do the other would : A beast does stand, some time, where others stood With instincts like the other's brutish will, That as the others killed so he will kill. Am. Now, I know not the beast Ores- tes is, But I feel very loth to stigmatize With such a beastly cognomen as this One who has always rested well and strong In my heart's confidence as Humphrey has. Yet if the crisis of his presence prove To show him guilty, God knows it will move This quondam gracious, trusting heart of mine To thoughts of vengeance 'gainst a stud- ied crime, Whose gross committance would have killed my son, Upon the very night that he was won From darkness to the beaming light of God. Oh haste! bring forth this man accused of fraud, And let him prove his innocence, or die Here on this very spot before mine eye, That it may feast upon so foul a wretch Who would so dare raise murderous, treacherous steel, In wanton humor wantonly to deal A noble life its death that now doth live Secure from death that Humphrey would him give, More nobly in the sight of Heaven's eye, Than if in heaven he lived, on earth did die A death so foully wrought. Sebas. Come Gershom, speed; Bring forth the culprit, we his sin to meed. God will, I know, forgive my hand his death, If it be meet to punish him with death; Hi A GEMINY OF VIPERS. [Act hi. As who can say 'tis kind to let wild beast Prowl man's demesne, upon the innocent feast. 'Twere kinder in the sight of God to slay Unruly spirits that on men do prey. Go Gersham go, fetch here this murder- ing thing, That we upon his head our wrath may fling. Ger. Stand well away yet well beside thyselves, Thus fortified to guard from him thy- selves; For who can know but desperation might Add murder here to annals of this night. Attendants! Guards! Look to your arms, prepare A villain now to meet and bravely dare ; For though the limits of his iron chains Constraineth him, who knows buthedis- pains Their iron strength, and with a mighty wrench Snap them asunder, so without a blench Himself seek vengeance ere we seek his death. Therefore be cautious. [Exit. Alph. Methinks if I had breath, Or feet, or legs, or any part of me, That I might wind, or run, or hear, or see, I'd quick away from this death-sickly place. My God! I will be kill. Ades. You! who would care To kill a bullock framed to shape so spare As thine ungainly bones and shriveled meat; Rest easy, none would slay so spare a neat. Alph. I would my spareness spare me from his gaff; I have no mood to root mine epitaph Nutritiously above the earth to rear Its head, whilst I below do shrink and sear. Re-enter GERSHOM with HUMPHREY in chains. Alph. Lo! Fenrir fettered falls; But let him loose, he galls. Ger. Come fiend, don grace on thy dis- grace, since thou Hast donned disgrace on grace, which marks thy brow With Cain's disgraceful brand. Here are thy friends. Dost know them ? Hum. Know them! Curse them, my heart rends Itself well-nigh from out its bosom's seat To gaze on them whose friendships prove defeat To my well-laid designs. What is their will? Sebas. Why, canst thou ask ? Our will is thee to kill Unless thou canst disprove the monstrous guilt Beneath the which thy life is now o'er- shadowed. If thou canst prove thine innocence, our will Will be to reinstate thee once again In our heart's kindest favor. Hum. Thou art kind, Exceeding, gracious kind. But look to this: Thy kindness is my hate ungraciously bestowed Upon my gracious friends. Dost know its weight ? What if it so disposes me to meet Nor one, nor other of your harsh de- mands, But rather fold myself in silent mood To kindle wrath with exasperation's food, That oft doth fire revenge when words will not; Methinks 'twould better suit this death- still grot. Sebas. And better suit thyself since now to speak Thy speech must issue from betwixt foul lips, Sprung from a murderer's heart to strike our ears, From thence our hearts to vengeance and defense. Devil, man-fiend, thy guilt lies on thy face, Nor words, nor silence can hide thy dis- grace. Thou must, therefore, now answer for thy sin To man for sake of man, to hearts within. Then thy soul perjured, fly to heaven's realm, There meet thy fate, great God thee overwhelm. Theo. O, uncle, is this thou ? I know thee not, Confined in chains, imprisoned in this grot To answer for so grievous-toned a charge, Preferred by thy once friends who did enlarge Till now without one set-exception'd soul, Upon thy virtues voiced without cajole. What motive prompted thee, how thou hadst heart To raise thy hand 'gainst fellow-man, depart Scene iv.] A GEMINY OF VIPERS. i: From thine old honor and thy wonted pride, To lower thyself with such vice side by side, My driveled thoughts refuseth me to teach : O, uncle, why didst thou this ? I thee beseech. Hum. The clankings of these chains thou seest here Shackling my feet and hands is my tongue's talk. What do they say ? Humphrey's a mur- derer Intent upon a deed he now regrets The weakness of his will and hand post- poned The swift achievement of. What dost thou say, Thou infant, for whose own advantage, I, Thy graceless uncle, resting now 'neath the wrath Of his indignant friends, would hnve freed thee Of the only living rival estranging thee From thy high hopes of future happi- ness ? And now thou sayest, O, uncle, I do not know thee; And, O, uncle, why hadst thou this vile deed In thy heart? Must I then say 'twas love I bore my nephew ? Then all the world might say And speak in just surprise: Humphrey's a fool To have it in his heart to strike for one In whose behalf no booty could be won, But that from one poor nephew of poor worth, Who had not heart to woo nor win a lady, Staid on all sides by kind and willing hands, To set him to a cause his own, not theirs, Yet theirs, not his; for he is naught, but they, Their lives, their honor, and their souls at stake, That now they've lost, must their re- ward here take. Theo. And dost thou lot deserve what thou wilt get ? I had a strange uneasiness at heart Which was of other make than that of love's, That as the hour drew nigh for thy return And thou earnest not, I straightway set me forth. I could not stay to be a prey to thoughts So sore conflicting as those that were But ne'er did I expect to find thee here, Disgraced, dishonored, sham'd, cowed with deep fear. Methought, perchance, being my embas- sador, Thou had'st through love for me done even more Than thy strength warranted, with this in mind I came to search for thee, came thee to find; But I would I'd not found thee, finding thee In such disgrace and sin. God pity thee. Ant. Wherefore hast thou strayed from us in this freak ! O, Humphrey, to us who would trust thee, speak. 'Tis not with ease we thus give up a friend, Nor will we lest he cannot him defend. Thy fault is great, a grievous fault to all, But sore to me; my mother's heart doth call Aloud for vengeance. Canst thou not explain Thine actions ? Then thou must in truth be slain. Hum. Madam, the honor thou and thy kindred kith Did ever think in me had resting place Was but an honor to thyself a mych; To me a policy to carry which I oft did play deceit and guile on thee, Watching how proud thy credulous eyes beheld What to them was a beauteous virtue set, Though what in truth was virtue's coun- terfeit, Which thou had'st not the wisdom to detect, And place deterioration on its base, But to adorn it with thy favored grace. Ant. O, thou hast been too honest, good, and true For me to well believe that thou could'st do A deed so brutish as this for the which Thou'rt held to answer here. Hum. Once I was rich, And being rich had no occasion then To play my dormant guiles on fellow - men. But now poor, beggared, bankrupt that I am, To so retrieve my fortunes I would damn Not one, but one one thousand infidels, And send them to a thousand burning hells. -Int. This is not Humphrey but a devil turned. 48 A GJEMINY OF VIPERS. [Act hi. Sebas. And being devil should with them be spurned. Hum. And but for why ? Because the crisis proved A circumstantial fate from me unmoved. Well, I was once as gracious in thy sight As thou art in the sight of heaven's eye; And had'st thou been but asked by an unknown Who is the fairest man in thy esteem, Thou would'st as lief have said Sir Hum- phrey was, As any of thy knowledge in the world. Is't strange, then, to thee that I now stand furled In such predicament, that for want of grace, Disgrace confuses me, blushes my face '? Is't all so strange that cloudless skies on high Become o'er-cast of sudden, to the eye Present a quick-wrought aspect, as amazed We shudder, viewing that on which we gazed Now bright, now set in gloom, whose visage changed From smiles to frowns, mysteriously ar- ranged Even thus— being heedless in some pass- ing wiles — Ere we do know of it, as though for smiles Contentment to us bringing, it were wrought To wrest laugh from a happy, joyous thought? Now, let me be these skies, you they that gaze; Canst thou condemn the skies, their sombre haze, When thou art to the skies what they to thee Would be to me were they thee and thou me? I ah. O, listen to the false-cored arguer; He will if let preach himself out of hell. Sebas. And make us all, like him, gross hypocrites. Come, wretch, thou art not longer fit to live, Since thou hast by thine acts made thy- self known To tbe world, as God hath ever known thee. Guards, seize upon the man, conduct him thence — I lu in. Not yet! Away! Is there a fool of ye Quite fool enough to brave swift certain death ? Well, if there be, advance. [Plucks a dagger from out his raiment. For by the all Immortal gods that do preside o'er all The destinies of fools, I'll plunge this knife, Even to its hilt, in the first of ye that dare Lay dastard's fear-faint fingers upon me. Ant. O, woful is this night! Eud. Hark to the man ! Ades. O, madam, there will be worser trouble here, Than we did ever once look for, I fear. Hum. Orestes, come thou to me; come closer yet! Why, dost thou fear me too ? Art thou a fool That to the name of traitor thou dost add A little better name than its consort, To spice it to a readier mode of wit, Or to a quicker doom ? Why, this doth fit Thy double-name and doth give honor to it. [Stabs him. Then take thou all the honor thou canst stand, That death may be a glory not a pang. [Stabs him twice more. He falls. That as in life thou hast a traitor proved, Thou mayst in death from thyself be re- moved. Let death award thee all his honors pluck'd From Humphrey's store— sweet honor's from him suck'd By thy tenacious tentacles of love, Which take their root not in a heart of love, But that to serve me falsely to this end; So die, that if I must, I'll with thee spend Eternity in hell. [ Orestes die s. Sebas. O, fiend! O, fiend! Guards, watch thy time; launch forth with steady aim Thy javelins swift to kill and not to maim. Ger. Yet hold! Such intent from his act now stay. Let me upon the fiend my sorcery play; For such an act becomes my innate skill More surely than it does ye him to kill. Let justice take her course in thy just court; Let me take him to justice; on him sport My power and mine art to thus reduce Him to a numbness: guard ye from abuse Such as this rendered yon poor murdered tool, Who though did die a death quite due the fool, Died falsely accus'd, a martyr to the cause Scene rv.] A GE3IINY OF YIPEES. 1!> I now defend with all my might; so pause, The spell not to dispel, or we may lose All that we've won by our late well- worked ruse. Hum. Thou fool! Dost thou think thou canst sorcer me ? Methinks myself, I can a sorcerer be. Ger. To what effect? The devil from the God Can wrest no virtue save that gained by fraud, Which is a virtue teem'd from hell's worst pit, Found in no heart but that of a hypocrite. Hum. Look to thine art. Ger. And thou; look thou to thine. Thou wilt ere long be safely meshed in mine. Hum. Why, death were better than this mimic death ; A thousand deaths than that to follow it. Hell hath no terrors, heaven no beau- teous charm To stay my hand, death gives no dread alarm. So ere thy spell can on me fully gain Its hold, in death I refuge hope, disdain Thy petty, paltry power to beguile. There there, this feeling strange my sense doth guile Like very sleep that doth o'er-power me; My faculties to numbness grow; I see As through a haze, and in my deadened ears Come far-off sounds to list to which great tears Of mortal dread well to my heavy eyes. Now death be kind; waft me beyond the skies! [Stabs himself and falls on the body of Orestes. Here do I lie on my once loyal friend; Here do I die to meet his self-same end. [Dies. Ant. O, piteous sight! Are we grown mad, bewitched ? My heart appalled stands still, then is it twitched To nighty palpitations. I grow faint. [Swoons. Alph. Lo, look! The hermit! Ger. Friends, pray steady me. Set me upon the ground from off my state. I feel swift death approaching me. There wait ! This mighty struggle, these events to- night Have played so sorely on my vested might, That now beneath the ordeal I succumb. Soon I will be to earth as cold and dumb As Humphrey and Orestes are. But hark ! I fear not death ; to on her sea embark In God's celestial argosy which sails Swift, sure, and straight to God, stayed not by gales. Farewell to all! May Roderick ever live The pride of all, to chaste Eudora give What chastity deserves; his father, mother, friends, Reward in goodly traits and noble ends. [Dies. Lub. A noble soul thus takes its flight on high; O, what an easy death do christians die; What bitter throes has death when 't comes to vice ; 'The wage of sin is death,' a bitter price. [Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE I. Bed Chamber of Roderick. Jinter Roderick and Alphonso. Rod. What say'st thou of the night, Alphonso ? Alph. Why, I did have a brutish -na- tur'd dream, Most singular and horrid were its wefts Of tragic fantasies, which, woven in My dream-craz'd brain, wrought me asunder from My native self, and left me quite dis- tract. Rod. Thou always wert a timid-minded youth, So I would say it staid thee to thyself, Away from foreign moods of valiancy. But there; I. too, did dream. What was thy dream ? Perchance thine will shed particles of light to mine, And aid me to interpret its significance. Alph. Well, I did dream that in some hell-like spot— Rod. There! In these very words would I begin My dream. How like! Alph. Sir Humphrey, being accus'd Of some dark hidden treachery, just brought To notice of the world, accused in turn His friend, Orestes, of being traitor to Some secret work of theirs, that, there- upon, Ere intuition had time to anticipate, Or hand to stay, the fiend did stab Orestes Once, twice, thrice, in his most vital parts, 50 A GEMINY OF VIPERS. [Act iv. That death did follow instantly. Rod. In sooth, A brutish dream, though one I would were true. But stay, there's some connection in this dream Of thine, which links itself to mine, yet what It is I cannot say. Pray thread thy dream To its most final end. Alph. I cannot thread it to its final end; For I have not the will to delve to where The souls of Humphrey and Orestes blend, I'm safest far away from this foul pair. Rod. Come, 'tis but a dream, and this the hour of day. Why does thy shivering aspen body shake At merest fantasy. Alph. What! Have you not heard? My dream of yesternight, to-day con- fronts me As a vivid truth, and I have seen The bodies of Sir Humphrey and Orestes, Gazed on the silent tongueless testimo- nies Of their death, whose blood-red, gapping lips Smiled sickly back to my dazed, sickly eyes, As though they, famishing, grimly smirked at me To put a drop of water 'twixt the twain, To stay the oozing of that gory froth. Rod." And this thou say'st is true ? Alph. Ay, true as truth, As that truth which the eye gives to the mind, When other wits fail other truths to find, Yet finding, find them all so false un- couth, Truth had been better falsehood, false- hood truth. Rod. And thou hast seen them both ? Alph. Their bodies, ay; Their ghastly wounds that on their bodies lie, Which robbed them of their hypocritic souls, And sent them to their doom. Rod. What heart condoles The two deceased fools ? Alph. None; who would mourn Two such perfection's villains past the bourn, Whose exit from this life is but the grave, Through which all men must pass, from king to knave. Rod. True, true; the man that mourns the hypocrite, The name doth him quite perfectly befit. But did'st thou dream all this ? Alph. All this and more. When Humphrey, having struck Orestes dead, Plung'd with his murderous hand the dripping knife Into his own bare breast, why lo! me- thought Old satan standing there, did, wanning, die With these words on his lips spoke in death's sigh: The infidel in hades dwells, The hypocrite also; To earth I bid my last farewells, To hell I also go! With that I woke, right glad was I to wake From such a dream that gave me such a shake. Rod. But where draw'st thou the bor- der line of truth, And where the line of dream? Alph. Truth's line I draw when dreams cease to be truth, When you God doth redeem. Rod. There, there, you knave you, what a witty one Hast thou turned out to be! Alph. Not half so witty as the witty sun Which shines on you and me. Rod. Well go, lead thou the way to him that's slain ; I would the truth perceive. Alph. Ay! ay! my lord, but guage your addled brain, Lest you your eyes deceive. [Exeunt. SCENE II. Chamber in Humphreys house containing his bier and remains. Enter RODERICK and ALPHONSO. Rod. From in this warm-lit chamber come to me, As if from off amphibian shores, betwixt Cold-natured north and hot-distemper'd south, Strange-laden breaths which chill me to a sweat, And tell me, ere I see it, death is here — Why, there it lies upon its solemn bier. Thou poor, lost soul, how poor thy body looks Deprived of thee; how pale, how wan it looks! Thy tongue inserted in its f utchel groove, Now idly falls deprived of power to move, As it has erstwhile done, good easy hearts To meet thy will; thy power from thee departs. And did I stand before thy animate form? Scene hi.] A GEMINY OF VIPERS. 5 J And did I lift my hand to strike thee down But yesterday ? Then what see I to-day? Thy soul aborted out of mortal clay, Leaves but the clay for mortal eyes to see. God, I pray this soul from hell to free ! There there, how quick we turn from hate to love, When death has severed us from that we'd love! How soon our hearts are willing to for- give That which death claims, he whom whilst he did live We did antagonize in bitter strife! Alas ! alas ! what bitter hates has life ; And what a bitter thing is life itself Whose government is malice, God is pelf; And life so short, uncertain, an unknown; We are but fools upon a flimsy throne. Like phantoms wrought about in grossest scrawl Upon the beams of a dust-begrimmed wall, Which breathed upon by passing breath of God Outwits recapture; so we go to God. Stay! say I now to God when yesternight 1 sought my sleep disdaining such a might ? There, tbere, the dream, the hideous, horrid dream ! O God, through it, Thou did'st my soul redeem. How plain to me is't now in arguments Which place their truths before my mind's credence. What painter's hand's so steady without rest That it can trace the film-fine lines that crest In subtle finish portraitures of queens, But that to daub their backgrounds with coarse scenes ? Did ever man become within himself So conscious-perfect, that, as in-wrought delf Upon the glaz'd face of the ancient cup, Which sparkles in the eyes of them that sup From off its gilded rim, he can, likewise, Emit perfection through soft, courteous eyes, Unaided, unsupported by a power More powerful than that of human dower? As babe depends upon its mother's breast, So man, God's child, through Christ, God's poor bruis'd breast, Upon whose pap this infant world doth hang, Receives his nourishment. O, what a pang Doth mother's puking babe oft give her soul, As it, unconscious, offers no condole, Save that in mocking, babe-bewitching eyes, As they, beneath, peer up in their dear skies, So radiant set in smiles — a mother's love Which beams down on her babe through eyes above. O, what a pang we babes upon the earth Give heaven-mother from our very birth; That heart's first babe's conception of a thing Pertains to evil and doth evil bring Upon our heads — chastisement from our God, Which covers up remaining good to laud. Thus I, believing, I my heart to prove, Now here beneath my heaven and my God, Look down upon this sombrous-laden bier, 'Twixt two eternities of life and death, And swear allegiance to my living God, And consecrate my soul in peace to God. \_Exeunt. SCENE III. Room in Eudora's house. Enter ElIDORA, ADESSA, SEBASTIAN, AN- TONIA, LUBIN, THEOPHILUS and Attendants. Theo. Nay, hear me, Lady Eudora, whilst I speak: After these hard experiences of the night, That have reduced us all to sore distress, I tell thee freely and with honest heart That which but yesterday ne'er did I think I could recount to thee with willing mind. If thou would'st say my love is insincere, My reconciliation lives too near Behind thy coldly-spoke refusing speech, Which smote mine ears like notes of hell's discord, My heart like death, my soul to madnejs plung'd, Let such a thought supplanted be by this; That loving thee still do I love my God; That loving God am so beloved by Him; That loving God and thee love thee not less, But God the more which softens mine for thee, And balms my soul 'gainst thine withheld from me; That if for thee love still lurk in my soul, I turn with it to God me to condole. 52 A GEMINY OF VIPERS. [Act iv. Ne'er shall I harbor aught but good to- ward thee, Thus may I prove my deep sincerity. End. In proving this thou provest thy- self most noble, That as thou stand'st before my troubled eye, I see within thee more traits to admire, Which traits I trust in thee will never die. 'Tis my regretful heart by means of tongue Regretful as my heart that tells thee this, That I fain would have loved thee for thy worth, Had not my love been proned in me at birth, Directed from this source to another head By this same God thou lov'st, I also love, Who, too, loves me as thee, who loves all men, Who loves him whom I love, has him re- deemed From darkness unto light, a thing that seemed To us till now past all accomplishment Worked out by us, our wits upon him spent. 'Tis well thou flnd'st thy solace in this One Who has thee soothed, who has my joys begun. Theo. I would thy joys brought by laborious birth, Bring lesser burdening brothers to thy hearth. End. For this thou hast my life-long gratitude. Ihco. And thou hast mine: let mine give thy joys food. But there, Antonia speaks. Ant. My lady! End. What would The good prostrate Antonia have ? Dost languish For that I have not, but say the word And I'll research my secretest resorts, And bring from thence my rarest, best delights, If but thy present testy whims to please, Thy tired limbs reclaim. Ant. I crave one boon. My heart doth languish for one single thing, Which, when I it possess, thou wilt, thy- self, Be less thyself but more to me, me thee, Than thou hast e'er yet been, or I to thee, In my heart's mew'd desires. End. Do I possess This thing that would give thee thy boon? Why, if it be my very life 'twere thine But for the asking of it. Ant. O gracious one, How fair thou art; how noble is thy gift! Thy gift as noble as thyself art fair, Thyself as fair as thou art graciously Disposed to humor me. Come sit by me, And like a mother I will be to thee, Thee unto me what thou wert wont to be Were I thy mother in affinity. End. And thee to me what thou wert wont to be Were I thy daughter in affinity. Methinks this were a gift not mine to give, But rather 'tis another's who doth live Estranged still from us, our love's de- fense; O, would I had relief from this suspense! [Kneels beside Lady Antonia. Scbas. There, thou art now within thy rightful place; No grace from heaven e'er fell with such a grace Into my famished soul as thou hast knelt With grace unto thy matron. Ne'er have I felt A deeper joy than this that's greater joy Than that the great'sfc through my re- deemed boy. End. Why, if redeem'd, does thy son tarry so ? Sebas. Why when reproach'd, do chil- dren shamed grow ? End. Susceptible is child to petty things. Sebas. So this great change remorse to manhood brings. So do all righted wrongs in human heart Bring deep regret when they from it de- part. End. Yet now methinks had I been infidel Awakened to such love from such a hell As thy son Roderick hath, I'd haste me to— Not from my eager friends, their pardon sue For being so ungrateful to them all, Who first to last did stand steadfast as Paul To Christ did stand. Sebas. List to impatience talk, Wherein poor woman hath not time to hawk Herself into one hurried word to say Her griefs untold: impatience leads the way. End. Impatience then hath much the nobler part Than hath a woman with an anxious heart. Scene hi.] A GEMINT OF VIPERS. 53 ' Enter ALPHONSO, singing. Alph. O cheery, cheery is ray way; Tne moon is sun, the night is day, The day is here and so am I; My master's coming by and by ! Sebas. What ho, Alphonso! Where's thy master now ? Leave off thy singing, tell us where, and how, And when thou leftest him. Alph. Where? At Sir Humphrey's; over Sir Humphrey's bier, Tall and straight and white as that bier's epitaph, And had he words inscribed what he did say, On his broad front, whilst standing rigid there, A very walking epitaphic man Would my griev'd master be. Sebas. Since when was this ? Alph. When that point of the finger of the clock Struck my departure thence, hence, here from him ; Nor could that clock outspeed me in my pace, For whilst I ran it moved but thrice its face. Sebas. How seemed his mood when thou didst leave him there ? Alph. He seemed as cheerless as the sun is fair. Sebas. Seemed he to have been changed, his soul's sin rinc'd ? Alph. Ay! seem'd confused, confuted, and convinc'd. Sebas. Think'st thou, Alphonso, con- < viction also reigns Within his heart ? Alph. If you had seen what pains Remorse his conscience did inflict, you would Not ask. Imagine all ye how he stood, With one bare arm raised high toward heaven's dome, As though to pluck from heaven a little love To warm him to a purpose yet too young To totter in its peevish infancy. The other hand was laid upon the wound Where did the knife plunge in Sir Hum- phrey's breast, Wielded by Sir Humphrey's hand. In this style Of sacred-poised attitude did he Swear unto God and heaven in deep re- frain, An oath to cherish God, all else disdain. Ant. O, this is news, Eudora, news for thee As well as for a mother. O, to see This new-made son of mine, my heart doth crave. God hath been good to me my son to save. Eud. And me a husband to endow with grace. What would I give to gaze upon his face, Which has till now been to mine eyes a mask, To view the which has been a cruel task. Sebas. Hast aught else yet to tell us, Alphonso, Touching thy master's state ? Alph. Naught, sir, but that The which if breath'd aloud may seem, perchance, A trifle past the door of modesty, O'er-stept beyond the chamber of re- serve, Into the lodgement of a fool's self-praise. Sebas. Why, 'tis a fool, indeed, that from self-praise His foolery doth find. Art thou in love ? Alph. Is love a braggart's plea ? Sebas. Ay, it is man's best hope to praise in love Great deeds of valor he himself hath done: Thus lovers are made fools, fools lovers are. Art thou in love ? then thou art worser fool. Therefore speak thou a lover's foolish praise; Give us more cheer in setting love ablaze As she doth set her ears to catch the drift Of thy account; thus palsy any shift She may have mind to practice on thy sense, Thyself to shield at thy love's dear ex- pense. Alph. Well, 'tis a wise fool wisely fools his lady, And turns pert pique to pining, makes cheeks fady. Now hark ye all! Methinks had not my wit Been by me brought to play upon my master With well selected points of argument, He yet were infidel. 'Twas in "this wise: What I did see last night, to-day I put In form of dream my master's ears to please, Whilst we his morning toilet did arrange. The nature of this dream did so compare With that of his, that he, struck with re- morse, Quick importun'd me thence to Hum- phrey's bier, Where he did follow, gave himself to God, Invoking mercy on poor Humphrey's soul. 54 A GEMINY OF VIPERS. [Act iv. Sebas. Why ! didst thou this ? Then let love to love speed; For 'tis an act the which true love should meed. Adessa, greet thy lord ; shun thou not him. Alphonso — Alph. Greet thy lady! Is love a whim? [ They embrace} O, no, no, no! 'Tis not a whim with me. How is't with thee, Adessa, is't so with thee? Ades. And if it is, it is a whim to stay; For I bethink me I am here to stay. Alph. Dost thou not comfort find in thy new world ? Ades. Ay, should I nob with it about me furl'd? Alph. Then comfort never shall from thee depart, As long as strength remain or beats my heart. End. So two loves thus at last are now united ; God grant my love will likewise be re- quited. Alph. I would it were if woman feel like man, Methinks I'll burst so full of joy I am. Ades. Then pray release me; thou art yet too green To burst near me. If I'm to be thy queen, Let mellow age burst ope thy heart for joy, Rather than that of a flighty inconstant boy. A'ph. Now this to love is worst of all rebuff*. Worse, ay! indeed, than ruthless kicks and cuffs. Love's vanity sets well astride love's neok, That when 'tis wounded, love grows vainless, meek, And makes that man which boy pro- fessed to be, A boy which woman does not deign to see. Sebas. Rash fool, be thou content! Dost thou not know When thou hast gained a vict'ry o'er a foe? Know then that thou hast vanquished this fair one As sure as she hath thee thy woes begun. Enter RODERICK, reluctantly. Rod. Doth Roderick here intrude upon his friends ? If be let his withdrawal make amends. Sebas. Nay, come within, thy presence may amuse us, Since by thine absence thou dost so abuse us. Rod. 'Tis not, I know, objection to a clan That gives objection to a certain man, So much as 'tis objection to the one That proves bad scion of a household's son. I'm come, my friends, not Roderick of old, But Roderick the christian, strong and bold. If any ask: 'Is Roderick infidel ?' Say answer 'no!' and on the answer dwell Until the sound ta'en up by its echo, Might swell the heavens with its mighty flow. Let this be its purport, its loud refrain, That Roderick's christian turned ne'er to profane The name of God again whilst life doth last ; Thus doth he from his quondam self now cast. What is a man who in himself cloth claim The highest order of a being ? Fame And all her vast accoutrements attached Are naught compared with God whose might's unmatched. He who disclaims his God bis sire denies; For God is sire whence all life doth arise. So trace ancestry back to very first And you find God alone ere man's tongue curst, Or man's unhallowed presence brought disgrace Into the world through woman's tempt- ing grace. So friends, if you'll forgive a fool his fad, Tho fool, returning, will make friends right glad. Ant. O, this is Roderick, sweet as when a child: The other devil was, both rude and wild. Sebas. We greet thee, son, as mother, father dear: Thou hast in sooth made glad our hearts with cheer. Lub. And thou hast caused thy friends to honor thee, That may'st contend who'll greatest donor be. Theo. Let mo be first to grant thee my good-will, For cheating me my love of Humphrey's will. Alph. And me my master to assure with joy: Love is a sterner master, yet more coy. Ades. And me my master's master to forewarn ; Scene hi.] A (i EMI NY OF VIPERS. 55 Bewarfe thy lady who might thee yet scorn. AW. Why, this were like returning friends, indeed, But for one lacking which stands me in need. Look I which way I might I see a friend Who would, methinks, my purpose strong defend. There heart, art thou not yet content with this ? What is this something that my heart doth miss ? 'Tis like surroundings of an infant's joy That doth, repleted, fret for some new toy. Eud. Let me be this and thou the in- fant be ; Take thou thy toy, do what you will with me. This is a moment I have worked and prayed for ; And now 'tis come, sweet issue of my labor ; A supplication heard and granted me, 'Tis thus O God I give my thanks to I Thee; And thus, my king, my one love, and my hope, I give myself to thee no more to grope Beyond affection's glow. Rod. O sweet, sweet love ! How did I live so long without thy love ? Nay, heaven ne'er harbor'd angel half so pure As this that earth doth hold who must endure Earth's sufferings, disappointments, trials, woes, Which come as friends through worst of hateful foes. Canst thou, Eudora, loving, pardon too ? This, as thy love, I now most humbly sue ; For love were joyless which cannot for- give The faults of him for whom the love doth live. End. Roderick, I do pardon thee with all my heart, As I thee truly love with all my heart. Ay, pardon opes the way to greater love, Whilst love puts pardon in with gentle shove. So there they stand both pardon and affection, Neither the plainer to thy close inspec- tion. Rod. Methinks were mine eyes blind, I now could see How truly thou dost love and pardon me. Then what if I were blind, my sight were dead, Then love would grow by instinct's touch instead. The nestle of a hand arousing me To tender thoughts of sweetest ecstasy, Would love expand to burst a happy heart, Like buds of rare impatiens that impart Rich odors to the nostrils by a touch, My very blindness framing love to such A soft, deep, hallowed, gentle-natured thing, That now to see is but that love doth bring Unto my soul a thousand added pleasures ; More wealth to me than all great Lydia's treasures. End. But how fared you the night, me- thinks thy look, Though brighter now, speaks thus: 'Sweet sleep forsook Mine eyes last night, and left me weary very.' Rod. Perchance the night was bad to make me merry, Which now I am upon this day of days; For one more soul hath turned from darksome ways, To greet requiting love whose light to me Is that of light from God that shines through thee, The radiating means of life and hope. So like thyself I will no longer grope Beyond affection's glow, but rather live For thee, with thee, in part, of thee to give Unto thy worthy life its just reward In gentle husband, I, thy chosen lord. Eud. This is in sooth a just reward to me, Possessing it, my heart from woe is free. Enter SALMON. Sal. Halloa! Halloa! Where's my mas- ter ? Ho! Theo. Here! Salmon! Here! Sal. Here where! Ho master, Ho! Your Salmon calls. Theo. Cease strumpeting thy wind! What is thy grief ? Sal. 'Tis that, my master, rescued from a thief. Theo. Then thou must needs be bound in iron chains, For rescuing such base dishonest gains. Sal. 'Twere well Sir Humphrey is not here to hear You threat one who brings news withal so dear. Theo. What has thy news to do with one now dead? Sal. What has a wife to do with hus- band's bed ? 56 A GEMINY OF VIPERH. [Act iv. Theo. Not duty dead to husband's wed- gain'd dues. Sal. Nor is Sir Humphrey dead to my gain'd news. Theo. Come come, thon prating fool, hast thou not learned Sir Humphrey is no more: nor yet dis- cerned As much by aspect of his dwelling-place, Which now stands mantled, draped from roof to base In token of his death ? Sal. What say you sir ? Doth know you on yourself a boon con- fer ? And is Sir Humphrey dead in truth or jest? If jest 'twere sad; if truth you're truly blest. Theo. Methinks all earth were blest in Humphrey's death. Sal. A"d hell, if dead, for he hath devil's breath; But you the most. Sir Humphrey that was poor, By sudden turn of fortune now is rich. All that vast moneys ventured forth in trade Some two years since hath now returned in full, Whose present gross sum stands equiva- lent To thrice that ventured. This in course of custom Must needs by Humphrey's death fall to next blood, Which you, my master, fortunate to be The honest nephew of dishonesty, Stand undisputed claimant to. Lub. How now, Most lucky man, thine uncle favors thee In dying at such opportune a time To thy advantage, else had his foul hand Not stabbed the life from out its tenancy Of clay, thou still wert destitute. Theo. There, there, Say rather 'twas not uncle but mere tide Of circumstance, unfashion'd, uncon- troll'd By man's hand, but by interposing hand of God. And so as God hath fashioned this to me, I in my turn will fashion it to others. No use have I of wealth more than I have, But that in false pursuit to pleasures buy, Which oft to swift damnation's doom doth lead. Therefore 'twere better not to grasp thus much Above that I am now possessor of. Methinks did not heart scorn, my hands would burn, Or hands not burn, my soul would rise abhorr'd From out so miserly a tenement, The home of lust and fleshly-crav'd de- sires, And I would soon be where Sir Hum- phrey is, Whose destiny for him himself did carve, Did I accept this wealth which I need not. Therefore I say I'll lay no claim to it, But in the cause of charity, bequeath Even here whilst I refuse it, half the which To Salmon my good servant for his need, The other to Alphonso and Adessa, To be by them disbursed in way they choose: The which by testament and seal of law, I'll straightway have confirm'd and sanc- tioned. Rod. Most noble man, most generous is thy heart. 'Tis fit example for one that now doth start Upon the self-same way. I note the deed To stay me to my course, right's cause to feed. Sal. O master, rob you 'f your gain to furnish me? I cannot take what does not fall to me. Theo. But thou canst take what is as much thine own As mine, which though mine to disburse at will, Thine 'tis by right of gift from me to thee, Which is a greater than that which is mine, Since none did give me what I give to thee, I That's only mine by merest passing chance, Which if I took might vanish even so To leave me in worse plight than ere before. That ne'er possessed ne'er can be taken from, So now I give that ne'er to me did come. | Sal. I thank you, master, poor is such return ; Tears choke my speech, speech seems my mouth to* burn. Ades. What your man speaks, speaks thus my grateful heart. Alph. And mine, for it becomes Al- phonso's part. Theo. Then I'm repaid: meet me at eventide The deeds to sign, our actions coincide. Rod. Come sweet Eudora, say we wed to-day. gCENE III.] A GEMINY OF VIPERS. 57 Why' would'st thou wait? Is not thy heart as gay Now as 'twiil be upon the morrow ? Eud. Well, Let it be so, but hark thou to my warn- ing, There'll be no fawning, frowning, fret- ting, scorning. Rod. I warrant thee there'll not, else I love not, Which, God be sworn unto, I do, I do. Ades. O lady, mark my prophesy; 'tis as I said : Tnis very night you'll have your love to bed. Eud. And why not you have yours to bed as well, Thereby thy fortune also to foretell. Alph. Why, what a tongue I have to speak for me! Speak on, glib organ! Let thy speech win me That which this lolling luscious thing of mine Which I call tongue cannot speak words to win. Ades. 'Tis well for thee that others speak for thee, Else might have I refused to lie with thee. Alph Then thou consentest: let this be thy joy; I'll show thee I'm no flighty inconstant boy. Sdnu. Doth aught still lack, then take my blessings both, To stint the which I feel extremely loth. Then come, let's quick prepare the nup- tial feast To banquet love until the day hath ceas'd, That coming night may court us to our beds, Each bettered by the past night's goodly deeds. Rod. Soft, stay a moment! Where doth Orestes lie ? Sebas. Upon the spot where he did fall and die. 'Twas his life's wish, being born, bred, mountaineer To be interred upon his mountains dear: So 'twas arranged according to his will; There he doth sleep death's sleep forever still. Rod. Poor perjur'd soul! How my heart bleeds for him! Well, well, 'tis past recall; but had I life To so infuse within his lifeless corse, Though it did take mine out of mine own self, Quick would I do it, dying, give him life, That he, respited, might redemption find, Which I do fear he died deprived of, And meets accorded punishment in hell. Therefore do I take it as precedent, To set my purpose to a higher hope, By which example I might bettered be To serve intent, and solve death's mys- tery. [ Exeunt. ^ LIBRARY OF CONGRESS ■■1 11 016 103 495 2