_Dou._ Ha! watch'd in secret? A spy, employ'd, perhaps, to note my actions. What have I said? Forgive me, thou art noble: Yet do not press me to disclose my grief, For when thou know'st it, I perhaps shall hate thee As much, my Edric, as I hate myself For my suspicions--I am ill at ease. _Edr._ How will the fair Elwina grieve to hear it! _Dou._ Hold, Edric, hold--thou hast touch'd the fatal string That wakes me into madness. Hear me then, But let the deadly secret be secur'd With bars of adamant in thy close breast. Think on the curse which waits on broken oaths; A knight is bound by more than vulgar ties, And perjury in thee were doubly damn'd. Well then, the king of England-- _Edr._ Is expected From distant Palestine. _Dou._ Forbid it, Heaven! For with him comes-- _Edr._ Ah! who? _Dou._ Peace, peace, For see Elwina's here. Retire, my Edric; When next we meet, thou shalt know all. Farewell. [_exit Edric._ Now to conceal with care my bosom's anguish, And let her beauty chase away my sorrows! Yes, I would meet her with a face of smiles-- But 'twill not be. _Enter Elwina._ _Elw._ Alas, 'tis ever thus! Thus ever clouded is his angry brow. [_aside._ _Dou._ I were too blest, Elwina, could I hope You met me here by choice, or that your bosom Shar'd the warm transports mine must ever feel At your approach. _Elw._ My lord, if I intrude, The cause which brings me claims at least forgiveness: I fear you are not well, and come, unbidden, Except by faithful duty, to inquire, If haply in my power, my little power, I have the means to minister relief To your affliction? _Dou._ What unwonted goodness! O I were blest above the lot of man, If tenderness, not duty, brought Elwina; Cold, ceremonious, and unfeeling duty, That wretched substitute for love: but know, The heart demands a heart; nor will be paid With less than what it gives. E'en now, Elwina, The glistening tear stands trembling in your eyes, Which cast their mournful sweetness on the ground, As if they fear'd to raise their beams to mine, And read the language of reproachful love. _Elw._ My lord, I hop'd the thousand daily proofs Of my obedience---- _Dou._ Death to all my hopes! Heart-rending word!--obedience? what's obedience? 'Tis fear, 'tis hate, 'tis terror, 'tis aversion, 'Tis the cold debt of ostentatious duty, Paid with insulting caution, to remind me How much you tremble to offend a tyrant So terrible as Douglas.--O, Elwina---- While duty measures the regard it owes With scrupulous precision and nice justice, Love never reasons, but profusely gives, Gives, like a thoughtless prodigal, its all, And trembles then, lest it has done too little. _Elw._ Indeed I'm most unhappy that my cares, And my solicitude to please, offend.