Plays: Being: An unhistorical pastoral: A romantic farce: Bruce, a chronicle play: Smith, a tragic farce: and Scaramouch in Naxos, a pantomime.
General
Plays: Being: An unhistorical pastoral: A romantic farce: Bruce, a chronicle play: Smith, a tragic farce: and Scaramouch in Naxos, a pantomime.
Drama
Scipio. Thou comest to know if she whom thou lovest will be thine.
Swear by oak and ash and thorn to perform what rites I shall direct, and
thou shalt know.
Torello. I swear.
Scipio. The oak is Jove's tree; thou hast sworn by Jove:
Mars' lances, Cupid's arrows are of ash;
To witness therefore hast thou summoned them:
The thorn is Mercury's; he binds thine oath.
Among the flags that, like a rushy curb
The streaming brook rein to an ambling pace,
With hands fast bound and eyes from light swathed close,
In upright patience shalt thou take thy stand.
If she thou lov'st loves thee, fate drives her here
Thy bondage to release, or rather change
To wedded slavery in rose-linked chains
That shackle willing lovers mutually.
Torello. What if she come not?
Scipio. Why, some other then,
Or man, or maiden will enfranchise thee.
If man, thy doom of single life is sealed;
If maid, in her behold a wife revealed.
Jove, Cupid, Mars, Mercury bless this rite;
Fail in the least, they curse thee from to-night.
[Goes out.
Torello. Need I do this? Stay! Gone--without a gift, too! An inhuman
witch! [Aside.] Am I mocked, I wonder? That can hardly be. I must go on:
it were cowardly to be afraid. Yet would I watch these two.--Well, sirs,
you heard the witch.
Felice. It is a strange ceremony. Having sworn, you cannot evade it.
Torello. Tie my hands and bind my eyes.
Felice. It is a most infallible test. I knew a knight who was scarce
in the water before his mistress came and unbound him.
Torello. Do you laugh?
Bruno. Who? I? No; I am as solemn as a hangman.
Torello. How deep is this stream?
Felice. It cannot reach above your knees, being so shallowed by its
width. Are you ready? Come along, then.
Having pinioned and blind-folded Torello they lead him into the
stream.--Celio and Sylvia enter, and pass into a grove.
Bruno. [Aside.] Two mayers.
Torello. Is there any one coming?
Felice. You must not speak. We will withdraw among the hazels. Let
faith and courage console each other, and your spirit may have that
comfort which your body lacks.
Re-enter Scipio.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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