_R._ Forgive my coming: But if you wish it thought that you are at Milan, Your room should not be lighted, and your servant Should not be singing. _F._ Singing!—is Tristram singing? _R._ Hark! You may hear. [_T.'s lute heard faintly._ _F._ By heaven!—the wretch! Tell Laura Why I am gone. All will be lost. [_Exit._ _R._ Indeed, Unless Diana is sleeping very soundly, The escapade’s betrayed. _Re-enter Laura._ My service, lady. _L._ I heard you speak with Frederick, sir, and thank you For your kind offices. _R._ I need no thanks. I have a deeper interest in your welfare 1110 Than you can guess. I fear that fellow Tristram May ruin us all. _L._ Frederick hath told me, sir, You know our secret, and will act between us; For which I thank you. I bid you now good-night: I should go in. _R._ As soon as possible. Pray you be not observed. But first I beg you Thank me for Frederick’s visit. _L._ You, sir! why? _R._ Why, but for me he had been at Milan. _L._ Ah! I thank you very much. _R._ He doth not scheme Well for himself. He needs a wife. _L._ Indeed 1120 I cannot scheme. _R._ And ’tis the fairer wish You neither may have ever need. Good-night. _L._ Good-night, sir. [_Exit in at window._ _R._ She’s a good creature, quick and sensible; She’ll fly with Frederick. It provokes my soul That that conceited inconsiderate loon Should put us all in peril. I have half a mind To take him in my pay. _Re-enter Frederick with a lute._ _F._ Is Laura gone? _R._ And not too soon. If your fine musical man Have waked the Countess she may have heard you too. He is silenced now, I hope. _F._ Here’s his curst lute: 1130 I took it from him. _R._ Ha! then give it to me. The very thing. I’ll step into the gap, And take the blame of this untimely singing Upon myself. Go in and leave me here: And if to-morrow any ask who ’twas That played and sang at midnight—why ’twas I. Go in. _F._ Well, bravo, Richard: you’re a genius. _R._ Leave me. _F._ I go. Good-night. [_Exit._ _R._ Now must I sing. And when there’s none to hear I am sometimes able To please myself: else I must ask indulgence. 1140 _Sings._ My eyes for beauty pine, My soul for Goddës grace: No other hope nor care is mine; To heaven I turn my face. One splendour thence is shed From all the stars above: ’Tis namèd when God’s name is said, ’Tis love, ’tis heavenly love.