_Theoph._ Search for him. [_Exit_ GETA.] All this ground, methinks, is bloody, And paved with thousands of those Christians' eyes Whom I have tortured; and they stare upon me. What was this apparition? sure it had A shape angelical. Mine eyes, though dazzled, And daunted at first sight, tell me, it wore A pair of glorious wings; yes, they were wings; And hence he flew:----'tis vanish'd! Jupiter, For all my sacrifices done to him, Never once gave me smile.--How can stone smile? Or wooden image laugh? [_music._] Ha! I remember, Such music gave a welcome to mine ear, When the fair youth came to me:--'tis in the air, Or from some better place; a Power divine, Through my dark ignorance, on my soul does shine, And makes me see a conscience all stain'd o'er, Nay, drown'd and damn'd for ever in Christian gore. _Harp._ [_within._] Ha, ha, ha! _Theoph._ Again!--What dainty relish on my tongue This fruit hath left! some angel hath me fed: If so toothful, I will be banqueted. [_Eats again._ _Enter_ HARPAX, _in a fearful shape, fire flashing out of the Study_. _Harp._ Hold! _Theoph._ Not for Cæsar. _Harp._ But for me thou shalt. _Theoph._ Thou art no twin to him that last was here. Ye Powers, whom my soul bids me reverence, guard me! What art thou? _Harp._ I am thy master. _Theoph._ Mine! _Harp._ And thou my everlasting slave: that Harpax, Who hand in hand hath led thee to thy hell, Am I. _Theoph._ Avaunt! _Harp._ I will not; cast thou down That basket with the things in 't, and fetch up What thou hast swallow'd, and then take a drink, Which I shall give thee, and I'm gone. _Theoph._ My fruit! Does this offend thee? see! [_Eats again._ _Harp._ Spit it to the earth, And tread upon it, or I'll piecemeal tear thee. _Theoph._ Art thou with this affrighted? see, here's more. [_Pulls out a handful of flowers._ _Harp._ Fling them away, I'll take thee else, and hang thee In a contorted chain of icicles, In the frigid zone: down with them! _Theoph._ At the bottom One thing I found not yet. See! [_Holds up a cross of flowers._ _Harp._ Oh! I am tortured. _Theoph._ Can this do 't? hence, thou fiend infernal, hence! _Harp._ Clasp Jupiter's image, and away with that. _Theoph._ At thee I'll fling that Jupiter; for, methinks, I serve a better master: he now checks me For murdering my two daughters, put on[55] by thee. By thy damn'd rhetoric did I hunt the life Of Dorothea, the holy virgin-martyr. She is not angry with the axe, nor me, But sends these presents to me; and I'll travel O'er worlds to find her, and from her white hand Beg a forgiveness. _Harp._ No; I'll bind thee here. _Theoph._ I serve a strength above thine; this small weapon[56], Methinks, is armour hard enough. _Harp._ Keep from me. [_Sinks a little._