_Lal._ Think of my early days!—think of my father And mother in Heaven! think of our quiet home, And the rivulet that ran before the door! Think of my little sisters!—think of them! And think of me!—think of my trusting love And confidence—his vows—my ruin—think—think Of my unspeakable misery!——begone! Yet stay! yet stay!—what was it thou saidst of prayer And penitence? Didst thou not speak of faith And vows before the throne? _Monk._ I did. _Lal._ ’Tis well. There _is_ a vow ’twere fitting should be made— A sacred vow, imperative and urgent, A solemn vow! _Monk._ Daughter, this zeal is well! _Lal._ Father, this zeal is anything but well! Hast thou a crucifix fit for this thing? A crucifix whereon to register This sacred vow? (_he hands her his own._) Not that—Oh! no!—no!—no! (_shuddering._) Not that! Not that!—I tell thee, holy man, Thy raiments and thy ebony cross affright me! Stand back! I have a crucifix myself,— _I_ have a crucifix! Methinks ’twere fitting The deed—the vow—the symbol of the deed— And the deed’s register should tally, father! (_draws a cross-handled dagger and raises it on high._) Behold the cross wherewith a vow like mine Is written in Heaven! _Monk._ Thy words are madness, daughter, And speak a purpose unholy—thy lips are livid— Thine eyes are wild—tempt not the wrath divine! Pause ere too late!—oh, be not—be not rash! Swear not the oath—oh, swear it not! _Lal._ ’Tis sworn! III An Apartment in a Palace. POLITIAN and BALDAZZAR. _Baldazzar._ Arouse thee now, Politian! Thou must not—nay indeed, indeed, thou shalt not Give way unto these humours. Be thyself! Shake off the idle fancies that beset thee, And live, for now thou diest! _Politian._ Not so, Baldazzar! Surely I live. _Bal._ Politian, it doth grieve me To see thee thus! _Pol._ Baldazzar, it doth grieve me To give thee cause for grief, my honoured friend. Command me, sir! what wouldst thou have me do? At thy behest I will shake off that nature Which from my forefathers I did inherit, Which with my mother’s milk I did imbibe, And be no more Politian, but some other. Command me, sir! _Bal._ To the field then—to the field— To the senate or the field. _Pol._ Alas! alas! There is an imp would follow me even there! There is an imp _hath_ followed me even there! There is——what voice was that? _Bal._ I heard it not. I heard not any voice except thine own, And the echo of thine own. _Pol._ Then I but dreamed. _Bal._ Give not thy soul to dreams: the camp—the court Befit thee—Fame awaits thee—Glory calls— And her the trumpet-tongued thou wilt not hear In hearkening to imaginary sounds And phantom voices.