_Lalage_. What didst thou say, Jacinta? Now I bethink me Thou hast not spoken lately of thy wedding. How fares good Ugo?--and when is it to be? Can I do aught?--is there no farther aid Thou needest, Jacinta? _Jacinta_. Is there no _farther_ aid? That's meant for me. (_aside_.) I'm sure, Madam, you need not Be always throwing those jewels in my teeth. _Lalage_. Jewels! Jacinta,--now indeed, Jacinta, I thought not of the jewels. _Jacinta_. Oh! perhaps not! But then I might have sworn it. After all, There's Ugo says the ring is only paste, For he's sure the Count Castiglione never Would have given a real diamond to such as you; And at the best I'm certain, Madam, you cannot Have use for jewels _now_. But I might have sworn it. (_exit_.) (_Lalage bursts into tears and leans her head upon the table--after a short pause raises it_.) _Lalage_. Poor Lalage!--and is it come to this? Thy servant maid!--but courage!--'tis but a viper Whom thou hast cherished to sting thee to the soul! (_taking up the mirror_.) Ha! here at least's a friend--too much a friend In earlier days--a friend will not deceive thee. Fair mirror and true! now tell me (for thou canst) A tale--a pretty tale--and heed thou not Though it be rife with woe. It answers me. It speaks of sunken eyes, and wasted cheeks, And Beauty long deceased--remembers me Of Joy departed--Hope, the Seraph Hope, Inurned and entombed!--now, in a tone Low, sad, and solemn, but most audible, Whispers of early grave untimely yawning For ruin'd maid. Fair mirror and true!--thou liest not! _Thou_ hast no end to gain--no heart to break-- Castiglione lied who said he loved---- Thou true--he false!--false!--false! (_while she speaks a monk enters her apartment, and approaches unobserved_.) _Monk_. Refuge thou hast Sweet daughter! in Heaven. Think of eternal things! Give up thy soul to penitence, and pray! _Lalage_ (_arising hurriedly_.) I _cannot_ pray!--My soul is at war with God! The frightful sounds of merriment below Disturb my senses--go! I cannot pray-- The sweet airs from the garden worry me! Thy presence grieves me--go!--thy priestly raiment Fills me with dread--thy ebony crucifix With horror and awe! _Monk_. Think of thy precious soul! _Lalage_. 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.