_Ter._ Whom, madam? _Leo._ Him. _Ter._ Prince Bertran? _Leo._ Torrismond; There is no other he. _Ter._ [_Aside._] A rising sun, Or I am much deceived. [_Exit_ TERESA. _Leo._ A change so swift what heart did ever feel! It rushed upon me like a mighty stream, And bore me, in a moment, far from shore. I loved away myself; in one short hour Already am I gone an age of passion. Was it his youth, his valour, or success? These might, perhaps, be found in other men: 'Twas that respect, that awful homage, paid me; That fearful love, which trembled in his eyes, And with a silent earthquake shook his soul. But, when he spoke, what tender words he said! So softly, that, like flakes of feathered snow, They melted as they fell.-- _Enter_ TERESA _with_ TORRISMOND. _Ter._ He waits your pleasure. _Leo._ 'Tis well; retire.--Oh heavens, that I must speak So distant from my heart!-- [_Aside._ [_To_ TOR.] How now! What boldness brings you back again? _Tor._ I heard 'twas your command. _Leo._ A fond mistake, To credit so unlikely a command; And you return, full of the same presumption, To affront me with your love! _Tor._ If 'tis presumption, for a wretch condemned, To throw himself beneath his judge's feet: A boldness more than this I never knew; Or, if I did, 'twas only to your foes. _Leo._ You would insinuate your past services, And those, I grant, were great; but you confess A fault committed since, that cancels all. _Tor._ And who could dare to disavow his crime, When that, for which he is accused and seized, He bears about him still! My eyes confess it; My every action speaks my heart aloud: But, oh, the madness of my high attempt Speaks louder yet! and all together cry,-- I love and I despair. _Leo._ Have you not heard, My father, with his dying voice, bequeathed My crown and me to Bertran? And dare you, A private man, presume to love a queen? _Tor._ That, that's the wound! I see you set so high, As no desert or services can reach.-- Good heavens, why gave you me a monarch's soul, And crusted it with base plebeian clay? Why gave you me desires of such extent, And such a span to grasp them? Sure, my lot By some o'er-hasty angel was misplaced In fate's eternal volume!--But I rave, And, like a giddy bird in dead of night, Fly round the fire that scorches me to death. _Leo._ Yet, Torrismond, you've not so ill deserved, But I may give you counsel for your cure. _Tor._ I cannot, nay, I wish not to be cured. _Leo._ [_Aside._] Nor I, heaven knows! _Tor._ There is a pleasure, sure, In being mad, which none but madmen know! Let me indulge it; let me gaze for ever! And, since you are too great to be beloved, Be greater, greater yet, and be adored.