_Merl._ I cannot, for she's held by charms too strong, Which, with the enchanted grove, must be destroyed; Till when, my art is vain:--But fear not, Emmeline, The enchanter has no power on innocence. _Em._ [_To Arth._] Farewell, since we must part: When you are gone, I'll look into my glass, just where you looked. To find your face again; If 'tis not there, I'll think on you so long, My heart shall make your picture for my eyes. _Arth._ Where'er I go, my soul shall stay with thee; 'Tis but my shadow that I take away. True love is never happy but by halves; An April sunshine, that by fits appears, It smiles by moments, but it mourns by years. [_Exeunt_ ARTHUR _and_ MERLIN _at one door_. _Enter_ OSMOND _at the other door, who gazes on_ EMMELINE, _and she on him_. _Em._ Matilda, save me from this ugly thing, This foe to sight: speak; dost thou know him? _Mat._ Too well; 'tis Oswald's friend, the great magician. _Em._ It cannot be a man, he's so unlike the man I love. _Osm._ [_Aside._] Death to my eyes, she sees! _Em._ I wish I could not; but I'll close my sight, And shut out all I can.----It will not be; Winking, I see thee still; thy odious image Stares full into my soul, and there infects the room, My Arthur should possess. _Osm._ [_Aside._] I find too late, That Merlin and her lover have been here. If I was fired before, when she was blind, Her eyes dart lightning now; she must be mine. _Em._ I pr'ythee, dreadful thing, tell me thy business here, And, if thou canst, reform that odious face; Look not so grim upon me. _Osm._ My name is Osmond, and my business love. _Em._ Thou hast a grisly look,--forbidding what thou askest, If I durst tell thee so. _Osm._ My pent-house eye-brows, and my shaggy beard, Offend your sight, but these are manly signs; Faint white and red abuse your expectations: Be woman; know your sex, and love full pleasures. _Em._ Love from a monster, fiend? _Osm._ Come, you must love, or you must suffer love; No coyness, none, for I am master here. _Em._ And when did Oswald give away his power, That thou presum'st to rule? Be sure I'll tell him; For, as I am his prisoner, he is mine. _Osm._ Why then, thou art a captive to a captive. O'er-laboured with the fight, opprest with thirst, That Oswald, whom you mentioned, called for drink: I mixt a sleepy potion in his bowl, Which he and his fool friend quaffed greedily: The happy dose wrought the desired effect; Then to a dungeon's depth I sent both bound; Where, stowed with snakes and adders, now they lodge, Two planks their beds, slippery with ooze and slime: The rats brush o'er their faces with their tails, And croaking paddocks crawl upon their limbs; Since when the garrison depends on me. Now know you are my slave.