Guest. And by my troth, she is a pleasant prospect.
What wealth hath nature lavished on her face!
What a soft splendour glows around her form!
See, as she drinks,-how, from her ripe, red lip,
The conscious cup essays a brighter hue,

And senseless gold grows proud within her clasp!
Bartolo. Tut, tut! a piece of blotted alabaster,
That doth betray its own dishonesty!

Shame's crimson front glares through her crystal cheek,

As to reveal-See how her downcast lid
Declines her lover's passionate communion!
But hist! Veroni speaks!-be still a while,
And but enrich thy sight with observation.

Veroni. Nay, I will have it so; come, sweet Erixine ! Make our ears happy.

Erixine sings.

I've woven a garland—a wreath for my love;
The bloom of the woodland-the garden-the grove!
Behold, here, the laurel-the chaplet of fame—
The bays of his prowess encircling his name!
The dew-spangled rose-bud—an emblem of youth,
And the fresh sprig of myrtle, to stand for his truth!
The branch of the oak tree, to shew forth his power,
With the peaceful green olive plant, opening its flower!

And the fragile, the sensitive lily is there,

-A type of his honour, untarnished and fair!

A few rigid leaves, too, inserted, beside,

Of the tall, stately fir-tree-to speak of his pride!

And O! for his love, what so apt to entwine,

As the tender, the graceful, the fond eglantine!
This my coronal shall be,

Made for mirth and revelry,

Wreathed around the brimming bowl,-
Sweets of sense and flowers of soul!

-In the cup the tendrils dip,

The mantling juice the blossoms sip;

So nourished, shall it live and bloom for ever,

The verdant margin of a rosy river!

Marquess. O! ravishing sound!-echo's in love

with it,

And lingers on the air, in humble mimicry!

Thanks, fair Erixine!—

Look to the Marchioness!

Faint?-overcome, sure, by the mingled odours!

[To the Marchioness.

Rear up thy heart-taste of this wine-so pale!

What ails my mistress?

March. I'll return anon;

Speak my excuse, and let me seek my chamber,

I shall find fitter time for being well.

[Exit.

Veroni. Thanks, fair Erixine!- my heart's sole

queen!

Sit thou by me!-and bid our jester here!

Fellow! a savour of thy quality!

-Not that of Ariadne on the rock,

Or Leucothoe mourning for the sun,

But make thy chaunt on some right merry theme,—

We would be gay!

Count. My lord! a moment stay,

I would my lady-sister should be here ;—

I'll seek the cause of her so long delay,—

Is she, indeed, so sick?

Exit, and, after a short space, returns, bearing the dead body of the Marchioness in his arms.

Count. Ho! ho! a feast of death and ghostly guests! Murder's abroad-and martyrdom—and blood!

Pour out your tears for wine;

And turn your glowing tapers into corpse-lights.

Alas, alas!—yet 'twas not her own act!

"Twas thou, fair wickedness! that drugged the draught,
And thou, brave husband! put it to her lip!
Look on this scroll!—she did conceive her wrong,
And the sufficient thought hath murdered her!—
The affronted soul's gone up to heaven, complaining!-
-So, how your asking eyes accuse each other!
What! ye'd entice her back to life again,
With fruitless wishes!-there, to please ye, then,
I'll set her in her chair of state, again,
And place your richest cates before her.-No!
She'll not be tempted--she has lost her appetite!
Ho!-she's asleep!—wake up your loudest timbrels!-
Or stay-haply, she'll hear her husband's voice!
-Away, ye revellers-insects of a sun-beam!
Beauty! go, tell thy beads !-for thee, false Marquis!
I'll have a trial of skill to reach thy heart.
Hence-hence!-let all be dark-for death is dark-

ness!

Away!--but hush! steal softly, lest ye waken her!

[Scene closes.

OF THE

IVEZ