With boastful towering, dare the threatening bolt
To strike them. [Sir Ŏ. and Sır Con. approach the ruins.
Ulrick. Do you note ?-She does not move!
What keeps her there? Is that the scornéd serf
Leans drooping 'gainst the trunk of the tall tree,
Lends him pernicious shelter?-Clear as day!
Fred. 'Tis dark as night!

Ulrick. What?-oh, the storm!--My lord,
I meant not that.

Your doubts are clearing up

Look at the serf and lady.

Cath. [To Sir Rup.] Pray you, speak

To the Countess-tell her she's in danger, there,
To stand so near the trees.

Sir Rup. Madam

Cath. Apace

The storm comes on! 'Twill soon be over-head.
Ay! there's the thunder now, and loud enough.—
She heard not:-call to her again :—she bears
That you accost her.

Sir Rup. She is fond of you.

Cath. Yes: but you marked her scorn of Huon. now? Sir Rup. Madam! madam! pray you,

Come from beneath the trees.

A bolt may strike you, madam!

It lightens fast!

Ulrick. The peril of the serf transfixes her! Her life, be sure, is only part of his!

A common act of charity it were

Command him thence. It is not right

To leave her there! Go to her-take her thence!
Fred. Your pardon, lady; but you must not brave
The lightning. Come into the open space:

There's shelter, with less chance of penalty,
Beneath this time-worn ruin.

Heavens, how near!

[Thunder and lightning.

Almost together came the clap and flash!

The trees are all on fire! the serf is struck!

[Huon staggers from the tree-The Countess rushes to him, catching him in her arms.

Coun. No! no! O Heaven, he's dead! Why would he stand

Beneath the trees!-What, Huon! speak to me!
Show me thou hear'st me!-let me see some signs

Of life!-Why, Huon! Huon!—He is dead!
Ulrick. Lady, he is not dead, but only stunned.
'Twas but a shock, although a heavy one.
His colour comes-I see his eye-lid ope-
So, please you, leave the charge of him to me.
Coun. I thank you, sir-am sorry such a load
Should burden you. Would some of my attendants
Were here to ease you on't! How dread a thing
Is death, when sight on't makes one not one's self!
Grows it not lighter, sirs?-Ay, there's the sky!
Almost as soon as come, the storm is come.
Pray leave him to himself:-'twas but a shock-
It shames me such a load should burthen you.
Ulrick. As yet, he cannot stand.

Coun. Indeed!-oh! ay!

It was a heavy shock. I have a horror,

And always had, of lightning.

Do you know

It takes away my wits? Did you not feel

As I did, Catherine, when they thought the lightning
Had killed the serf? A dreadful thing is death!
And, most of all, by lightning!-Where is my hawk?
Oh! they had charge to bring him after me,
And here they come. Let's meet them, Catherine.

[Is going, but stops, and turns to look at Huon. Ulrick. He still grows better, madam.

Coun. Who, sir?-Oh,

The serf!-Why, Catherine, where's your hawk ?
Cath. I have lost him.

Coun. I hope the lightning has not struck him. Come: We'll have fair weather yet.

[Sir Conrad and Sir Otto take Huon and lead him off, the Countess watching.

Ulrick. You see

He is unhurt.

Coun. My lord!-I see-You take

Great interest in my serf. The sun is out:

My hawk against the field! Come, Catherine.

[All go out L. except Frederick and Ulrick. Ulrick. [L. You see, my lord; and seeing, comprehend. Straight will I to the Duke, and tell him this.

A kingdom to a hawk, she loves the serf!

[Exeunt, severally.

END OF ACT II.

Ulrick. You mean, a heart to love?

Fred. If not such a heart, as well no heart at all!
Ulrick. Men tell a mine a hundred fathoms deep,
By certain signs that near the surface lie:
Are flesh and blood more fallible than clay ?
Take but her face-there's not a feature on't,
But vouches for the mood. Require you more?
Her limbs and body give you proof on proof.
If these convince you not, essay her voice;
'Tis of the stop befits the melting vein.
There's naught without but with her sex consists,
Pronouncing her its pattern, passing rich!
And can she lack the heart, the want of which
Would turn such affluence to poverty?
Prove nature but a niggard, after all,
Where she should seem to be most beautiful?
She has a heart, sir, and a heart to love!

Fred. How comes it, then, I plead a bootless suit,
And not a boy at wooing? Had I a chance
With a heart, were it not wholly occupied,
I never failed to find some footing in it,
If not instate myself with ease :—with dames,
1 own, less lofty, though on lighter terms
Than gift of hand for life. Why fail I here?
Ulrick. Hast thou no rival?

Fred. None.

Ulrick. Thou art sure?

Fred. I am.

Disheartened at a race that hath no goal,
Or one that seems to distance on approach,

My rivals leave the field to me alone.

Ulrick. Thou mayst have rivals whom thou know'st not of.

Fred. No! I have pressed her father oft thereon, And learned the history, beginning, close

Of every siege of wooing-ending each

In mortified retreat.

Ulrick. You may have rivals

Unknown to him. Love joys in mystery;
And when you think it countless miles away,
Is lurking close at hand.

Fred. You are still at fault :

She has no favoured lover-cannot have,
The thing is out of chance, impossible!

Ulrick. Call naught impossible, till thou hast proved
That passion hath essayed it, and been foiled;
And set this down-Nature is nature still,
And thought to swerve, is at the bottom true.
Thy mistress is not stone, but flesh and blood,
Wherein doth lodge the juice of sympathy;
Which, more refined in woman than in man,
In woman sways it measurelessly stronger!
The essence of the sex is that wherein
We win a gift of their sweet forms and souls-
The tenderness for some especial one,

Who then, 'midst millions, seems to stand alone.
That being absent, then there is no sex.-
So where sex is, that also must be there,
As where the sun, also the light and heat.

So of two issues, set thy mind to one

She has found the man who stands 'mongst millions sole,
Or he is yet to find, and thou not he.

Fred. Thou nam'st two issues-I can find a third.
Ulrick. Where is it?

Fred. Here. As many streams will

To make one river up, one passion oft
Predominant, all others will absorb.

go

Ulrick. What passion, swoln in her, drinks up the rest?

Fred. Pride.

Ulrick. Of her beauty, or her rank, or what?

Fred. Pride of herself! intolerant of all

Equality; nor that its bounds alone

Oppressive to the thing that is beneath her.

Say that she waves me off when I advance,
She spurns the serf that bows to her at distance:
Suitor and secretary fare alike.

I woo for scorn, he for no better serves

Nay, rather worse comes off.

Ülrick. Her secretary

?

Fred. The only one of all his wretched class Her presence brooks; for he is useful to her:

Reads with a music, as a lute did talk;

Writes, as a graver did the letters trace;

Translates dark languages-for learning which
She hath a strange conceit; is wise in rare
Philosophy; hath mastery, besides,

Of all sweet instruments that men essay-
The hautboy, viol, lute.

Ulrick. A useful man

Your highness draws!

To look upon?

What kind of thing is he

Fred. 'Faith, proper, sir, in trunk,

Feature, and limb; to envy, though a serf.

But, err I not, a most unhappy man,

And, for his service, weary of his life.

Ulrick. Oh, love! a wilful, wayward thing thou art 'Twere strange! 'twere very strange!

Fred. What? what were strange ?

What saidst thou now, apostrophising love?
Ulrick. I said it was a wilful, wayward thing,

And so it is fantastic and perverse!

Which makes its sport of persons and of seasons,
Takes its own way, no matter right or wrong.

"It is the bee that finds the honey out,

"Where least you'd dream 'twould seek the nectar us

store.

“And 'tis an arrant masquer, this same love

"That most outlandish, freakish faces wear,

"To hide its own! Looks a proud Spaniard now;

"Now, a grave Turk; hot Ethiopian next;

"And then, phlegmatic Englishman; and then,

66

Gay Frenchman; by and by, Italian, at

"All things a song; and in another skip,

"Gruff Dutchman;-still is love behind the masque! "It is a hypocrite!-looks every way

"But that where lie its thoughts!"-will openly
Frown at the thing it smiles in secret on;

Shows most like hate, e'en when it most is love;
Would fain convince you it is very rock,
When it is water-ice, when it is fire!
Is oft its own dupe, like a thorough cheat;
Persuades itself 'tis not the thing it is;
Holds up
its head, purses its brows, and looks
Askant, with scornful lip, hugging itself
That it is high disdain-till suddenly