LYCIUS.

O gods! my spirit fails me,

And I have no strength to go, although I would!

LAMIA.

Perhaps he is dead already!

LYCIUS.

Ha! Why, then,

What can I? Or, if not, what can I still?

Can I keep him from his urn? or give him breath?
Or replenish him with blood?

LAMIA.

Alas! alas!

Would I had art or skill enough to heal him!

LYCIUS.

Ay, art and skill, indeed, do more than love
In such extremities. Stay! here, hard by,

There dwells a learned and most renowned physician,
Hath wrought mere miracles.

Him I'll engage, armed with our vows and
To spend his utmost study on my father,
And promptly visit him. A short farewell.

LAMIA.

prayers,

[Exit. DOMUS follows.

Farewell-be not o'er long. It made me tremble
That he should see his father! The oldest eyes
Look through some fogs that young ones cannot fathom,
And lay bare mysteries. Ah me! how frail

Are my foundations! Dreams, mere summer dreams,
Which, if a day-beam pierce, return to nothing!

And let in sadder shows.

Why, then, my wishes hold.

A foot!-so soon!

Enter DOMUS and Picus.

DOMUS.

He's gone! he's gone!

He had not snuffed the air, outside o' the gate,

When it blew a change in his mind. He bade me tell
A voice from the sky-roof, where the gods look down,
Commanded him to his father.

LAMIA.

No more! no more!

(The skies begin, then, to dispute my charms.) But did he ne'er turn back?

DOMUS.

Ay, more than twice

He turned on his heel, and stood-then turned again,
And tramped still quicker as he got from hence,
Till at last he ran like a lapwing!

you,

LAMIA.

This is a tale

Coined by the silly drunkard. You, sir, speak.

[TO PIOUS.

PICUS.

Nay, by our troths—

LAMIA.

Then, sirrah, do not speak.

If such vile sense be truth, I've had too much on't.
Hence! fly! or I will kill you with a frown.

Then, Lamia, weep, and mend your shatter-web,

And hang your tears, like morning dew, upon it.
Look how your honey-bee has broken loose
Through all his meshes, and now wings away,
Showing the toils were frail. Ay, frail as gossamers
That stretch from rose to rose. Some adverse power
Confronts me, or he could not tear them thus.
Some evil eye has pierced my mystery!

A blight is in its ken!

I feel my charms decay-my will's revoked-
And my keen sight, once a prophetic sense,
Is blinded with a cloud, horrid and black,
Like a veil before the face of Misery!

Another Apartment in LAMIA's House. Enter JULIUS (LYCIUS'S brother) and Domus.

JULIUS.

Rumor has not belied the house i' the least;

'Tis all magnificent. I pray you, sir,

How long has your master been gone?

DOMUS.

About two quarts, sir;

That is, as long as one would be a drinking 'em. 'Tis a very little while since he set off, sir.

JULIUS.

You keep a strange reckoning.

Where is your mistress? Will she see me?

DOMUS.

Ay, marry;

That is, if you meet; for it is good broad daylight.

JULIUS.

This fellow's manners speak but ill for the house. (Aside.) Go, sirrah, to your lady, with my message:

Tell her, one Julius, Lycius's best friend,
Desires a little converse.

Now for this miracle, whose charms have bent
The straightest stem of youth strangely awry-
My brother Lycius!

He was not use to let his incl nation

[Exit DOMUS.

Thus domineer his reason: the cool, grave shade
Of Wisdom's porch dwelt ever on his brow

And governed all his thoughts, keeping his passions
Severely chastened. Lo! she comes. How wondrously
Her feet glide o'er the ground. Ay, she is beautiful!
So beautiful, my task looks stern beside her,
And duty faints like doubt.

[LAMIA enters.

Oh, thou sweet fraud !

Thou fair excuse for sin, whose matchless cheek
Vies blushes with the shame it brings upon thee,
Thou delicate forgery of love and virtue,
Why art thou as thou art, not what here seems
So exquisitely promised?

LAMIA.

Sir, do you know me?

If not-and my near eyes declare you strange-
Mere charity should make you think me better.

JULIUS.

Oh, would my wishful thought could think no worse
Than I might learn by gazing.

Why are not those sweet looks-those heavenly looks,
True laws to judge thee by, and call thee perfect?
'Tis pity, indeed 'tis pity,

That anything so fair should be a fraud !

LAMIA.

Sir, I beseech you, wherefore do you hang
These elegies on me? For pity's sake
What do you take me for? No woman, sure,
By aiming thus to wound me (weeping).

JULIUS.

Ay, call these tears
Into your ready eyes! I'd have them scald
Your cheeks until they fade, and wear your beauty
To a safe and ugly ruin. Those fatal charms.
Can show no sadder wreck than they have brought
On many a noble soul, and noble mind

Pray count me:

How many men's havocks might forerun the fall
Of my lost brother Lycius?

LAMIA.

Are you his brother?
vex you: not a look
You are come to chide me,
sell his heart

Then I'll not say a word to
Shall aim at your offence.
I know, for winning him to
At such a worthless rate.
Patiently, thankfully, for his dear sake.

Yet I will hear you,

I will be as mild and humble as a worm

Beneath your just rebuke. 'Tis sure no woman
Deserved him; but myself the least of all,

Who fall so far short in his value.

JULIUS.

She touches me! (Aside.)

LAMIA.

Look, sir, upon my eyes. Are they not red?

Within an hour, I've rained a flood of tears.