And they who are in love are always jealous. Therefore thou shouldst be.Vict. Marry, is that all?
Farewell; I am in haste. Farewell, Don Carlos. Thou sayest I should be jealous?
Hyp. Ay, in truth
I fear there is reason. Be upon thy guard.
I hear it whispered that the Count of Lara
Lays siege to the same citadel. Vict. Indeed!
Then he will have his labor for his pains.
Hyp. He does not think so, and Don Carlos tells me
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He boasts of his success.
Vict. How's this, Don Carlos?
Don. C. Some hints of it I heard from his own lips. He spoke but lightly of the lady's virtue,
As a gay man might speak. Vict. Death and damnation!
I'll cut his lying tongue out of his mouth, And throw it to my dog! But no, no, no! This cannot be. You jest, indeed you jest. Trifle with me no more. For otherwise
We are no longer friends. And so, fare well! [Exit.
Hyp. Now what a coil is here! The Avenging Child
Hunting the traitor Quadros to his death, And the Moor Calaynos, when he rode
To Paris for the ears of Oliver,
Were nothing to him! O hot-headed youth! But come; we will not follow. Let us join The crowd that pours into the Prado. There We shall find merrier company; I see
The Marialonzos and the Almavivas,
And fifty fans, that beckon me already.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV. -- PRECIOSA'S chamber. She is sitting, with a book in her hand, near a table, on which are flowers. A bird singing in its
cage. The COUNT OF LARA enters behind unperceived.
Prec. (reads).
All are sleeping, weary heart! Thou, thou only sleepless art! Heigho! I wish Victorian were here.
I know not what it is makes me so restless!
(The bird sings.)
Thou little prisoner with thy motley coat, That from thy vaulted, wiry dungeon singest, Like thee I am a captive, and, like thee,
I have a gentle jailer. Lack-a-day!
All are sleeping, weary heart! Thou, thou only sleepless art!
All this throbbing, all this aching, Evermore shall keep thee waking, For a heart in sorrow breaking Thinketh ever of its smart!
Thou speakest truly, poet! and methinks
More hearts are breaking in this world of ours
Than one would say. In distant villages
And solitudes remote, where winds have wafted The barbed seeds of love, or birds of passage Scattered them in their flight, do they take root, And grow in silence, and in silence perish.
Who hears the falling of the forest leaf ?
Or who takes note of every flower that dies? Heigho! I wish Victorian would come. Dolores!
(Turns to lay down her boot and perceives the COUNT.)
Ha!
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Lara. Senora, pardon me. Prec. How's this? Dolores! Lara. Pardon me--
Prec. Dolores!
Lara. Be not alarmed; I found no one in waiting. If I have been too bold--
Prec. (turning her back upon him). You are too bold!
Retire! retire, and leave me! Lara. My dear lady,
First hear me! I beseech you, let me speak!
'T is for your good I come.
Prec. (turning toward him with indignation). Begone! begone!
You are the Count of Lara, but your deeds Would make the statues of your ancestors Blush on their tombs! Is it Castilian honor, Is it Castilian pride, to steal in here
Upon a friendless girl, to do her wrong?
O shame! shame! shame! that you, a nobleman, Should be so little noble in your thoughts
As to send jewels here to win my love,
And think to buy my honor with your gold!
I have no words to tell you how I scorn you! Begone! The sight of you is hateful to me! Begone, I say!
Lara. Be calm; I will not harm you.
Prec. Because you dare not.
Lara. I dare anything!
Therefore beware! You are deceived in me. In this false world, we do not always know Who are our friends and who our enemies. We all have enemies, and all need friends. Even you, fair Preciosa, here at court
Have foes, who seek to wrong you. Prec. If to this
I owe the honor of the present visit,
You might have spared the coming. Raving spoken, Once more I beg you, leave me to myself.
Lara. I thought it but a friendly part to tell you What strange reports are current here in town. For my own self, I do not credit them;
But there are many who, not knowing you, Will lend a readier ear.
Prec. There was no need
That you should take upon yourself the duty
Of telling me these tales. Lara. Malicious tongues
Are ever busy with your name. Prec. Alas!
I've no protectors. I am a poor girl, Exposed to insults and unfeeling jests.
They wound me, yet I cannot shield myself.
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I give no cause for these reports. I live
Retired; am visited by none. Lara. By none?
O, then, indeed, you are much wronged! Prec. How mean you?
Lara. Nay, nay; I will not wound your gentle soul
By the report of idle tales. Prec. Speak out!
What are these idle tales? You need not spare me. Lara. I will deal frankly with you. Pardon me
This window, as I think, looks toward the street, And this into
