Make thee a victim of my baffled rage.
For I will mask a spirit in thy form
Who will betray thy name to infamy,

And doubly shall I triumph in thy loss,
First by dishonouring thee, and then by turning
False pleasure to true ignomy.



Appeal to Heaven against thee; so that Heaven
May scatter thy delusions, and the blot
Upon my fame vanish in idle thought,
Even as flame dies in the envious air,
And as the flowret wanes at morning frost,
And thou shouldst never- -But, alas! to whom
Do I still speak ?-Did not a man but now
Stand here before me?—No, am alone,
And yet I saw him. Is he gone so quickly?
Or can the heated mind engender shapes
From its own fear? Some terrible and strange
Lisander! father! lord!

Peril is near.


O my daughter! what?

Livia. What?


Saw you

A man go forth from my apartment now?—

I scarce sustain myself!

A man here!

Justina. Have you not seen him?
No, Lady.

Justina. I saw him.


Lis. 'Tis impossible; the doors Which led to this apartment were all locked.

Livia (aside.) I dare say it was Moscon whom she saw,

For he was locked up in my room.


It must

Have been some image of thy phantasy.
Such melancholy as thou feedest is
Skilful in forming such in the vain air
Out of the motes and atoms of the day.
Livia. My master's in the right.
Oh, would it were
Delusion; but I fear some greater ill.
I feel as if out of my bleeding bosom
My heart was torn in fragments; aye,
Some mortal spell is wrought against my frame;
So potent was the charm, that had not God
Shielded my humble innocence from wrong,
I should have sought my sorrow and my shame
With willing steps.—Livia, quick bring my cloak,
For I must seek refuge from these extremes
Even in the temple of the highest God
Which secretly the faithful worship.


Justina (putting on her cloak.)
In this, as in a shroud of snow, may I
Quench the consuming fire in which I burn,
Wasting away!


And I will go with thee.

Livia. When I once see them safe out of the house

I shall breathe freely.

In thy just favour, Heaven!


So do I confide

Let us go.

Justina. Thine is the cause, great God! Turn, for my sake And for thine own, mercifully to me!





The Lord and the Host of Heaven. Enter three Archangels.
Raphael. THE sun makes music as of old

Amid the rival spheres of Heaven,
On its predestined circle rolled

With thunder speed: the Angels even
Draw strength from gazing on its glance,
Though none its meaning fathom may :-
The world's unwithered countenance

Is bright as at creation's day.

Gabriel. And swift and swift, with rapid lightness,
The adorned Earth spins silently,
Alternating Elysian brightness

With deep and dreadful night; the sea
Foams in broad billows from the deep

Up to the rocks, and rocks and ocean,
Onward, with spheres which never sleep,

Are burried in eternal motion.
Mich. And tempests in contention roar
From land to sea, from sea to land;
And, raging, weave a chain of power

Which girds the earth as with a band.-
A flashing desolation there

Flames before the thunder's way;
But thy servants, Lord, revere
The gentle changes of thy day.

Chorus of the Three.

The Angels draw strength from thy glance,
Though no one comprehend thee may ;-
Thy world's unwithered conntenance

Is bright as on creation's day.*

* Raphael. The sun sounds, according to ancient custom, In the song of emulation of his brother-spheres,

And its fore written circle

Fulfils with a step of thunder.

Its countenance gives the Angels strength,

Though no one can fathom it.

The incredible high works

Are excellent as at the first day.

Gabriel. And swift, and inconceivably swift
The adornment of earth winds itself round,
And exchanges Faradise-clearness

With deep dreadful night.

The sea foams tu broad waves

From its deep bottom up to the rocks,
And rocks and sea are torn on together
In the eternal swift course of the spheres.

Michael. And storms roar in emulation
From sea to land, from land to sea,
And make, raging, a chain

Of deepest operation round about.
There flames a flashing destruction
Before the path of the thunderbolt.
But thy servants, Lord, revere
The gentle alternations of thy day.

Chorus. Thy countenance gives the Angels strength,

Though none can comprehend thee:

And all thy lofty works

Are excellent as at the first day.

Such is a literal translation of this astonishing Chorus; it is impossible to represent in another language the melody of the versification; even the volatile strength and delicacy of the ideas escape in the crucible of translation, and the reader is surprised to find a caput mortuum. -Author's Note,


Mephistopheles. enough

To interest thyself in our affairs

And ask, "How goes it with you there below?"

And as indulgently at other times

Thou tookedst not my visits in ill part,

As thou, O Lord, once more art kind

Thou seest me here once more among thy household.
Though I should scandalize this company,

You will excuse me if I do not talk

In the high style which they think fashionable;
My pathos would certainly make you laugh too,
Had you not long since given over laughing.
Nothing know I to say of suns and worlds;
I observe only how men plague themselves; -
The little god o'the world keeps the same stamp,
As wonderful as on creation's day:-

A little better would he live, hadst thou
Not given him a glimpse of heaven's light
Which he calls reason, and employs it only
To live more beastlily than any beast.
With reverence to your Lordship be it spoken,
He's like one of those long-legged grasshoppers
Who flits and jumps about, and sings for ever
The same old song i' the grass. There let him lie,
Burying his nose in every heap of dung.

The Lord. Have you no more to say? Do you come here

Always to scold, and cavil, and complain?

Seems nothing ever right to you on earth?

Meph. No, Lord! I find all there, as ever, bad at best. Even I am sorry for man's days of sorrow;

I could myself almost give up the pleasure
Of plaguing the poor things.

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