USURPATION ENDED; OR, SHE COMES AGAIN. ACT I.-SCENE I. A Mountainous Country. BATHORY'S Dwelling at the end of the Stage. Enter LADY SAROLTA and GLYCINE. GLYCINE. WELL then! Our round of charity is finished. What tired, Glycine? SAROLTA. No delicate court-dame, but a mountaineer The good strength nature gave me. It needs must be a duty doubly sweet To heal the few we can. Well! let us rest. GLYCINE. There? [Pointing to Bathory's dwelling. Sarolta answering, points to where she then stands. SAROLTA. Here! For on this spot Lord Casimir And what if even now, on that same ridge, From his high embassy? SAROLTA. Thou hast hit my thought! All the long day, from yester-morn to evening, To discontent us.-Were he come, then should I To keep his birth-day here, in his own birth-place. GLYCINE. But our best sports belike, and gay processions SAROLTA. I have small wish to see them. A spring morning And its bright jewelry of flowers and dew-drops Would put them all in eclipse. This sweet retirement Did but command, what I had else entreated. GLYCINE. And yet had I been born Lady Sarolta, SAROLTA. Hush! Innocent flatterer! GLYCINE. Nay! to my poor fancy The royal court would seem an earthly heaven, Thy fancied heaven, dear girl, like that above thee, The bright blue ether, and the seat of gods! Well! but this broil that scared you from the dance? And was not Laska there: he, your betrothed? GLYCINE. Yes, madam! he was there. So was the maypole, For we danced round it. SAROLTA. Ah, Glycine! why, Why did you then betroth yourself? GLYCINE. Because My own dear lady wished it! 'twas you asked me! SAROLTA. Yes, at my lord's request, but never wished, My poor affectionate girl, to see thee wretched. Thou knowest not yet the duties of a wife. GLYCINE. Oh, yes! It is a wife's chief duty, madam! To stand in awe of her husband, and obey him, But I shall tremble. SAROLTA. Not with fear, I think, For you still mock him. Bring a seat from the cottage. [Exit Glycine into the cottage, Sarolta continues her speech looking after her. Something above thy rank there hangs about thee, And in thy countenance, thy voice, and motion, Yea, e'en in thy simplicity, Glycine, A fine and feminine grace, that makes me feel [angry voices and clamour within, re-enter Glycine. Oh, madam! there's a party of your servants, Pray don't believe them, madam! This way! This way! Lady Sarolta's here. [calling without." SAROLTA. |