Dunstan. As with gross appetite he now enjoys (If insight fail me not) the all of folly,

So shall we see him soon agape for change,
Loathing his love foregone. Yield, brother, yield.
Yet hold your force the while not less alert

To answer each event. Be armed within,

Be gowned without. Good Brother, yield, but stand.

ACT II.

SCENE I.-LEOLF's Castle, in the neighbourhood of

Hastings.

EMMA, alone.

Emma. He walks upon the beach. A mind perturbed Shall find the sea companionable. His

Is sorely troubled or my comment errs,
That is not uninspired. Oh, dearest Leolf!
You see not me with love-discerning eyes,
As I see you, or you would pity me.

When last I saw you, stately was your strength,
And you are now a very noble ruin.
Might I but be the wild flower on the wall
Of that war-wasted tower! A weed, alas!
But with a perfume.-Were I but at Court
Soon should I see what currents cross him there.
The King? And if it be... Here's my soft slave.
Now to your work, my plotting scheming brains,
And I shall thrive.

Enter ERNWAY.

Well, Ernway, friend, what cheer? Ernway. I thank you, I am well in health. My

heart

Is heavy, as you know,

Emma.
'Tis a good heart;
But pitch me overboard this sand and gravel.
With a light heart a meagre wit may pass ;
Or with a copious wit a heavy heart;
But when the ship that 's vacant of a freight
Labours with nothing but the dead-weight...
Ernway.

Hush!

Although you love me not, you should not scorn me, Lest some day you be scorned yourself.

Emma.

'Tis true;

I should be gentle; and, good faith! I love you;
Not amorously, I own, but amicably.

You are a kind and most affectionate fool,

And beautiful besides. I love your eyes,

Your hair, your mouth, your chin; I love you piecemeal;

I love your softness, gracefulness, and warmth;
And putting you together, on the whole

I like to see you at my heart's gate sit
Upon a winter's day and toss you crumbs.
Such is my friendship, and this many a day
I have not taxed you for returns.
Ernway. What can I do?

Emma.

Ernway.

But now...

Nay, what not?

Will you tell lies?

If my weak wit, that you despise so much,
Can compass it, I'll do it.

Emma.

Ernway. For you I will: I would not for myself. Emma. Thou art a virtuous youth and loving liar.

'Tis better than to be a lying lover;

And yet not good-and would you not be good?
Ernway. As good as you-no better.
Emma.

I your conscience !

'Tis much to have one soul to answer for !

Yet will I make you sin.
I am a liar and a cheat.
Will you be like me?

Ernway.

As good as I?
Now say-

I have said I will.

Emma. You will get nothing for it.
Ernway.

Not a smile?

Emma. A smile at most-assuredly not more.
Ernway. I am content to lie and cheat for that.

Emma. You come from Court. There's much of

service there

Is of that kind and in that coin requited.

Now you will instantly to Court again,

And for the service you can do 'tis this,

To take me with you.
Ernway.

I would kneel for years But for the blessing of a morning dream

That told me you would ask me this in earnest.

Emma. I tell you, you shall do it. But there's more. Think not that I will let the word go forth

That I have wandered from my home with you
Unwedded. You must say we're man and wife.
Ernway. And will you marry me?

Emma.

Ernway. At last you will.

Emma.

What I? Oh, no.

No, neither last nor first.

Ernway. Well, I will fancy that you will; of that

You cannot hinder me.

Emma.

Indeed I can ;

And if your fancy once should err so far,
I will disforest its demesne for ever
That nothing wild or free shall wander there;
Dispark its parks, dismantle and destroy
Its cloud-built castles. You are to present
The shadow of a husband-nothing more,
And this but for a season. Oh! my heart!
Dear Ernway, I will not torment you much
And, sooth to say, I'm sorry for your pain.
To-morrow, for a sin you 've not committed
I'll teach you to entreat a false forgiveness.
You must ask pardon of your worthy sire
For a clandestine marriage. He will storm,
But heed him not. There, you may kiss my hand;
And now, I pray you, go.

Ernway.

;

Good bye, sweet Emma. Emma. Call me 'Dear Wife - Sweet Emma' is too loving;

'Tis an unmarried phrase; whereas 'Dear Wife'

Imports the decencies of dry affection.

Ernway. No, I will say, Sweet Emma.'
Emma.

What you will

When we're alone. Come with me to the beach.

SCENE II.-The Sea-shore, near Hastings,

LEOLF, alone.

Leolf. Rocks that beheld my boyhood! Perilous shelf

That nursed my infant courage! Once again
I stand before you-not as in other days
In your grey faces smiling-but like you
The worse for weather. Here again I stand,
Again and on the solitary shore

Old ocean plays as on an instrument,
Making that ancient music, when not known!
That ancient music, only not so old

As He who parted ocean from dry land
And saw that it was good. Upon my ear,
As in the season of susceptive youth,

The mellow murmur falls-but finds the sense
Dulled by distemper; shall I say-by time?
Enough in action has my life been spent
Through the past decade, to rebate the edge
Of early sensibility.

The sun

Rides high, and on the thoroughfares of life
I find myself a man in middle age,

Busy and hard to please. The sun shall soon

Dip westerly, but oh! how little like

Are life's two twilights! Would the last were first

And the first last! that so we might be soothed

Upon the thoroughfares of busy life

Beneath the noon-day sun, with hope of joy
Fresh as the morn-with hope of breaking lights,
Illuminated mists and spangled lawns

And woodland orisons and unfolding flowers,
As things in expectation.-Weak of faith!
Is not the course of earthly outlook, thus
Reversed from Hope, an argument to Hope
That she was licensed to the heart of man
For other than for earthly contemplations,