Plays Being: An unhistorical pastoral: A romantic farce: Bruce, a chronicle play: Smith, a tragic farce: and Scaramouch in Naxos, a pantomime.

Sea-bred or inland, friend? Cinthio. A shepherd, sir. Conrad. Where are we, gentle shepherd, by your voice, And who reigns here? Cinthio. In Belmarie, not far From court, kind stranger, where no courtiers be. This country's king was lost a year ago: Yet in a longing hope he is not dead, The heir-apparent but a regent's power Decrees to exercise for twice four years. When that date is expired, if no king come, The prince intends to fill his father's room. Alardo. His father's, say you? [Aside.] Have I then two sons? This shepherd dreams. Cinthio. Yes; King Alardo, once Of these broad realms; now, king in heaven, I wot. Even as earth's bower-maid, Spring, in robes of green Her naked lady, roused from winter's sleep, Began to deck, five galleys, new-built all, With sails of taffeta, and masts of gold, Pushed from this strand bound on adventures far, The king, his son, and many a noble knight, With mariners and fighting-men aboard. Of this armada not a single ship Has yet returned to us; nor any spar Of drifting wreckage tells a woeful tale. The gallant prince right from his father's eyes Was hurried in a storm, and, blest by fate, Snatched from that doom which overwhelmed the rest; For he was washed ashore and nursed to health By fisher-folk, whom he has made his friends. And now he has forsaken courtly state To live in country freedom for a while; In Dolorosa's vale he spends the spring. Alardo. And what road must we take to reach this place? [Aside.] I dare not credit him, or else his tale Is true of some impostor. Cinthio. Onward go, Until that pine-straight pathway radiates Two branches from its stem, extending still: That shooting westward winds a mile or two, And ends in our royal town; the other way, Toward sunrise, leads to Dolorosa's vale. Alardo. Thy kindness, shepherd, merits some reward; But now our purses are as lank as we. Rest you assured of worthy recompense From me in Dolorosa. [Goes out. Conrad. If my old eyes Deceive me not, I've seen you, sir, before. Cinthio. Maybe, sir; though I, witting, ne'er saw you. Conrad. [Aside.] I'll question him again.--Shepherd, farewell. [Goes out. Cinthio. What lordly wight was this, who, seeming poor, Would fee a duteous courtesy? He hides His beams behind a ragged cloud perhaps. I'll hope to see him in his majesty.

Enter Sebastian.

I came to see you, captain and good friend. When do you sail? Sebastian. When we have made an end Of lading, and have shipped a proper crew; Perhaps two days hence. How may this touch you? Cinthio. Now you impeach my friendship to speak so; For I would come, and this full well you know, To clasp my loved Sebastian on the strand, And drop a tear upon his parting hand, And fill his sails with breath of heart-felt prayer To waft him back, outspeeding swiftest air, Even while his barque degrades into eclipse Behind the bulging world, as Phoebe slips, Slackly and slow, over the ocean's rim, When stars grow bright, and seas and hills grow dim. But hark, Sebastian, give me careful heed: Your often-proffered help I sorely need To aid me in an enterprise of note. Sebastian. They all are yours--myself, my men, my boat. Cinthio. Is there, far distant from the sea's highway, Unwatched by any eye save that of day-- Or if perfection lights unreasoning eyes, By gentle beasts, and birds of paradise-- A coral isle, old nature's best-loved child And latest offspring, nursed by waters wild-- Tamed in that nurture--to rare loveliness, Whose witchery creates a sweet distress; An islet Venus might have made her home, Even as, love-mad, she blossomed from the foam; Where lovers may beneath a bread-fruit tree Repose on bedded flowers, by harmony Of birds and waters lulled to slumber deep; And by like sounds be roused to waking sleep, To feed upon their couch's canopy, And watch what may appear with dreamy eye, Stirring no limb, save for their gentler ease, For ministry of love, or what they please? Methinks you told me once of such a gem, Descried unsought; or is it my own dream? Sebastian. In stress of storm I found it: tempest-driven I took the first port, and I lit on heaven. Cinthio. This isle's felicitous, Edenic state Lacks of perfection, eyes to appreciate; These are within your office to supply: What better watchers than Faustine and I? O, there's the direst need of flying far! That envious, and most inveterate star Whose wanton spite is spent in thwarting love Has chosen us for signal harm; we strove Against disaster, but are hemmed to this, Either to fly, or die upon a kiss. Sebastian. To die upon a kiss? Cinthio. Or kiss and die; For Faustine is a maid of lineage high; A foundling, and a vulgar shepherd, I. Her sire's a lordly wight of sternest mould, Who guides his life and hers by precepts old. He trains his child in crude simplicity, That ignorance may foster modesty; Gives her free scope--in gardens and parterres, With dowagers and hoary aunts for feres; So jealous of his name, so mean his measure Of all feminity, her honour's treasure He will not trust to any common guard, But in the night, before her door is barred, He hides--unchristened trick!--that cloudy dress Wherein by day her sun-bright nakedness She mercifully veils from mortal eyes, To hinder, as he trusts, all enterprise, Such as we purpose with the treacherous aid Of that twice-suborned spy, my lady's maid; Which, with your help, we've sworn to amplify, Or on an everlasting kiss to die. Sebastian. Yet wherefore fly to such a far-off isle? Unbroken time to love, and nature's smile, With safety unmolested, you may reach Upon some neighbouring and less dangerous beach. Cinthio. We have solaced our souls with hope of bliss In that far isle; not there, then paradise: Being bound for heaven, not storms, not rocks can fray us, Yea, dreadless death more swiftly would convey us. Sebastian. Then nothing moves you. Yet, take tent and think: They need not drown who still stand on the brink; And let me tell you, if I rightly deem, These isles are all as fragile as they seem; Strong as the spider's web, the poor fly's tomb, Fixed as the rainbow on a crest of foam, Stable as any luring bright mirage, Torn into ribbons by the ruthless wind, Whelmed by the multitudinous waves' wild dash, Gone like a dream leaving no trace behind. Cinthio. If you, my best Sebastian, bear us hence, We'll prove this doctrine by experience. Sebastian. Its truth will be expounded by th' event. Must all things fit that you may sail to-night? Cinthio. Not until after midnight, for our flight Must be with stealth, and cautious management. Sebastian. Love's gentle goddess prosper your intent! Two hours past night's dark noon I'll meet you here. Cinthio. Farewell till then. Sebastian. Farewell, and no ill fear. Of what I said, dissuading, have no care: Blow high, blow low, we this adventure dare. [They go out separately.

SCENE II.--Dolorosa. A Room in Guido's House.

Enter Alardo, Conrad, and Guido.

Alardo. Thus thrice am I the father of one son: By ordinary geniture and birth; And by my son's deliverance from death-- Yea, resurrection, for I held him dead; And now experience within these months Of our forlorn and shipwrecked wanderings Has moulded him into a goodly youth, Refined and brilliant in all inward beauty: Witness his conduct in the regency: What prince had nailed such shackles on his power, Or fixed his bondage for so long a term, Simply for love of his sire's memory, Seeing that hope of life there could be none? This is a certain new-birth; for I feared, By some hot coltish springs his blood had fetched, That, boiling high, it might sad trouble brew; And partly 'twas to coy his restive sprite I planned that voyage whose conclusion Had such ill opening, and ends so well.-- Now, heaven forgive my selfishness! Guido, Go, send out messengers on every coast. It could not well bechance that we alone Of all our ship's crew should be now dry-shod: Yea, and indeed it would be marvellous, That of five vessels in the self-same track, Four should be swallowed wholly by the deep. Bid all the mariners who leave our ports To pass no ship unspoken they may spy: We have escaped, so may those who remain: Till they are landed safe, and not till then Will I take heart to laugh. Go quickly, sir. Guido. Your grace's mandate needs no issuing, For penalties have been already paid By those who disobeyed the prince in this. Alardo. He does anticipate our utmost wish. Guido. He is, sire, a right slip of the old tree We know well whence his rosy graces spring; Yet, if you should be pricked in finding out Among these flowers a thorn, be not surprised. Alardo. Be not so emblematic, trusty Guido. Guido. I do not, sire, asperse your dead queen's fame But she was mother to our noble prince; Now queens are women, and all women are But women---- Alardo. 'Tis most true; and spades are spades. Guard well your tongue. Proceed, sir, and be brief. Guido. Pardon, your majesty. You are too quick: I meant not as your jealousy conceives: But I will stake my head none of their sex Are better than their sphere of life requires: This is their utmost character for good. Alardo. Come, we have heard your doctrine many a time: And, by the way, how does your vestal daughter? Still in her cloister mewed from eyes profane? But without more digression, Rupert's fame Seems by your blazoning a little blurred. Record me how a bend sinister comes To blot the fair field of his character. Guido. Being a woman's son, unstable motion, The loose stone in his virtue's strong rampire, Threatens a downcome to its battled front; For he pursues with lewd desire or love-- Both in this case disastrous to a prince-- A maiden of the very humblest strain, Who, by her beauty's unassisted charms, Or these and spells of necromantic art, Has found his weakness: this did I smell out When his companions' younger noses failed. Alardo. That's not so well; but being a man's son The youthful blood that warmed his father's veins, Now briskly runs in his. We'll find a bit To stay its galloping, or suasion soft To woo it from from such skittish practices. Guido. Please it your highness, now to tell me why I have been honoured first to taste the joy Of your long-prayed-for presence in your land, Rather than to delight at once your son. Alardo. I doubted that he was no son of mine, But some impostor. 'Twas a foolish fear With hope twin-born by information scant That there was cause to hope; so, thinking well That should I rush to this youth unadvised The fear would like a hated step-child fare, And passion nurse the longed-for hope alone, I wisely verified report in you. Now, use your wits; devise some plan whereby I may, myself unknown, confer with Rupert. Guido. to-day a custom, ancient, all-observed, But savouring in my mind of pagan rites, And unbecoming folk of Christendom, Is followed by our sheepish villagers, Who in their day and generation act What by their ancestors has been performed, In timely order tumbling in the ditch Some silly, old, bell-wether age first filled. to-day our youth are met upon the green To plot a treason licensed by the time, Which is, to choose a king and queen of May To reign to-morrow and each holiday; To whom, alone, they shall allegiance swear At every festal season of the year. There Rupert courts his lovely, well-loved quean, Who will be crowned, if I guess rightly, queen; And he, most like, so highly throned by birth, Will reign their monarch on a seat of earth. In some disguise conceal your royalty; Go there; inspect your son, and be as free As though you wore no mask: every degree Has access to him in this pageantry. Alardo. A very feasible and pleasant plot. Come, Conrad, comrade us: since by our lot Comrades we have been for so long a spell In danger and in woe, it chords right well That we be still in unison for joy; You saw me lose, behold me find my boy. Conrad. I will, my lord.--Vouchsafe to call to mind My dead wife's image. Alardo. Strange! I am inclined To think of her full oft within these hours. I see her now, of many lovely flowers That graced our youthful court the loveliest; My sweet, her queen; she, queen of all the rest. The shepherd whose direction helped us here-- 'Tis he recalls your lady's pleasant cheer; Her voice, her smile, her action, yea, her face, Stronger, being male, as coy, to suit his place. Conrad. He is, indeed, the picture of her youth. Conviction now lacks nothing of the truth. He'll be among those playful-treacherous ones, Where let us haste to find two long-lost sons. [They go out.