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Seized on the town of Faviaux, and displaced
Yet released you
From the Bastile
To call me to his presence, And thus address me: “You have seized a town Of France without the orders of your leader, And for this treason, but one sentence--DEATH."
“I have pity on your youth and birth, Nor wish to glut the headsman; join your troop, Now on the march against the Spaniards; change The traitor's scaffold for the soldier's grave; Your memory stainless, they who shared your crime Exiled or dead, your king shall never learn it."
Oh tender pity! Oh most charming prospect !
You have heard if I fought bravely. Death became
When the cardinal Review'd the troops, his eye met mine; he frown'd,
Summon'd me forth. “How's this?”: quoth he; “you
And, knowing this, why halt you, Spell'd by the rattlesnake, while in the breasts of your firm friends beat hearts, that vow the death Of your grim tyrant? Wake! Be one of us ; The time invites; the king detests the cardinal; Dares not disgrace; but groans to be delivered Of that too great a subject; join your friends, Free France, and save yourself.
Hush! Richelieu bears A charm'd life : to all who have braved his power, One common end—the block.
Nay; if he live,
The block your doom !
Better the victim, count, Than the assassin. France requires a Richelieu, But does not need a Mauprat. Truce to this ; All time one midnight, where my thoughts are spectres. What to me fame? What love?
Yet dost thou love not ?
Love? I am young
And Julie fair! (Aside) It is so;
* That in brackets omitted in representation.
Who, lonely in the midnight tent, Gazed on the watchfires in the sleepless air, Nor chose one star amid the clustering hosts To bless it in the name of some fair face Set in his spirit, as that star in heaven? For our divine affections, like the spheres, Move ever, ever musical.
You speak As one who fed on poetry.
Why, man, The thoughts of lovers stir with poetry As leaves with summer-wind. The heart that loves, Dwells in an Eden, hearing angel-lules, As Eve in the first garden. Hast thou seen My Julie, and not felt it henceforth dull To live in the common world, and talk in words That clothe the feelings of the frigid herd ? Upon the perfumed pillow of her lipsAs on his native bed of roses flush'd With Paphian skies–Love smiling sleeps : her voice, The bless'd interpreter of thoughts as pure As virgin wells where Dian takes delight, Or fairies dip their changelings! In the maze Of her harmonious beauties, modesty. (Like some severer grace that leads the choir Of her sweet sisters), every airy motion Attunes to such chaste charm, that passion holds His burning breath, and will not with a sigh Dissolve the spell that binds him! Oh those eyes That woo the earth, shadowing more soul than lurks Under the lids of Psyche! Go! thy lip Curls at the purfled phrases of a lover; Love thou, and if thy love be deep as mine, Thou wilt not laugh at poets.
With each word Thou wak'st a jealous demon in my heart, And my hand clụtches at my hilt
DE MAUPRAT (gayly).
No more! I love! Your breast holds both my secrets; never Unbury either! Come, while yet we may, We'll bask us in the noon of rosy life: Lounge through the gardens, flaunt it in the taverns, Laugh, game, drink, feast : if so confined my days, Faith, I'll enclose the nights. Pshaw! not so grave; I'm a true Frenchman ! Vive la bagatelle ! (As they are going out, enter Huguet and four arquebu
Messire de Mauprat, I arrest you! Follow
You see, my friend,
Adrien de Mauprat
[Exeunt de Maupral, Huguet, fc.
BARADAS. Farewell! I trust for ever! I design'd thee For Richelieu's murderer, but as well his martyr! In childhood you the stronger, and I cursed you: In youth the fairer, and I cursed you still; And now my rival! While the name of Julie Hung on thy lips, I smiled, for then I saw In my mind's eye the cold and grinning death Hang o'er thy head the pall! Ambition, love, Ye twin-born stars of daring destinies, Sit in my house of life! By the king's aid I will be Julie's husband, in despite Of my lord cardinal, By the king's aid I will be minister of France in spite Of my lord cardinal; and then, what then? The king loves Julie-feeble prince-false master
(Producing and gazing on the parchment.) Then, by the aid of Bouillon and the Spaniard, I will dethrone the king; and all-ha! ha! All, in despite of my lord cardinal.
SCENE II. A room in the Palais Cardinal, the walls hung with arras.
A large screen in one corner. A table covered with books, papers, fc.
rude clock in a recess. Busts, statues, bookcases, weapons of different periods, and banners suspended over Richelieu's chair.
And so you think this new conspiracy
That where the lion's skin fell short, he eked it
A weed of hasty growth;