BEATRICE.
Else thou, belike, hadst ta'en the mighty blast
For the quick waving of some gallant's hat
To cool thy glowing cheek, or the soft winnowing
Of outstretch'd pinions—Cupid's wings, perhaps;
Or those of downy swans, as I have seen them,
Scared from the sedgy margin of the lake,
Bending their hurried flight across thy path.
ZORADA.
The war of elements, whose mingled roar
Brought to mine ear the howl of raging fiends,
The lash of mountain billows, the wild shrieks
Of sinking wretches; and at intervals
Cross'd strangely with the near distinctive sounds
Of clatt'ring casements, creaking beams and doors
Burst from their fastenings, swinging in the blast.
It was a fearful night; and many a soul,
On sea and land, have found a dismal end.
BEATRICE.
When seated round our evening fire. Alas!
It will be piteous; but, the ill then past,
It will be soft and pleasing piteousness.
ZORADA.
