Page:A Series of Plays on the Passions Volume 3.pdf/63

Hath he elsewhere to any of the race
Appear'd? or hath he power—

Al.Nay, nay, forbear:
See how she looks. (To Orra.) I fear thou art not well.

Or. There is a sickly faintness come upon me.

Al. And did'st thou say there is a joy in fear?

Or. My mind of late has strange impressions ta'en.
I know not how it is.

Al.A few nights since,
Stealing o'tiptoe, softly thro' your chamber,
Towards my own—

Or. O heaven defend us! did'st thou see aught there?

Al. Only your sleeping self. But you appear'd
Distress'd and troubled in your dreams; and once
I thought to wake you ere I left the chamber,
But I forbore.

Or.And glad I am thou did'st.
It is not dreams I fear; for still with me
There is an indistinctness o'er them cast,
Like the dull gloom of misty twilight, where
Before mine eyes pass all incongruous things,
Huge, horrible and strange, on which I stare
As idiots do upon this changeful world,
With nor surprise nor speculation. No;
Dreams I fear not: it is the dreadful waking,
When, in deep midnight stillness, the roused fancy
Takes up th' imperfect shadows of its sleep,