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Debars thee from the fair Zorada's chamber;
That place which gives the rest of paradise?

ROMIERO.

Ah! so it did to me. It was a pleasure

Where every lovely—every sweetest thing
In seeming shelter, bloom'd i' th' early sun,
Till the first sultry breath of southern winds
Blasted its freshness, leaving naught behind
But tainted fragrance—sered and faded flowers.
It was the magic palace of a dream,
Changed in an instant to some dismal den:
It was a bower of healthful innocence,
Changed to a lazar's vile and loathly ward:
It was———Oh, oh! I know not what I say,
Thinking of what I was and what I am.

GUZMAN.

Nay; give thy ruffled thoughts a little pause;

Be well assured things are not as thou fear'st.
She did appear so good.

ROMIERO.

Alas! she did.

If I but droop'd or looked a little pale,
The stroke of her soft hand, her kindly words,
Her sweet breath on my cheek,—O! it did turn
The hour of pain to bliss!—And all this happiness
Was but delusion—but a hov'ring vapour
That covers for a while the fenny pool.