THE SEPERATION: A TRAGEDY.
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The beauteous dame you serve; do me the favour (speaking in a lower voice, and leading her aside)
To tell the noble mistress of this castle That one, devoted dearly to her service,
Who breathes the air in which she breathes, as gales
Wafted from Paradise, begs in her presence
With all devotion to present himself.
SOPHERA (in a loud voice).
TORTONA.
Our warlike mien alarm you. In the field
Whatever our power may be, forget it here.
Within her precincts, Mars himself would doff
His nodding helm, and bend in meek submission.
SOPHERA.
In hall and bower. But think not warlike guise
Will so alarm us now: there are within
Whose nodding plumes, indeed, less downy are,
Whose well-hack'd armour wears a dimmer hue,
Who have already taught our timid eyes
To look more boldly on such awful things.
TORTONA.
