UGOLINO.
ACT I.
SCENE I.—An Apartment at the Marquis de Serassi's.
Enter Serassi and Caliari, r.
Ser. Joy! give me joy! my friend, my Caliari:
To-morrow's eve, makes fair Olympia mine!
Cali. I do most heartily! you have but newly
Obtain'd this promise from her, then?
Ser. This morn,
This happy, happy morn! O! my dear friend,
What a rich treasure shall I hold in her!
She moves upon the earth like some blest spirit,
Diffusing light and love o'er all she looks on!
Her glossy ringlets o'er her polish'd brow,
Cluster, like golden vines around the shaft
Of some unspotted column—Like twin suns
O'er the fair Heaven of her cheek, her eyes
Shed matchless lustre!—Through her parted lips,
Sweet as the scented gales of Araby,
Her breath steals o'er the sense, divine proportion
Dwells in her form, graceful as poets feign
The Queen of Beauty's, when she smiling rose,
Bright as the day star from her purple wave.
Yet, these are poor possessions, when compared,
To her still lovelier mind.—O, Caliari!
I scarce can rule my bosom's extacy,
When I do think to-morrow makes her mine.
Cali. 'Tis well I know the lady, or this sketch
Might seem the o'ercharg'd picture of your dotage,
A lover's eye doth magnify each charm,
Whilst it o'erpasses failings which might blur
A Dian's image. But your praise, Serassi,
Although it wrong her not, is not too o'erstrain'd.
If ere perfection wore a woman's form.
Thou wilt possess it in Bertoldi's daughter.
Ser. I joy to hear thee say so, next to her
My heart's bright Empress! thee and brave Orsino,
I hold most dear. I have not seen him lately,
Where hath he hid himself?
Cali. I lighted on him,
Some few hours since, beside the Doge's palace,
And forc'd a kind of promise from the madcap,
That he would meet us ere we sought Monteno's;
But you do know his humor, 'twere as well,
To place dependence on the veering winds,
Or the light vane they wanton with, as trust
To such a promise from the Count Orsino.
Let there but be some sport a-foot, which more,
Shall suit his fancy—we may look in vain for him.
Ser. 'Tis a wild gallant, yet an honest one,
As e'er shook hands with manhood. Let his friend
Need but his fortune, or his sword; this giddiness
Will fade like breath from off the polish'd blade,
Leaving unharm'd its temper, and its edge,
To serve the cause which drew it from the scabbard.
Cali. You hold your mind still for the mask to night,
At our old friend, Monteno's?
Ser. Certainly!
He would not hear of an excuse, and though
My heart will be with my Olympia,
I needs must thither,
Cali. I have business [Crosses to l.
St. Marks, the which dispatch'd, I will return,
And walk there with you.
Ser. Very gladly, sir.[Exit Caliari, l. f. e.
'Tis like a dream to me; but now,—her hand
Was by her father promised to another;
Death snatch'd him hence, and the same sun which saw
My rival's hopes just bursting into bloom,
Beheld them blighted ne'er to blossom more.
I, who, like some unhappy palmer, thrust
From the dear shrine which caus'd his pilgrimage,
Wander'd around the temple where my saint
Was worship’d-wond'ring, saw the gates thrown open,
My zeal acknowledg’d, and my vows received.
Double, thou sluggard time, thy lazy pace,
When love contends thou limpest in the race,
Speed on the day, whose evening's rosy pride,
Shall but reflect the blushes of my Bride![Exit Serassi, r.
Ser. Joy! give me joy! my friend, my Caliari:
To-morrow's eve, makes fair Olympia mine!
Cali. I do most heartily! you have but newly
Obtain'd this promise from her, then?
Ser. This morn,
This happy, happy morn! O! my dear friend,
What a rich treasure shall I hold in her!
She moves upon the earth like some blest spirit,
Diffusing light and love o'er all she looks on!
Her glossy ringlets o'er her polish'd brow,
Cluster, like golden vines around the shaft
Of some unspotted column—Like twin suns
O'er the fair Heaven of her cheek, her eyes
Shed matchless lustre!—Through her parted lips,
Sweet as the scented gales of Araby,
Her breath steals o'er the sense, divine proportion
Dwells in her form, graceful as poets feign
The Queen of Beauty's, when she smiling rose,
Bright as the day star from her purple wave.
Yet, these are poor possessions, when compared,
To her still lovelier mind.—O, Caliari!
I scarce can rule my bosom's extacy,
When I do think to-morrow makes her mine.
Cali. 'Tis well I know the lady, or this sketch
Might seem the o'ercharg'd picture of your dotage,
A lover's eye doth magnify each charm,
Whilst it o'erpasses failings which might blur
A Dian's image. But your praise, Serassi,
Although it wrong her not, is not too o'erstrain'd.
If ere perfection wore a woman's form.
Thou wilt possess it in Bertoldi's daughter.
Ser. I joy to hear thee say so, next to her
My heart's bright Empress! thee and brave Orsino,
I hold most dear. I have not seen him lately,
Where hath he hid himself?
Cali. I lighted on him,
Some few hours since, beside the Doge's palace,
And forc'd a kind of promise from the madcap,
That he would meet us ere we sought Monteno's;
But you do know his humor, 'twere as well,
To place dependence on the veering winds,
Or the light vane they wanton with, as trust
To such a promise from the Count Orsino.
Let there but be some sport a-foot, which more,
Shall suit his fancy—we may look in vain for him.
Ser. 'Tis a wild gallant, yet an honest one,
As e'er shook hands with manhood. Let his friend
Need but his fortune, or his sword; this giddiness
Will fade like breath from off the polish'd blade,
Leaving unharm'd its temper, and its edge,
To serve the cause which drew it from the scabbard.
Cali. You hold your mind still for the mask to night,
At our old friend, Monteno's?
Ser. Certainly!
He would not hear of an excuse, and though
My heart will be with my Olympia,
I needs must thither,
Cali. I have business [Crosses to l.
St. Marks, the which dispatch'd, I will return,
And walk there with you.
Ser. Very gladly, sir.[Exit Caliari, l. f. e.
'Tis like a dream to me; but now,—her hand
Was by her father promised to another;
Death snatch'd him hence, and the same sun which saw
My rival's hopes just bursting into bloom,
Beheld them blighted ne'er to blossom more.
I, who, like some unhappy palmer, thrust
From the dear shrine which caus'd his pilgrimage,
Wander'd around the temple where my saint
Was worship’d-wond'ring, saw the gates thrown open,
My zeal acknowledg’d, and my vows received.
Double, thou sluggard time, thy lazy pace,
When love contends thou limpest in the race,
Speed on the day, whose evening's rosy pride,
Shall but reflect the blushes of my Bride![Exit Serassi, r.