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They glare upon me like an evil eye.
I cannot stay. Hark! how they mock at me!
They hiss at me like serpents ! Save me! save me !

[She wakes.
How late is it, Dolores ?

It is midnight.
Prec. We must be patient. Smooth this pillow for me.

[She sleeps again. Noise from the garden, and voices.
Voice. Muera!
Another voice. O villains! villains !

So! have at you!
Voice. Take that!

Oh, I am wounded!
Dol. (shutting the window).

Jesu Maria!

ACT III. SCENE I. A Cross-road through a wood. In the back-ground a distant village spire. VICTORIAN and HYPOLITO, HYPOLITo plays and sings.

Ah, Love!"
Perjured, false, treacherous Love!

Of all that mankind may not rue!

Most untrue
To him who keeps most faith with theo.

Woe is me!
The falcon has the eyes of the dove,

Ah, Love!

Perjured, false, treacherous Love!
Vict. Yes, Love is ever busy with his shuttle,
Is ever weaving into life's dull warp
Bright, gorgeous flowers and scenes Arcadian;
Hanging our gloomy prison-house about
With tapestries, that make its walls dilate
In never-ending vistas of delight.

Hyp. Thinking to walk in those Arcadian pastures,
Thou hast run thy noble head against the wall.

SONG. (continued.)

Thy deceits
Give us clearly to comprehend,

Whither tend
All thy pleasures, all thy sweets!

They are cheats,
Thorns below and flowers above.

Ah, Love?

Perjured, false, treacherous Love!
Vict. A very pretty song. I thank thee for it.
Hyp. It suits thy case.

Indeed, I think it does.
What wise man wrote it ?

Lopez Maldonado.
Vict. In truth, a pretty song,

With much truth in it.


I hope thou wilt profit by it; and in earnest
Try to forget this lady of thy love.

Vict. I will forget her! All dear recollections
Pressed in my heart, like flowers within a book,
Shall be torn out, and scattered to the winds !
I will forget her! But perhaps hereafter,
When she shall learn how heartless is the world,
A voice within her will repeat my name,
And she will say, “ He was indeed my friend !"
Oh, would I were a soldier, not a scholar,
That the loud march, the deafening beat of drums,
The shattering blast of the brass-throated trumpet,
The din of arms, the onslaught and the storm,
And a swift death, might make me deaf for ever
To the upbraidings of this foolish heart!

Hyp. Then let that foolish heart upbraid no more !
To conquer love, one need but will to conquer.

Vict. Yet, good Hypolito, it is in vain
I throw into Oblivion's sea the sword
That pierces me; for, like Excalibar,
With gemmed and flashing hilt, it will not sink.
There rises from below a hand that grasps it,
And waves it in the air; and wailing voices
Are heard along the shore.

And yet at last
Down sank Excalibar to rise no more.
This is not well. In truth, it vexes me.
Instead of whistling to the steeds of Time,
To make them jog on merrily with life's burden,
Like a dead weight thou hangest on the wheels.
Thou art too young, too full of lusty health,
To talk of dying.

Yet I fain would die!
To go through life, unloving and unloved ;
To feel that thirst and hunger of the soul
We cannot still; that longing, that wild impulse,
And struggle after something we have not,
And cannot have; the effort to be strong ;
And, like the Spartan boy, to smile, and smile,
While secret wounds do bleed beneath our cloaks ;
All this the dead feel not,—the dead alone!
Would I were with them!

We shall all be soon.
Vict. It cannot be too soon ; for I am weary
Of the bewildering masquerade of Life,
Where strangers walk as friends, and friends as strangers ;
Where whispers overheard betray false hearts;
And through the mazes of the crowd we chase
Some form of loveliness, that smiles, and beckons,
And cheats us with fair words, only to leave us
A mockery and a jest ; maddened, -confused, -
Not knowing friend from foe.

Why seek to know ?

Enjoy the merry shrove-tide of thy youth!
Take each fair mask for what it gives itself,
Nor strive to look beneath it.

I confess,
That were the wiser part. But Hope no longer
Comforts my soul. I am a wretched man,
Much like a poor and shipwrecked mariner,
Who, struggling to climb up into the boat,
Has both his bruised and bleeding hands cut cff
And sinks again into the weltering sea,
Helpless and hopeless!

Yet thou shalt not perish,
The strength of thine own arm is thy salvation.
Above thy head, through rifted clouds, there shines
A glorious star. Be patient. Trust thy star!

[Sound of a village bell in the distance.]
Vict. Ave Maria ! I hear the sacristan
Ringing the chimes from yonder village belfry!
A solemn sound, that echoes far and wide
Over the red roofs of the cottages,
And bids the labouring hind a-field, the shepherd
Guarding his flock, the lonely muleteer,
And all the crowd in village streets, stand still,
And breathe a prayer unto the blessed Virgin !

Hyp. Amen! amen! Not half a league from hence
The village lies.

This path will lead us tô it,
Over the wheat-fields, where the shadows sail
Across the running sea, now green, now blue,
And, like an idle mariner on the main,
Whistles the quail. Come, let us hasten on,

[Exeunt. SCENE II. Public square in the village of Guadarama. The Are

Maria still tolling. A crowd of villagers, with their hats in their hands, as if in prayer. In front a group of Gipsies. The bell rings a merrier peal. A Gipsy dance. Enter Pancho, followed by PEDRO CRESPO. Pancho. Make room, ye vagabonds and Gipsy thieves ! Make room for the Alcalde and for me!

Pedro C. Keep silence all! I have an edict here
From our most gracious lord the King of Spain,
Jerusalem, and the Canary Islands,
Which I shall publish in the market-place.
Open your ears and listen!
Enter the PADRE CURA at the door of his cottage.

Padre Cura,
Good day! and, pray you, hear this edict read.

Padre C. Good day, and God be with you! Pray, what is it? Pedro P. An act of banishment against the Gipsies!

[Agitation and murmurs in the crowd. Pancho. Silence!

Pedro P. (reads). "I hereby order and command, That the Egyptian and Chaldean strangers,

Known by the name of Gipsies, shall henceforth
Be banished from the realm, as vagabonds
And beggars; and if, after seventy days,
Any be found within our kingdom's bounds,
They shall receive a hundred lashes each;
The second time shall have their ears cut off ;
The third, be slaves for life to him who takes them,
Or burnt as heretics. Signed, I, the King.'
Vile miscreants and creatures unbaptized!
You hear the law! Obey and disappear;

Pancho. And if in seventy days you are not gone, Dead or alive I make you all my slaves. [The Gipsies go out in confusion, showing signs of fear and discon

tent. PANCHO follows.] Padre C. A righteous law! A very righteous law! Pray you sit down.

Pedro P. I thank you heartily [They seat themselves on a bench at the PADRE CURA's door. Sound

of guitars heard at a distance, approaching during the dialogue

which follows.
A very righteous judgment, as you say,
Now tell me, Padre Cura,-you know all things,-
How came these Gipsies into Spain ?
Padre C.

Why, look you :
They came with Hercules from Palestine,
And hence are thieves and vagrants, Sir Alcalde,
As the Simoniacs from Simon Magus.
And, look you, as Fray Jayme Bleda says,
There are a hundred marks to prove a Moor
Is not a Christian, so'tis with the Gipsies.
They never marry, never go to mass,
Never baptize their children, nor keep Lent,
Nor see the inside of a church,-nor-nor-

Pedro P. Good reasons-good, substantial reasons all!
No matter for the other ninety-five.
They should be burnt, I see it plain enough, -
They should be burnt.

Enter VICTORIAN and HYPOLITO, playing.
Padre C.

And pray, whom have we here? Pedro P. More vagrants! By Saint Lazarus, more vagrants! : Hyp. Good evening, gentlemen! Is this Guadarama ?

Padre C. Yes. Guadarama, and good evening to you.

Hyp. We seek the Padre Cura of the village;
And, judging from your dress and reverend mien,
You must be he.
Padre C. I am. Pray, what's your pleasure ?

Hyp. We are poor students, travelling in vacation.
You know this mark?

[Touching the wooden spoon in his hat-band. Padre C. (joyfully). Ay, know it, and have worn it. Pedro P. (aside). Soup-eaters! by the mass ! The worst of



And there's no law against them. Sir, your servant. [Epit,

Padre C. Your servant, Pedro Crespo.

Padre Cura,
From the first moment I beheld your face,
I said within myself, “ This is the man!"
There is a certain something in your looks,
A certain scholar-like and studious something,
You understand, which cannot be mistaken;
Which marks you as a very learned man, -
In fine, as one of us.

Vict, (aside). What impudence!

Hyp.. As we approached, I said to my companion, That is the Padre Cura; mark my words!”. Meaning your Grace. 6. The other man,” said I, “Who sits so awkwardly upon the bench, Must be the sacristan.” Padre C.

Ah! said you so ?
Why, that was Pedro Crespo, the alcalde!

Hyp. Indeed ! you much astonish me! His air
Was not so full of dignity and grace
As an alcalde's should be.
Padre C.

That is true.
He is out of humour with some vagrant Gipsies,
Who have their camp here in the neighbourhood.
There is nothing so undignified as anger.

Hyp. The Padre Cura will excuse our boldness,
If, from his well-known hospitality,
We crave a lodging for the night.
Fadre C.

I pray you!
You do me honour! I am but too happy
To have such guests beneath my humble roof.
It is not often that I have occasion
To speak with scholars; and Emollit mores,
Nec sinit esse feros, Cicero says,

Hyp. 'Tis Ovid, is it not ?
Padre C.

No, Cicero.
Hyp. Your Grace is right. You are the better scholar.
Now what a dunce I was to think it Ovid !
But hang me if it is not! (Aside).

Padre C.
He was a very great man, was Cicero!
Pray you, go in, go in! no ceremony.

[Exeunt. SCENE III. A Room in the PADRE CURA's house. Enter the PADRB and

Padre C. So then, Senor, you come from Alcalá.
I am glad to hear it. It was there I studied.

Hyp. And left behind an honoured name, no doubt,
How may I call your Grace ?
Padre C.

De Santillana, at your Honour's service,

Hyp. Descended from the Marquis Santillana ?
From the distinguished poet ?
Padre 0

From the Marquis,

Pass this way.

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