Ang. "Tis the religion of our art, fair madam, That, by oft looking on the type divine

In which we first were moulded, men remember

You've an errand here,
But, as Vestals

The heaven they're born to.
To show how look the angels.
Cherish the sacred fire, yet let the priest
Light his lamp at it for a thousand altars,
So is your beauty unassoiled, though I
Ravish a copy for the shut-out world!

Isa. [Aside.] Here is the wooing that should win a maid! Bold, yet respectful-free, yet full of honour!

I never saw a youth with gentler eyes;

I never heard a voice that pleased me more:
Let me look on him!

Enter TORTESA, unperceived.

Ang. In a form like

yours,

All parts are perfect, madam; yet, unseen,
Impossible to fancy. With your leave

I'll see your hand ungloved.

Isa. [Removing her glove.] I have no heart

To keep it from you, Signor. There it is!

Ang. [Taking it in his own.] O God, how beautiful may be!

Thy works

Inimitably perfect! Let me look

Close on the tracery of these azure veins.

With what a delicate and fragile thread

They weave their subtle mesh beneath the skin,

And meet, all blushing, in these rosy nails!
How soft the texture of these tapering fingers!
How exquisite the wrist! how perfect all!

[TORTESA rushes forward.

Tor. Now have I heard enough! Why, what are you, To palm the hand of my betrothed bride [to his work. With this licentious freedom? [ANGELO turns composedly And you, madam!

With a first troth scarce cold upon your lips—

Is this your chastity?

Isa. My father's roof

Is o'er me! I'm not your wife.

Tor. Bought-paid for!

The wedding toward: have I no right in you?
Your father, at my wish, bade you be private:
Is this obedience?

Isa. Count Falcone's will

Has, to his daughter, ever been a law;
This, in prosperity-and now, when chance
Frowns on his broken fortunes, I were dead
To love and pity, were not soul and body
Spent for his smallest need! I did consent
To wed his ruthless creditor for this;
I would have sprung into the sea, the grave,
As questionless and soon! My troth is yours;
But, I'm not wedded yet, and, till I am,
The hallowed honour that protects a maid
Is round me, like a circle of bright fire:
A savage would not cross it—nor shall you!
I'm mistress of my presence. Leave me, Sir!

Tor. There's a possession of some lordly acres
Sold to Falcone for that lily hand;

The deed's delivered, and the hand's my own!
I'll see that no man looks on't.

Isa. Shall a lady

Bid you begone twice?

Tor. Twenty times, if't please you!"

[painting.

[She looks at ANGELO, who continues tranquilly Isa. [Aside.] Does he not wear a sword? Is he a coward, That he can hear this man heap insult on me,

And ne'er fall on him?

Tor. Lady, to your chamber!

I have a touch to give this picture, here, [her by the arm. But want no model for't. Come, come!

Isa. Stand back!

[Offers to take

[Aside.] Now, will he see this wretch lay hands on me, And never speak? He cannot be a coward!

No, no! some other reason-not a coward;

I could not love a coward!

Tor. If you will,

Stay where you're better missed-'tis at your pleasure;
I'll hew your kisses from the saucy lips

Of this bold painter-look on't, if you will!

And first, to mar his picture!

[He strikes at the canvas, when ANGELO suddenly draws, attacks, and disarms him.

Ang. Hold! What wouldst thou?

Fool! madman! dog! what wouldst thou with my picture? Speak!-But thy life would not bring back a ray

Of precious daylight, and I cannot waste it.

Begone! begone!

[and returns to his Picture.

[Throws TORTESA's sword from the window,

I'll back to paradise!

'Twas this touch that he marred. So-fair again!

Tor. [Going out.] I'll find you, Sir, when I'm in cooler

blood!

And, madam, you, or Count Falcone for you,

Shall rue this scorn!

[Exit.

Isa. [Looking at ANGELO.] Lost in his work once more:

I shall be jealous of my very picture!

Yet one who can forget his passions so—

Peril his life, and, losing scarce a breath,
Turn to his high, ambitious toil again—
Must have a heart for whose belated waking
Queens might keep vigil!

I

Ang. Twilight falls, fair lady!

must give o'er. Pray Heaven, the downy wing Of its most loving angel guard your beauty!

Good-night!

[Goes out, with a low reverence.

Isa. Good-night! [She looks after him a moment, and then walks thoughtfully off the stage.

Epes Sargent.

VELASCO: A TRAGEDY.

VELASCO, Son of the COUNT DE LERMA, is betrothed to IZIDORA, Daughter of GONZALEZ. A long-standing Feud exists between the Houses of DE LERMA and GONZALEZ, and the latter only yields his unwilling consent at the command of his Sovereign. HERNANDO, Kinsman of GONZALEZ, secretly loves IZIDORA, and, hoping to break off her approaching Marriage, plays upon the credulity of GONZALEZ, by false accusations against the COUNT DE Lerma.

A Street in Burgos.—Enter Gonzalez and Hernando.

Gonzalez. Nay; do not fret me with ambiguous hints. We spake of old De Lerma; and you said,

It was the dotard's privilege to slander.—

To slander whom?-the king? yourself? myself?

You signify no negative to that.

What is't, Hernando? Speak with more direction.
Hernando. My lord, you must forgive me.

To more disclosures-for my peace and thine.

Press me not

Gon. Well, well; 'twere better that it should not be.

De Lerma and myself must soon be fathers

To the same children.

Her. That shall curb my speech.

Let base Detraction slur thy honoured name ;
Can I regard thee as less brave or loyal,

Though others prate of cowardice and treason?

Gon. Those words were never coupled with my name?

Her. It happened thus: Dispute was running high

Upon the German Emperor's new pretensions;
Some did admit them; but De Lerma cried—

"If Henry claim dominion o'er Castile,
Let him prove good his title by the sword!
And cursed be the cravens and the traitors
Who would submit to such a vassalage!"
"There are good men and true," was my reply,
"Who favour his pretensions."—"No, not one.
"What sayst thou to Gonzalez ?”

Gon. Ah! what then?

He did not dare

Her. Ay, kinsman; he did dare

To stigmatize thee as a craven traitor.

Gon. Hernando! if thou playst me false, thy life

Shall be an immolation to my fury!

[Seizes him, and looks intently in his face. Her. I can bring proofs, my lord. Nay; is this cour

teous ?

Well gives my face the lie to my assertion?