16
THE SEPERATION: A TRAGEDY.
COUNTESS (shrinking back).
ROVANI.
But in your hall or bower, where ladies smile,
Who is more gentle? Thus it often is:
A lady feels not on her soldier's hand,
That softly presses her more gentle palm,
The deaths which it has dealt.
SOPHERA.
The count must have in thee an able second.
ROVANI.
More rudely press thy snowy arm, fair maid,
Because this graven jewel was the gift
Of a great Moorish princess, whose rude foe
I slew before her eyes?
SOPHERA.
Snapp'd at her robe or sandal'd heels, belike.
ROVANI.
SOPHERA.
How far behind thee is the noble count?