Page:Keats - Poetical Works, DeWolfe, 1884.djvu/411

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What horrors? Is it not a joyous time?
Am I not married to a paragon
"Of personal beauty and untainted soul?"
A blushing fair-eyed purity? A sylph,
Whose snowy timid hand has never sinn'd
Beyond a flower pluck'd, white as itself?
Albert, you do insult my bride—your mistress—
To talk of horrors on our wedding-night!

 Albert. Alas! poor Prince, I would you knew my heart!
'Tis not so guilty—

 Ludolph.Hear, he pleads not guilty!
You are not? or, if so, what matters it?
You have escaped me, free as the dusk air,
Hid in the forest, safe from my revenge;
I cannot catch you! You should laugh at me,
Poor cheated Ludolph! Make the forest hiss
With jeers at me! You tremble—faint at once,
You will come to again. O cockatrice,
I have you! Whither wander those fair eyes
To entice the devil to your help, that he
May change you to a spider, so to crawl
Into some cranny to escape my wrath?

 Albert. Sometimes the counsel of a dying man
Doth operate quietly when his breath is gone:
Disjoin those hands—part—part—do not destroy
Each other—forget her!—-Our miseries
Are equal shared, and mercy is—

 Ludolph.A boon
When one can compass it. Auranthe, try
Your oratory; your breath is not so hitch'd.
[Albert dies.Ay, stare for help!