| That to the lowly level of his state |
| Brings down his reputation. |
| FATHER JOHN. |
| Oh, my son! |
| High as you stand, I will not strain my eyes |
| To see how higher still you stood before. |
| God’s blessing be upon you. Fare you well. |
| [Exit. |
| ARTEVELDE. |
| The old man weeps. |
But he reverts at once to the topic of his thought,
Should England play me false, &c.
as he always does, for a mind so great, so high, that it cannot fail to look over and around any one object, any especial emotion, returns to its habitual mood with an ease of which shallow and excitable natures cannot conceive. Thus his reflection, after he has wooed Elena, is not that of heartlessness, but of a deep heart.
How little flattering is a woman’s love!
And is in keeping with
I know my course,
And be it armies, cities, people, priests,
That quarrel with my love, wise men or fools,
Friends, foes, or factions, they may swear their oaths,
And make their murmur; rave, and fret, and fear,
Suspect, admonish; they but waste their rage,
Their wits, their words, their counsel; here I stand
Upon the deep foundations of my faith,
To this fair outcast plighted; and the storm
That princes from their palaces shakes out,
Though it should turn and head me, should not strain
The seeming silken texture of this tie.
And not less with
| Pain and grief |
| Are transitory things no less than joy; |
