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the outlaw.
With a jealous eye—one hungry for revenge—
And marked well, upon my bosom's tablets,
Each cozening trait.
Page. Oh, my lord, my lord!
I pray thee look not thus.
B, Alber. [recovers himself.] Speak on young sir;
What of thy virtuous lady?
Page. For hours she leans 'gainst yonder battlement,
With eyes, that weeping, seem two precious gems,
Half hidden 'neath the pure and lucid wave,
That but enhance their beauty.
Believe me, noble sir, she mourns the loss
Of thy prized love most deeply.
I have seen true and honest grief:
My mother wept when my kind father died—
So weeps the gentle Lady Isabel.
B. Alber. [musing.] It seems as yesterday.
I see her now, with modest look,
Gazing upon my face—my own fair bride!
Was that a brow to write deceiver on?
Oh! woman, woman!
And marked well, upon my bosom's tablets,
Each cozening trait.
Page. Oh, my lord, my lord!
I pray thee look not thus.
B, Alber. [recovers himself.] Speak on young sir;
What of thy virtuous lady?
Page. For hours she leans 'gainst yonder battlement,
With eyes, that weeping, seem two precious gems,
Half hidden 'neath the pure and lucid wave,
That but enhance their beauty.
Believe me, noble sir, she mourns the loss
Of thy prized love most deeply.
I have seen true and honest grief:
My mother wept when my kind father died—
So weeps the gentle Lady Isabel.
B. Alber. [musing.] It seems as yesterday.
I see her now, with modest look,
Gazing upon my face—my own fair bride!
Was that a brow to write deceiver on?
Oh! woman, woman!
