Thy generous love, that still the breath of heaven
Wafts gladness to her soul!
Rai. Heaven!—Heaven is just!
And being so, must guard thee, sweet one, still.
Trust none beside.—Oh! the omnipotent skies
Make their wrath manifest, but insidious man
Doth compass those he hates with secret snares,
Wherein lies fate. Know, danger walks abroad,
Mask'd as a reveller. Constance! oh! by all
Our tried affection; all the vows which bind
Our hearts together, meet me in these bowers,
Here, I adjure thee, meet me, when the bell
Doth sound for vesper-prayer!
Con. And know'st thou not
'Twill be the bridal hour?
Rai. It will not, love!
That hour will bring no bridal!—Nought of this
To human ear; but speed thou hither, fly,
When evening brings that signal.—Dost thou heed?
This is no meeting, by a lover sought
To breathe fond tales, and make the twilight groves
And stars, attest his vows; deem thou not so,
Therefore denying it!—I tell thee, Constance!
If thou woulds't save me from such fierce despair
As falls on man, beholding all he loves
Perish before him, while his strength can but
Strive with his agony—thou'lt meet me then?
Look on me, love!—I am not oft so moved—
Thou'lt meet me?
Con. Oh! what mean thy words?—If then
My steps are free,—I will. Be thou but calm.
