Thomas Hood- Collected Poetical Works
Page 108
Apollonius.
Peace, madman, peace!
None of your draughts for me — your magic potions,
That stuff your brains with such pernicious cheats!
I say, bear off the bowl! [To Domus.
Lycius.
What! — will he not? —
Then cast it over him,— ‘twill do us well —
He shall be a demi-god against his will.
Cast it I say! — [To Domus.
Domus.
’Tis such a sinful waste!
Why, there then, — there [He throes it over Apollonius.
Look how it falls to the ground! —
Lord you might soak him in it year by year,
And never plump him up to a comely youth
Like you or me, sir! —
Lycius.
Let him go. Farewell! —
Look, foolish Greybeard, — I am going back
To what your wisdom scorn’d. — A minute hence
My soul is in Elysium! — [Exit with Domus.
Apollonius.
Fool, — Farewell, —
Why, I was sprinkled, — yet I feel no wet, —
’Tis strange! — this is some magic, against which
Philosophy is proof. — I must untangle it.
Hold! — [He stands in meditation,
I have it faintly dawning in my brain.
’Tis somewhere in my books (which I’ll refer to) —
Speaking of Nature’s monstrous prodigies,
That there be witching snakes — Circean births —
Who by foul spells, and forgeries, can take
The mask and shape of woman — fair externe,
But viperous within. — And so they creep
Into young hearts, — and falsify the brain
With juggling mockeries. Alas, poor boy —
If this should be thy case! — These are sad tales
To send unto thy father.
[Mercutius enters without perceiving Apollonius:
going up to Lamia’s house he recollects himself.
Mercutius.
Here again!
What folly led me hither? — I thought I was
Proceeding homeward. — Why I’ve walked a circle
And end where I began! — [Apollonius goes up and calls in his ear.
Apollonius.
I’ll tell you, dreamer,
It’s magic, it’s vile magic brought you hither
And made you walk in a fog. —
There, think of that, — be wise, and save yourself!
I’ve better men to care for! [Exit Apollonius.
Mercutius.
What did he say?
The words were drown’d in my ear by something sweeter.
[A strain of wild music within the house.
Music! rare music! — It must be her voice;
I ne’er heard one so thrilling! — Is it safe
To listen to a song so syren-sweet — so exquisite? —
That I might hold my breath entranced and die
Of ardent listening? — she is a miracle!
Enter Domus.
Look, here’s a sot will tell me all he knows.
One of her servants —
Is that your lady’s voice? (to Domus) her pipe’s a rare one.
Domus.
Ay, marry. If you heard it sound within
Till it makes the glasses chime, and all the bottles,
You’d think yourself in heaven.
Mercutius.
I wish she’d sing again!
Domus.
And if you saw her eyes, how you would marvel!
I have seen my master watch them and fall back
Like a madman in his fits. I’m rather dizzy,
And drunken-like myself — The vile quandaries,
Her beauty brings one into — [Staggers about.
Ay, I’m crazed. But you should see our Picus, —
Lord, how he stands agape, ‘till he drops his salver,
And then goes down on his knees.
Mercutius.
And so should I,
Had I been born to serve her! [Sighs.
Domus.
Why you shall, boy;
And have a leather jerkin — marry, shall you?
We need a helper sadly. I’m o’er-burthen’d;
(You see how I am burthen’d) but I’ll teach you
What manners you may want.
Mercutius.
Well, I’m for you —
(I will dislike no place that brings me near her)
Mind you have listed me —
Domus.
And I can promise
You’ll not dislike your fare— ’tis excellent, light
As well as savoury, and will not stuff you;
But when you’ve eat your stretch to the outer button,
In half an hour you’ll hunger. It is all feasting,
With barely a tythe of fasting. — Then such drinking!
There’s such a cellar!
One hundred paces long, (for I have paced it)
By about two hundred narrow — Come along boy. [Exeunt.
SCENE V.
A Chamber in Lamia’s House. Lamia and Lycius are
discovered sitting on a couch.
Lamia.
Nay, sweet-lipp’d Silence,
’Tis now your turn to talk. I’ll not be cheated
Of any of my pleasures, — which I shall be,
Unless I sometimes listen.
Lycius.
Pray talk on,
A little further on. You have not told me
What country bore you, that my heart may set
Its name in a partial place. — Nay, your own name —
Which ought to be my better word for beauty —
I know not.
Lamia.
Wherefore should I talk of such things
I care not to remember? A lover’s memory
Looks back no further than when love began,
As if the dawn o’ the world.
As for my birth — suppose I like to think
That we were dropped from two strange several stars
(Being thus meant for one), why should you wish
A prettier theory, or ask my name,
As if I did not answer, heart and eyes,
To those you call me by? In sooth I will not
Provide you with a worse.
Lycius.
Then I must find it. Now I’m but puzzled
To compound sweet superlatives enough
In all the world of words. [Domus enters boisterously with a letter.
Domus.
An express! an express!
Faith, I’ve express’d it. — I did not even wait (aside)
To pry between the folds.
[Lycius takes the letter and reads in great agitation. Lamia watches him.
Lamia.
Alas! what news is this? Lycius! dear Lycius!
Why do you clutch your brow so? What has chanced
To stab you with such grief? Speak! speak!
Lycius.
My father!
Lamia.
Dead?
Lycius.
Dying — dying — if not dead by this.
I must leave you instantly.
Lamia.
Alas! I thought
This fair-eyed day would never see you from me!
But must you go, indeed?
Lycius.
I must! I must!
This is some fierce and fearful malady
To fall so sudden on him. Why, I left him,
No longer since — ay, even when I met you
We had embraced that morn.
Lamia.
It was but yesterday!
How soon our bliss is marr’d! And must you leave me!
Lycius.
Oh! do not ask again with such a look,
Or I shall linger here and pledge my soul,
To everlasti
ng shame and keen remorse!
Lamia.
The Fates are cruel!
Yet let me cling to thee and weep awhile:
We may not meet again. I cannot feel
You are safe but in these arms. [She embraces him.
Lycius.
I’m split asunder
By opposite factions of remorse and love,
But all my soul clings here.
Domus.
It makes me weep.
He will not see his father. [Lycius casts himself on the couch.
Lamia (striking Domus).
Wretch! take that,
For harrowing up his griefs! Dearest! — my Lycius!
Lean not your brow upon that heartless pillow!
Domus.
How he groan’d then!
Lamia.
Lycius, you fright me!
You turn me cold!
Lycius (rising up).
Oh, in that brief rest,
I’ve had a waking vision of my father!
Ev’n as he lay on his face and groan’d for me,
And shed like bitter tears!
Oh, how those groans will count in heav’n against me, —
One for pain’s cruelty, but two for mine,
That gave a sting to his anguish.
His dying breath will mount to the skies and curse me.
His anger’d ghost
Will haunt my sight, and when I’d look upon you
Step in like a blot between us.
Lamia.
Go, go, or you will hate me. Go and leave me!
If I now strive by words or tears to stay you
For my pleasure’s sake or pains’,
You’d say there was something brutal in my nature
Of cold and fiendish, and unlike woman;
Some taint that devilish ——
Yet give me one long look before you go —
One last, long look! [She fixes her eyes on his.
Lycius.
O Gods, my spirit fails me,
And I have no strength to go although I would.
Lamia.
Perhaps he is dead already!
Lycius.
Ha! Why, then,
What can I? Or, if not, what can I still?
Can I keep him from his urn? or give him breath?
Or replenish him with blood?
Lamia.
Alas! alas!
Would I had art or skill enough to heal him!
Lycius.
Ay, art and skill, indeed, do more than love
In such extremities. Stay! here, hard by,
There dwells a learn’d and most renown’d physician.
Hath wrought mere miracles.
Him I’ll engage, arm’d with our vows and prayers,
To spend his utmost study on my father,
And promptly visit him. A short farewell. [Exit. Domus follows.
Lamia.
Farewell — be not o’er long. It made me tremble
That he should see his father! The oldest eyes
Look through some fogs that young ones cannot fathom,
And lay bare mysteries. Ah me! how frail
Are my foundations! Dreams, mere summer dreams,
Which, if a day-beam pierce, return to nothing!
And let in sadder shows. A foot! so soon!
Why, then, my wishes hold.
Enter Domus and Picus.
Domus.
He’s gone! he’s gone!
He had not snuff’d the air, outside o’ the gate,
When it blew a change in his mind. He bade me tell you,
A voice from the sky-roof, where the gods look down,
Commanded him to his father.
Lamia
No more! no more!
(The skies begin, then, to dispute my charms.)
But did he ne’er turn back?
Domus.
Ay, more than twice
He turn’d on his heel, and stood — then turn’d again
And tramp’d still quicker as he got from hence,
Till at last he ran like a lapwing!
Lamia.
This is a tale
Coin’d by the silly drunkard. You, sir, speak. [To Picus.
Picus.
Nay, by our troths —
Lamia.
Then, Sirrah, do not speak.
If such vile sense be truth, I’ve had too much on’t.
Hence! fly! or I will kill you with a frown.
You’ve madden’d me!
Picus.
I saw her eyes strike fire!
[Picus and Domus run out. Lamia looks round the chamber.
Lamia.
Alone! alone?
Then, Lamia, weep, and mend your shatter-web,
And hang your tears, like morning dew, upon it.
Look how your honey-bee has broken loose
Through all his meshes, and now wings away,
Showing the toils were frail. Ay, frail as gossamers
That stretch from rose to rose. Some adverse pow’r
Confronts me, or he could not tear them thus.
Some evil eye has pierced my mystery!
A blight is in its ken!
I feel my charms decay — my will’s revoked —
And my keen sight, once a prophetic sense,
Is blinded with a cloud — horrid and black.
Like a veil before the face of Misery!
Another Apartment in Lamia’s House. Enter Julius (Lycius’s brother) with Domus.
Julius.
Rumour has not belied the house i’ the least, —
’Tis all magnificent. I pray you, sir,
How long has your master been gone?
Domus.
About two quarts, sir,
That is, as long as one would be a drinking ‘em.
’Tis a very little while since he set off, sir.
Julius.
You keep a strange reckoning.
Where is your mistress? Will she see me?
Domus.
Ay, marry;
That is, if you meet; for it is good broad daylight.
Julius.
This fellow’s manners speak but ill for the house. (Aside.)
Go, Sirrah, to your lady, with my message:
Tell her, one Julius, Lycius’s best friend,
Desires a little converse. [Exit Domus.
Now for this miracle whose charms have bent
The straightest stem of youth strangely awry —
My brother Lycius!
He was not use to let his inclination
Thus domineer his reason: the cool, grave shade
Of Wisdom’s porch dwelt ever on his brow
And govern’d all his thoughts, keeping his passions
Severely chasten’d. Lo! she comes. How wondrously
Her feet glide o’er the ground. Aye, she is beautiful!
So beautiful, my task looks stern beside her,
And duty faints like doubt. [Lamia enters.
Oh, thou sweet fraud!
Thou fair excuse for sin, whose matchless cheek
Vies blushes with the shame it brings upon thee.
Thou delicate forgery of love and virtue,
Why art thou as thou art, not what here seems
So exquisitely promised?
Lamia.
Sir, do you know me?
If not, — and my near eyes declare you strange, —
Mere charity should make you think me better.
Julius.
Oh, would my wishful thought could think no worse
Than I might learn by gazing.
Why are not those sweet looks — those heavenly looks,
True laws to judge thee by, and call thee perfect?
’Tis pity, indeed ’tis pity,
That anything so fair should be a fraud!
Lamia.
Sir, I beseech you, wherefore do you hang
These elegies on me? For pity’s sake
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What do you take me for? No woman, sure,
By aiming thus to wound me (weeping).
Julius.
Ay, call those tears
Into your ready eyes! I’d have them scald
Your cheeks until they fade, and wear your beauty
To a safe and ugly ruin. Those fatal charms
Can show no sadder wreck than they have brought
On many a noble soul, and noble mind!
Pray count me:
How many men’s havocks might forerun the fall
Of my lost brother Lycius?
Lamia.
Are you his brother?
Then I’ll not say a word to vex you: not a look
Shall aim at your offence. You are come to chide me,
I know, for winning him to sell his heart
At such a worthless rate. Yet I will hear you,
Patiently, thankfully, for his dear sake.
I will be as mild and humble as a worm
Beneath your just rebuke. ’Tis sure no woman
Deserved him; but myself the least of all,
Who fall so far short in his value.
Julius.
She touches me! (Aside.)
Lamia.
Look, sir, upon my eyes. Are they not red?
Within an hour, I’ve rained a flood of tears,
To feel, to know
I am no better than the thing I am,
Having but just now leam’d to rate my vileness.
You cannot charge
My unworthy part so bitterly as I do.
If there’s about me anything that’s honest,
Of true and womanly, it belongs to Lycius,
And all the rest is Grief’s.
Julius.
Then I’ll not grieve you —
I came with frowns, but I depart in tears
And sorrow for you both; for what he was,
And what you might have been. — A pair of wonders,
The grace and pride of nature — now disgraced,
And fallen beyond redress.
Lamia.
You wring my heart! —