Leo. Why do you pause? proceed.

Tor. As one, condemned to leap a precipice,
Who sees before his eyes the depth below,
Stops short, and looks about for some kind shrub
To break his dreadful fall.—­so I—­
But whither am I going?  If to death,
He looks so lovely sweet in beauty’s pomp,
He draws me to his dart.—­I dare no more.

Bert. He’s mad, beyond the cure of hellebore.  Whips, darkness, dungeons, for this insolence.

Tor. Mad as I am, yet I know when to bear.

Leo. You’re both too bold.—­You, Torrismond, withdraw,
I’ll teach you all what’s owing to your queen.—­
For you, my lord,—­
The priest to-morrow was to join our hands;
I’ll try if I can live a day without you.—­
So both of you depart, and live in peace.

Alph. Who knows which way she points?  Doubling and turning like an hunted hare;—­ Find out the meaning of her mind who can.

Pedr. Who ever found a woman’s? backward and forward, The whole sex in every word.  In my conscience, when she was getting, her mother was thinking of a riddle. [Exeunt all but the Queen and TERESA.

Leo. Haste, my Teresa, haste, and call him back.

Ter. Whom, madam?

Leo. Him.

Ter. Prince Bertran?

Leo. Torrismond; There is no other he.

Ter. [Aside.] A rising sun, Or I am much deceived. [Exit TERESA.

Leo. A change so swift what heart did ever feel! 
It rushed upon me like a mighty stream,
And bore me, in a moment, far from shore. 
I loved away myself; in one short hour
Already am I gone an age of passion. 
Was it his youth, his valour, or success? 
These might, perhaps, be found in other men: 
’Twas that respect, that awful homage, paid me;
That fearful love, which trembled in his eyes,
And with a silent earthquake shook his soul. 
But, when he spoke, what tender words he said! 
So softly, that, like flakes of feathered snow,
They melted as they fell.—­

  Enter TERESA with TORRISMOND.

Ter. He waits your pleasure.

Leo. ’Tis well; retire.—­Oh heavens, that I must speak So distant from my heart!—­ [Aside. [To TOR.] How now!  What boldness brings you back again?

Tor. I heard ’twas your command.

Leo. A fond mistake,
To credit so unlikely a command;
And you return, full of the same presumption,
To affront me with your love!

Tor. If ’tis presumption, for a wretch condemned,
To throw himself beneath his judge’s feet: 
A boldness more than this I never knew;
Or, if I did, ’twas only to your foes.

Leo. You would insinuate your past services, And those, I grant, were great; but you confess A fault committed since, that cancels all.