Ter. This dream portends some ill which you shall ’scape. 
Would you see fairer visions, take this night
Your Torrismond within your arms to sleep;
And, to that end, invent some apt pretence
To break with Bertran:  ’twould be better yet,
Could you provoke him to give you the occasion,
And then, to throw him off.

  Enter BERTRAN at a distance.

Leo. My stars have sent him;
For, see, he comes.  How gloomily he looks! 
If he, as I suspect, have found my love,
His jealousy will furnish him with fury,
And me with means, to part.

Bert. [Aside.]
Shall I upbraid her?  Shall I call her false? 
If she be false, ’tis what she most desires. 
My genius whispers me,—­Be cautious, Bertran! 
Thou walkest as on a narrow mountain’s neck,
A dreadful height, with scanty room to tread.

Leo. What business have you at the court, my lord?

Bert. What business, madam?

Leo. Yes, my lord, what business?  ’Tis somewhat, sure, of weighty consequence, That brings you here so often, and unsent for.

Bert. ’Tis what I feared; her words are cold enough, To freeze a man to death. [Aside.]—­May I presume To speak, and to complain?

Leo. They, who complain to princes, think them tame:  What bull dares bellow, or what sheep dares bleat, Within the lion’s den?

Bert. Yet men are suffered to put heaven in mind Of promised blessings; for they then are debts.

Leo. My lord, heaven knows its own time when to give; But you, it seems, charge me with breach of faith!

Bert. I hope I need not, madam;
But as, when men in sickness lingering lie,
They count the tedious hours by months and years,—­
So, every day deferred, to dying lovers,
Is a whole age of pain!

Leo. What if I ne’er consent to make you mine? 
My father’s promise ties me not to time;
And bonds, without a date, they say, are void.

Bert. Far be it from me to believe you bound;
Love is the freest motion of our minds: 
O could you see into my secret soul,
There might you read your own dominion doubled,
Both as a queen and mistress.  If you leave me,
Know I can die, but dare not be displeased.

Leo. Sure you affect stupidity, my lord;
Or give me cause to think, that, when you lost
Three battles to the Moors, you coldly stood
As unconcerned as now.

Bert. I did my best; Fate was not in my power.

Leo. And, with the like tame gravity, you saw A raw young warrior take your baffled work, And end it at a blow.

Bert. I humbly take my leave; but they, who blast
Your good opinion of me, may have cause
To know, I am no coward. [He is going.