_Osma_. Wait: praise him when time hath given A soundness and consistency to praise: He shares it amply who bestows it right.
_Osma_. Be it so: let us away; New courtiers come—
_Ram._ And why not join the new. Let us attend him, and congratulate; Come on, they enter.
_Osma_. This is now my post No longer: I could face them in the field, I cannot here.
_Ram._ Tomorrow all may change; Be comforted.
_Osma_. The metropolitans? Triumph he may—not over me forgiven. This way, and thro’ the chapel—none are there.
_Opas_. The royal threat still sounds along these halls; Hardly his foot hath past them, and he flees From his own treachery—all his pride, his hopes, Are scatter’d at a breath; even courage fails Now falsehood sinks from under him: behold, Again art thou where reign’d thy ancestors; Behold the chapel of thy earliest prayers, Where I, whose chains are sunder’d at thy sight Ere they could close around these aged limbs, Received and blest thee, when thy mother’s arm Was doubtful if it loosed thee! with delight Have I observed the promises we made Deeply imprest and manfully perform’d. Now, to thyself beneficent, O prince, Never henceforth renew those weak complaints Against Covilla’s vows and Julian’s faith, His honour broken, and her heart estranged. O, if thou holdest peace or glory dear, Away with jealousy—brave Sisabert, Smite from thy bosom, smite that scorpion down; It swells and hardens amid mildewed hopes, O’erspreads and blackens whate’er most delights, And renders us, haters of loveliness, The lowest of the fiends: ambition led The higher on, furious to disposess, From admiration sprung and phrenzied love. This disingenuous soul-debasing passion, Rising from abject and most sordid fear, Stings her own breast with bitter self-reproof, Consumes the vitals, pines, and never dies. Love, Honour, Justice, numberless the forms, Glorious and high the stature, she assumes; But watch the wandering changeful mischief well, And thou shalt see her with low lurid light Search where the soul’s most valued treasure lies, Or, more embodied to our vision, stand With evil eye, and sorcery hers alone, Looking away her helpless progeny, And drawing poison from its very smiles. For Julian’s truth have I not pledged my own? Have I not sworne Covilla weds no other?