Enter D'ORMEA. Long live King Charles !— No-Charles's counsellor ! Well, is it over, Marquis? Did I jest? D'O. "King Charles!" What then may you be? Vic. Any thing! A country gentleman that's cured of bustle, D'O. Then, Victor, Captain against Catinat, At Staffarde, where the French beat you; and Duke -Now, "any little place's Count" Vic. Proceed! D'O. Breaker of vows to God, who crowned you first; Breaker of vows to Man, who kept you since; Most profligate to me, who outraged God And Man to serve you, and am made I was but privy to, by passing thus pay crimes To your imbecile son-who, well you know, See you on your return (you will return) To him you trust in for the moment . . . Vic. Trust in him? (merely a prime-minister D'O. How? In his fear His love, but pray discover for yourself Aha, Vic. you Leave to your fate-mere lumber in the midst, you made for, you sort of ministers ? D'O.-Not left, though, to my fate! son Your witless Has more wit than to load himself with lumber: He foils you that way, and I follow you. Vic. Stay with my son-protect the weaker side! In all this perfidy! Vic. My own return ! Prevent, beside, D'O. That's half prevented now! "Twill go hard but you'll find a wondrous charm Silk-mills to watch-vines asking vigilance- Vic. [after a slight pause.] · I've kept them wait ing? Yes! ... Come in-complete the Abdication, sir! [They go out. Enter POLYXENA. Pol. A shout? The sycophants are free of Charles ! Oh, is not this like Italy? No fruit Of his or my distempered fancy, this- Here they've set forms for such proceedings-Victor Of a son's right. Our duty's palpable. Come you safe out of them, my Charles! Our life Patience and self-devotion, fortitude, Simplicity and utter truthfulness -All which, they shout to lose! So, now my work Begins to save him from regret. Save Charles Regret?-the noble nature! He's not made Like the Italians: 'tis a German soul. CHARLES enters crowned. Oh, where's the King's heir? prince? Gone— Gone-the Crown Where's Savoy? Gone:-Sardinia? Gone!—But Charles As his gray eyes seemed widening into black Because I praised him, then how will he look? Pol. Oh worst, worst, worst of all! Tell me what, Victor? He has made you King? What's he then? What's to follow this? You, King? Cha. Have I done wrong? Yes-for you were not by! Pol. Tell me from first to last. Cha. Hush- -a new world Brightens before me; he is moved away And I, alone, tend upward, more and more Cha. Pol. was not this Victor, Duke of Savoy He was. And the Duke spent Since then, just four-and-fifty years in toil |