CHARLES: I had thought
Would start up in your words some Titan woe,
No human catapult could war upon!
Some dread colossal doom, frenzied to fall!
Were it he's traitor gnawing at my throne,
Or ready with some potent cruelty
To blight this tenderness new-sprung in me--
I would--even have listened!
(_Noise is heard at the postern. It is unlocked. HAEMON
enters, and stops in consternation._)
CHARLES: Keys? To--this?
HAEMON: I--have excuse.
CHARLES: Perchance also you have
Them to my gems and secrecies? Shall I
Not show their hiding?--rubies, and fair gold?
HAEMON: Mistake me not, my lord.
CHARLES: I could not: you
Have come at midnight--a most honest hour.
Enter this postern--a most honest way,
And seem most honest--Why, I could not, sir!
HAEMON: You wrong me, and have wronged me. I but come
To loose my sister.
CHARLES: As to-day you would
Have loosed her with a piercing--into death?
HAEMON: Rather, could I! Antonio--yet neither.
Since you, not he, are here, my passion melts
Into a plea. Humbly as manhood may--
CHARLES: This fever still?
HAEMON: This fever! Must I be
As ice while soiling flames leap out at her?
And passionless--as one cold in a trance?
Rigid while she in stealth is drugged to shame?
Be voiceless and be vain, unstung, and still?
I must wait softly while her innocence
Is drained as virgin freshness from the morn?--
Though he were twice Antonio and your son,
An emperor and a god, I would not!
CHARLES: Ever,
And ever bent upon Antonio?
Be not a torrent, boy, of rush and foam.
Be not, of roar!--Yet--look: Antonio?
You said Antonio?
HAEMON: Yes.
CHARLES (_troubled_): You did ill
To say it! He's my son.
HAEMON: I care not.
CHARLES: Have
You cause--a ground--some reason? Men should when
Suspicions curve their lips.
HAEMON: Cause! reason!
CHARLES: No:
He is my son. His flesh has memories
That would cry out and curdle him to madness,
Palsy and strangle every pregnant wish,
Or bring in him compassion like a flood.
HAEMON (_contemptuous_): O----?
CHARLES: Never!--Yet, a lurking at my brain!
_Enter PAULA, hurriedly._
PAULA: My lord Antonio! my lady! (_Seeing CHARLES._) O!
CHARLES (_strangely_): Come here.
PAULA: O, sir!
CHARLES (_taking her wrist_): Were you not in a haste?
PAULA: I--I--I do not know.
CHARLES: Girl!--Why do you
Drop fearful to your knees?
PAULA: 'Tis late, sir, late,
Let me go in!
CHARLES: You have a mistress who
Keeps quick temptation in her eyes and hair.
A shy mole too lies pillowed on her cheek--
Does she rest well?