Lucia.

My lady.

Mar. To horse, Lucia! we start at once. Order the horses.

Lu. Holy Mary, defend us! It cannot be thou meanest ...

Mar. What is this, now? Last night didst thou not promise?

Lu. If I did, ’Twas madness: think of the risk.

Mar. I take the risk.

Lu. Consider.

Mar. I have considered.

Lu. O, dear mistress, I fear all will not end well; think again. Think what thou leavest.

Mar. I think I shall leave thee.

Lu. But when shall we return?

Mar. Maybe to-morrow. Order the horses. I shall go without thee. Quick, quick, begone!

Lu. Well, well. Thou hast found a man: I being a woman must help thee, tho’ ’tis madness.

Mar. Go, girl: I know it. Thou’lt be true, Lucia: Only be quick.

Lu. Well, well: may heaven forgive us. [Exit.

Mar. Forgive, she saith. Forgive me rather, oh heaven! The sourness of my spirit hitherto: Yet now forgive me not if I dare tamper With this intrinsic passion. O joy, my joy! This beauteous world is mine: All Sicily is mine: This morning mine. I saw the sun, my slave, Poising on high his shorn and naked orb For my delight. He there had stayed for me, Had he not read it in my heart’s delight I bade him on. The birds at dawn sang to me, Crying ’Is life not sweet? O is’t not sweet?’ I looked upon the sea; there was not one, Of all his multitudinous waves, not one, That with its watery drift at raking speed Told not my special joy. O happy lovers In all the world, praise God with me: his angels Envy us, seeing we are his favourites. What else could grant such joy? Now on my journey Must I set forth, to be a brigand’s wife ... That’s but the outward of it, and looks strange: For, oh, the heart of it is a fire of passion To lick up trifling life. Away, such dainty stuff: Let me stand forth myself.—Yet ere I go I must send Constance word. To whom to trust My letter? Ah, Philip ...

Enter Philip.