Sober, discreet, and able to subdue

His passions otherwise-even like our Lycius-
For a fortnight lived in a luxury of wealth,
Till suddenly she vanished, palace and all,
Like the shadow of a cloud.

JULIUS.

But now unto the proof.

The dainty fable!
Methinks this sounds

Like a real door (knocking); a cloud scarce wars so,

But when Jove strikes it with a thunderbolt.

I'll tell you, sir,

She is a wanton, and that's quite enough.

To perish a world of wealth.

[PICUS comes to the door.

Ho, sirrah! fellow !

Is your lady now within ?

PICUS.

No, sir, she's out.

Something hath put her out-she will see nobody.
She's ill, she's grievous bad-her head won't bear

The rout of company.

APOLLONIUS.

[4 loud shout without.

Why, then, I think

The medical conclave might observe more quiet.

Look, knave! are these her grave, her learned physicians ?

To settle our dispute: we have a gage on't,

The sophist here and I.

There is one lives in that house-(pointing to LAMIA'S

She was kind enough, for our poor sakes, to send
One Lycius, her late suitor, on an errand

That will make him footsore.

CURIO.

Yes, a sort of summons

Cunningly forged to bid him haste to his father,
Who lay in the jaws of death. Lord, how he'll swear
To find the old cock quite well!

JULIUS.

This is too true. [To APOLLONIUS,

I left our father but this very morn

The halest of old men. He was then on his way
Toward this city, on some state affair.

They'll encounter upon the road!

APOLLONIUS.

Here is some foul and double-damned deception.

[LAMIA, by signs, assents to this reflection.

I'll catechise myself. Here, sir-—you—you—

[TO CURIO.

Who have gazed upon this witch, touched her, and talked

with her,

How know you she is woman, flesh and blood,

VOL. VI.

True clay and mortal lymph, and not a mockery
Made up of infernal elements of magic?

Canst swear she is no cloud-no subtle ether

No fog, bepainted with deluding dyes-
No cheating underplot-no covert shape,
Making a filthy masquerade of nature?
I say, how know ye this?

CURIO.

How? by my senses.

If I nipped her cheek till it brought the white and red,

I wot she is no fog.

APOLLONIUS.

Fie on the senses !

What are the senses but our worst arch-traitors?
What is a madman but a king betrayed

By the corrupted treason of his senses?
His robe a blanket, and his sceptre a straw,
His crown his bristled hair.

Fie on the shallow senses! What doth swear
Such perjuries as the senses?—what give birth
To such false rumors and base verdicts render
In the very spite of truth? Go to: thy senses
Are bond-slaves, both to madness and to magic,
And all the mind's disease. I say the senses
Deceive thee, though they say a stone's a stone.
And thou wilt swear by them an oath, forsooth,
And say the outer woman is utter woman,

And not a whit a snake! Hark! there's my answer.

That noise shall be my comment.

[LAMIA closes the window violently.

GALLO.

He talks in riddles,

Like a sphinx lapped in a blanket. Gentles-Curio—
Let us leave him to his wisdom.

[Exeunt CURIO, GALLO, &c.

There's one I know in her house,

By name Mercutius, a most savage fellow :

I commend ye to his wrath.

A Chamber in LAMIA's House. Enter MEROUTIUS in a distracted

manner.

MERCUTIUS.

Where is this haunting witch? Not here! not here !—

Why then for a little rest and unlooked calm

Ay, such a calm

As the shipmate curses on the stagnate sea
Under the torrid zone, that bakes his deck

Till it burns the sole of his foot. My purpose idles,
But my passions burn without pause; O how this hot
And scarlet plague runs boiling through my veins
Like a molten lava! I'm all parched up.
There's not a shady nook throughout my brain
For a quiet thought to lie-no, not a spring
Of coolness left in my heart. If I have any name,
It is Fever, who is all made up of fire,

Of pangs-deliriums-raving ecstacies—

And desperate impulse. Ha! a foot !-I know it!-
Now then, I'll ambush here, and come upon her

Like a wild boar from a thicket.

[He hides himself behind an arras: LAMIA enters, holding her forehead betwixt her palms.

LAMIA.

This should be a real head, or 'twould not throb so;
Who ever doubts it? ·

I would he had these racking pains within;

Ay, and those he hath set in my heart, to drive him mad.

There are two below beseech you

For a conference. The one's a wrinkled greybeard,

The other

LAMIA.

You need not name. I will see neither;

And tell them-look-with a copy of this frown,
If they congregate again beneath my eaves,