Taught thy young arms thine earliest feats of strength;
With boastful pride thine early rise beheld
In glory's paths, contented then to fill
A second place, so I might serve with thee;
And say'st thou now, I am no friend of thine?
Well be it so; I am thy kinsman still,
And by that title will I save thy name
From danger of disgrace. Indulge thy will;
I'll lay me down and feign that I am sick,
And yet I shall not feign—I shall not feign,
For thy unkindness makes me sick indeed;
It will be said that Basil tarried here
To save his friend, for so they'll call me still;
Nor will dishonour fall upon thy name
For such a kindly deed.—
(Basil walks up and down in great agitation, then stops, covers his face with his hands, and seems to be overcome. Rosinberg looks at him earnestly.)
Ros.O! blessed heav'n, he weeps!
(Runs up to him, and catches him in his arms.)
O Basil! I have been too hard upon thee.
And is it possible I've mov'd thee thus?
Bas. (in a convulsed broken voice.) I will renounce—I'll leave—
Ros.What says my Basil?
Bas. I'll Mantua leave—I'll leave this seat of bliss—
This lovely woman—tear my heart in twain—
