Man.No Jerome, no.
Once on a time I serv'd a noble master,
Whose youth was blasted with untoward love,
And he with hope and fear and jealousy
For ever toss'd, led an unquiet life:
Yet, when unruffled by the passing fit,
His pale wan face such gentle sadness wore
As mov'd a kindly heart to pity him;
But Monfort, even in his calmest hour,
Still bears that gloomy sternness in his eye
Which sullenly repells all sympathy.
O no! good Jerome, no, it is not love.
Jer. Hear I not horses trampling at the gate?
(Listening.)
He is arriv'd—stay thou—I had forgot—
A plague upon't! my head is so confus'd—
I will return i'the instant to receive him.
(Exit hastily)
(A great bustle without. Exit Manuel with lights, and returns again lighting in De Monfort, as if just alighted from his journey.)
Man. Your ancient host, my lord, receives you gladly,
And your apartment will be soon prepar'd.
De Mon. 'Tis well.
Man. Where shall I place the chest you gave in charge?
So please you, say my lord.
De Mon. (Throwing himself into a chair.) Where-e'er thou wilt.
