_Ter._ What fear you more?

_Leo._ I am ashamed to say, 'tis but a fancy.
At break of day, when dreams, they say, are true,
A drowzy slumber, rather than a sleep,
Seized on my senses, with long watching worn:
Methought I stood on a wide river's bank,
Which I must needs o'erpass, but knew not how;
When, on a sudden, Torrismond appeared,
Gave me his hand, and led me lightly o'er,
Leaping and bounding on the billows' heads,
'Till safely we had reached the farther shore.

_Ter._ This dream portends some ill which you shall 'scape.
Would you see fairer visions, take this night
Your Torrismond within your arms to sleep;
And, to that end, invent some apt pretence
To break with Bertran: 'twould be better yet,
Could you provoke him to give you the occasion,
And then, to throw him off.

_Enter_ BERTRAN _at a distance._

_Leo._ My stars have sent him;
For, see, he comes. How gloomily he looks!
If he, as I suspect, have found my love,
His jealousy will furnish him with fury,
And me with means, to part.

_Bert._ [_Aside._]
Shall I upbraid her? Shall I call her false?
If she be false, 'tis what she most desires.
My genius whispers me,--Be cautious, Bertran!
Thou walkest as on a narrow mountain's neck,
A dreadful height, with scanty room to tread.

_Leo._ What business have you at the court, my lord?

_Bert._ What business, madam?

_Leo._ Yes, my lord, what business?
'Tis somewhat, sure, of weighty consequence,
That brings you here so often, and unsent for.

_Bert._ 'Tis what I feared; her words are cold enough,
To freeze a man to death. [_Aside._]--May I presume
To speak, and to complain?

_Leo._ They, who complain to princes, think them tame:
What bull dares bellow, or what sheep dares bleat,
Within the lion's den?

_Bert._ Yet men are suffered to put heaven in mind
Of promised blessings; for they then are debts.

_Leo._ My lord, heaven knows its own time when to give;
But you, it seems, charge me with breach of faith!

_Bert._ I hope I need not, madam;
But as, when men in sickness lingering lie,
They count the tedious hours by months and years,--
So, every day deferred, to dying lovers,
Is a whole age of pain!

_Leo._ What if I ne'er consent to make you mine?
My father's promise ties me not to time;
And bonds, without a date, they say, are void.

_Bert._ Far be it from me to believe you bound;
Love is the freest motion of our minds:
O could you see into my secret soul,
There might you read your o