SCENES FROM THE MAGICO PRODIGIOSO OF CALDERON. CYPRIAN as a Student; CLARIN and Moscon as poor Scholars, with books. CYPRIAN. IN the sweet solitude of this calm place, And flowers and undergrowth of odorous plants, And whilst with glorious festival and song And bears his image in loud jubilee To its new shrine, I would consume what still Be worth the labour, and return for me When the sun seeks its grave among the billows, Which among dim gray clouds on the horizon Dance like white plumes upon a hearse :—and here I shall expect you. MOSCON. I cannot bring my mind, Great as my haste to see the festival Certainly is, to leave you, Sir, without Just saying some three or four hundred words. Of such festivity, you can bring your mind With three or four old books, and turn your back CLARIN. My master's in the right; There is not any thing more tiresome Than a procession day, with troops of men, And dances, and all that. MOSCON. From first to last, Clarin, you are a temporizing flatterer; You praise not what you feel, but what he does ; Toad-eater! CLARIN. You lie under a mistake- For this is the most civil sort of lie That can be given to a man's face. I now Say what I think. CYPRIAN. Enough: you foolish fellows Puffed up with your own doting ignorance You always take the two sides of one question. When night falls, veiling in its shadows wide MOSCON. How happens it, although you can maintain That yet you go there? Livia is she who has surprised my heart; [Exit CYPRIAN. Now since I am alone, let me examine The question which has long disturbed my mind With doubt, since first I read in Plinius The words of mystic import and deep sense in which he defines God. My intellect Can find no God with whom these marks and signs Search even as thou wilt, But thou shalt never find what I can hide. CYPRIAN. What noise is that among the boughs? Who moves? What art thou? DÆMON. 'Tis a foreign gentleman. Even from this morning I have lost my way I parted from my company, and lost My way, and lost my servants and my comrades CYPRIAN. "Tis singular, that, even within the sight Of the high towers of Antioch, you could lose Your way. Of all the avenues and green paths Take which you will you cannot miss your road. DÆMON. And such is ignorance! Even in the sight |