[to the NURSE]. Bid them bring hither
Some wine and morsels for Sir Palmerin,
And torches, and their lutes and dulcimers.

[Exit NURSE.

PALMERIN. We sup to-night beneath a lovers' moon
Not quite at full.

FLERIDA. We sup beneath the stars
That never wane, though nether storms obscure
Their revolutions to the wistful eyes
Of mortals. So our love shall never wane
But when its fame on earth is heard no more,
Translated to the language of the skies,
It yet shall be a parcel of that joy
Which saves the world from baseness.

Attendants with torches and musical instruments enter, while others bring in supper.

SONG.

Come make thy dwelling here
Where all sweet pleasures are.
For many a weary year
From mates and lady dear
Thou wanderest afar.
Come make thy dwelling here
Beneath love's golden star.
The battles' stress is o'er
That should thy worth approve.
Oh, follow now no more
The ruby star of war
That onward still must move.
Fixed shines above thy door
The golden star of love.

PALMERIN. Flerida,
What solace had thy orphaned life for thee
In this fair desert? Was not Ulric here
To lend thee succour?

FLERIDA. He was here, alas!

PALMERIN. Alas?

FLERIDA. That he proved false.

PALMERIN. I marvel. Speak.

FLERIDA. Ah me! A sorry tale.—He said the castle
As to my father's second came to him;
That I within it, as the world would think,
Must be his also. Doubtless thou wast dead,
Else tidings would have come. To save my honour
I must not wait, but bend to be his wife.

PALMERIN. Said Ulric so, that brave and trusty man?
Only some madness could transform his soul
So utterly.

FLERIDA. I question not the cause,

I mark the deed and brand the infamy.
When he had spoken and beheld me firm,
The coward threatened force. We were alone
And he unarmed; it was a woman's body,
Not a man's soul, he thought to cope withal.
My father's sword was hanging by the wall:
I drew the blade, and as he rushed to snatch it
Transfixed his body; at my feet he fell
Writhing; I cried for help. Then Gunther came
And the young Hugh. I published his offence,
And when the torment and the fever passed,
For my poor strength had left some breath in him,
Fettered and manacled they brought him forth
Into the hall, before my men-at-arms
And the red witness of his own foul blood
Staining the hearthstone; and I spoke and said:
"Unhappy Ulric, traitor to thy liege,
Whom on the cross thou tookest oath to serve,
Thou shalt await his sentence. When he comes
He shall know all and will decree thy forfeit.
But if he come not, thou shalt live in chains
Till God and death restore thy liberty."

PALMERIN. Is he still captive?

FLERIDA. In the northern tower,
Whence Hugh but now, whom Christian charity
Prompts oft to visit our sad prisoner,
Saw thee approach. Ulric has heard the news.

PALMERIN. Let him be brought.

FLERIDA [to the men-at-arms]. You hear my lord's command.—
Ah, Palmerin, when Christ returns to earth
Only the good shall welcome him; thy coming
Will bring thy faithless servant also joy,
For I foresee thy sentence,

PALMERIN. To be merciful
Is to be truly just.—Has he not mended
Or purged his sin in his captivity?

FLERIDA. Indeed, it seems he has. Hugh and the friar
Who daily visits him both bring report
Of many pious and profound discourses
With which he charms away his solitude.
God grant his wisdom may outlive its cause
And not forsake him now. For, see, he comes.

Re-enter the men-at-arms, leading in ULRIC, bound.

PALMERIN. Ulric, it wounds my soul to see thee thus.
Undo the fetters.

[ULRIC is freed.

What has chanced I know.
'T were idle to rehearse that history.
Only one matter, past my understanding,
I ask thee to confess: how came thy soul
To harbour thoughts so opposite to thine
And do thy nobleness this injury?

ULRIC. Alas! The saddest sorrow of the world
Is not foul sin, but that resplendent virtue
That yet brings evil on. 'T was nothing base,
Hideous, ignoble, or contemptible
That led me to my ruin, but the might
Of perfect sweetness, joy unthinkable,
And infinite deserts; it was the hunger
For what most truly merits to be loved.
'T was love, my lord, the love of Flerida
Which, in thy bosom waking heaven's choirs,
Brought hell into my breast. Was not her face
As fair for me as thee to look upon?
Was not her silver voice and high discourse
Potent with reason on my listening ears?
Why was it criminal in me to love
And in thee lawful? For we both were men,
And I the elder and the better born,
Who might have wooed and won her worthily.
Yet with no other crime than lucklessness,
Because her father and her constant soul
Lit first on thee, the tempest of my love
Wrecked honour, faith, fame, life, and hope of heaven,
Which, had the winds blown gently on my fortunes,
The self-same love had blessed and glorified.

PALMERIN. I pity thee; but summon not thy love
To shield thy shame. Hadst thou been fortunate,
Should I with cunning and outrageous hand
Have moved against thy peace? Nay, by God's mercy,
I should have gone my way, and patiently
In other worlds have justified my soul;
For sorrow more religiously than love
Counselleth mortals.

ULRIC. Ah, I loved too much.

PALMERIN. Thou sayest well, Too much. Not that thy love
In sweetness or in silent potency
Of grief surpassed or mine or any man's.
But finding in thy spirit no defence,
Love fattened on thy reason, drank thy will,
And quite consumed thy being; growing great,
It left thee little, as, when a fiery wind
Devours the stubble, both together perish
And all goes out in shame. Water these ashes,
Ulric, with warm and consecrated tears,
That haply some new sweetness thence arise
Beneath another heaven. Though thou leave us,
Our hearts will not forget thee. In thy prayers
Remember us, and use thy freedom well.

ULRIC. I thank thee for thy counsel and thy mercy,
Generous knight. Not comfortless I go,
For not thy lips alone, well catechised,
Forgive me, Palmerin: thy heart forgives.
I would not use my freedom now to rove
But to ascend. A cloister's