_D._ (_aside_). The hour, no doubt, when he should meet his mistress— When came he in?
_D._ He locked the gate.... The lady is in the palace.
_T._ He lit 1390 A pocket-lamp, and sat, mute as a fish, Counting the minutes on his watch; and then, As if it served as well to tell the time, He fetched the jewelled portrait from his breast, And gazed on that.
_T._ Impossible. At night ’tis neath his pillow, and all the day He keeps it in a little special pocket 1400 In his doublet here, just under his heart; or if He pulls it out, he holds it by his chin Where none may see.
_D._ You should have told me of this, This portrait: have you no guess who ’tis of?
_T._ I guess ’tis part of the pretence, my lady; For when the fit is on he’ll talk to it: And once I saw him kiss it.
_D._ Thank you, Tristram. Take now these papers to your master at once And tell him....
_D._ Stay yet.... This letter which he brought me, did you see 1410 Whence he procured it?
_T._ I suppose, my lady, He wrote it himself, no doubt of it. Where else Should he have got it?
_D._ Tell Ricardo, Tristram, I wish to see him here, at once. Your master May wait on me at noon.
_D._ Begone, and do my bidding. [_Exit T._ They have met in spite of me—they have met: and he Hath dared to disobey me and lie to my face. Who can it be? who is she? she is in my house.... Ah! what a prey I have netted! One of my maids.... One of my maids, it must be.... O detestation! 1421 And he hath her portrait. Ah, he loves, he loves. The love that taught me to dissemble and scheme, Hath taught him to meet plot with counterplot.— Frederick, dear Frederick! ’tis unworthy of you: This is too hard upon me.... I loved you well. Shame, shame, shame, shame! Indeed he cannot know How much I love him ... he cannot. Am I too old At twenty-seven? out-matched! I had taken too This letter for the Duke’s. Ho! the insolence 1430 To assume his fulsomeness! to forge in terms Of a humble obedient lover, so he might Keep tryst with.... O shame, shame! and then to write it He must have broke my seal, and read my letter— He has gone too far: here is a slip in honour Which I may work on. I’ll not give him up, Not yet. He can be shamed: and first I’ll prove The forgery, and then wring confession from him. ’Tis well I have at hand so trusty a witness.