Page:A Series of Plays on the Passions Volume 3.pdf/285

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Vald. Aye, it is vaulted; thou'rt right perhaps—This strange ringing in my ears will not suffer me to know the sounds that really are, from those are not.—Why dost thou grin so? I have a frenzy, I believe; I know I am strangely disordered. It was not so with me yesterday. I could thenDost thou grin still? Stand some paces off: why art thou always so near me?

Page. (retiring to the opposite side of the stage.) I had best, perhaps: his hand has the gripe of a madman.

Vald. (leans his hack against the side-scene, pressing his temples tightly with both hands, and speaking low to himself.) This horrible tumult of nature! it knows within itself the moments that precede its destruction.

Page. I must let him rest for a time. (Pause.)—It is cold here doing nothing. (Puts on his cap.)—He moves not: his eyes have a fixed ghastly stare; truly he is ill. (Going up to him.) You are very ill, my Lord.

Vald. (starting.) Have mercy upon me!

Page. Don't start, my Lord; it was I who spoke to you.

Vald. Who art thou?

Page. Your Page, my Lord.

Vald. Ha! only thou! thy stature seemed gigantic.

Page. This half-yard of plume in my cap, and your good fancy, have made it so.