Claudius. 
                              A blockhead
Like yourself, say:  cease.

Escarpin. 
                            Ah, sir,
My poor tale do n’t cruelly shorten. 
While the sacristan was blowing . . .

Claudius. 
Why, by heaven!  I ’ll kill you, donkey.

Escarpin. 
Hear me first, and kill me after.

Claudius. 
Was there ever known such folly
As to think ’mid cares so grave
I could listen to such nonsense? (exit.
[Enter Chrysanthus and Daria, at opposite sides.]

Daria (to herself). 
O ye gods, since my intention
Was in empty air to scatter
All these prodigies and wonders
Worked in favour of Chrysanthus
By the Christians’ sorcery, why,
Having you for my copartners,
Do I not achieve a victory
Which my beauty might make facile?

Chrysanthus. 
O ye heavens, since my ambition
Was to melt Daria’s hardness,
And to bring her to the knowledge
Of one God who works these marvels,
Why, so pure is my intention,
Why, so zealous and so sanguine,
Does not easy victory follow,
Due even to my natural talent?

Daria (aside). 
He is here, and though already
Even to see him, to have parley
With him, lights a living fire
In my breast, which burns yet glads me,
Yet he must confess my gods,
Ere I own that I am vanquished.

Chrysanthus (aside). 
She comes hither, and though I
By her beauty am distracted,
Still she must become a Christian
Ere a wife’s dear name I grant her.

Daria (aside). 
Venus, to my beauty give
Power to make of him my vassal.

Chrysanthus (aside). 
Grant, O Lord, unto my tongue
Words that may dispel her darkness.

Daria (aside). 
To come near him makes me tremble.

Chrysanthus (aside). 
To address her, quite unmans me:—­
Not in vain, O fair Daria, (aloud. 
Does the verdure of this garden,
When it sees thee pass, grow young
As beneath spring’s dewy spangles;
Not in vain, since though ’t is evening,
Thou a new Aurora dazzleth,
That the birds in public concert
Hail thee with a joyous anthem;
Not in vain the streams and fountains,
As their crystal current passes,
Keep melodious time and tune
With the bent boughs of the alders;
The light movement of the zephyrs
As athwart the flowers they ’re wafted,
Bends their heads to see thee coming,
Then uplifts them to look after.

Daria. 
These fine flatteries, these fine phrases
Make me doubt of thee, Chrysanthus. 
He who gilds the false so well,
Must mere truth find unattractive.

Chrysanthus. 
Hast thou then such little faith
In my love?

Daria. 
             Thou needst not marvel.