Racine: Phaedra

LIFE A DREAM 259
Not in a palace, not in the fine clothes
We all were in ; but here, in the old place.
And in our old accoutrement
Only your vizors off, and lips unlockt
To mock me with that idle title
Captain.— Nay,
Indeed no idle title, but your own,
Then, now, and now forever. For, behold,
Ev'n as I speak, the mountain passes fill
And bristle with the advancing soldiery
That glitters in your rising glory, sir;
And, at our signal, echo to our cry,
" Segismund, King of Poland! " [Shouts and trumpets.
Segismund.— Oh, how cheap
The muster of a countless host of shadows.
As imp~)tent to do with as to keep!
All this they said before—to softer music.
Captain.—Soft music, sir, to what indeed were shadows.
That, following the sunshine of a Court,
Shall back be brought with it—if shadows still,
Yet to substantial reckoning.
Segismund.— They shall?
The white-hair'd and white-w^anded chamberlain.
So busy with his wand too—the old King
That I was somewhat hard on—he had been
Hard upon me—and the fine feather'd Prince
Who crow'd so loud—my cousin—and another,
Another cousin, w^e will not bear hard on
And—But Clotaldo ?
Captain.— Fled, my Lord, but close
Pursued ; and then
Segismund.— Then, as he fled before.
And after he had sworn it on his knees.
Came back to take me—where I am !—No more,
No more of this ! Away
with you ! Begone
Whether but visions of ambitious night
That morning ought to scatter, or grown out
Of night's proportions you invade the day
To scare me from my little wits yet left.