Of old Hungarian overgrown with mould;

Let's bid my butler open an old bottle,

And in a quiet corner, tete-a-tete,

Let's drain a draught, a stream as thick as fat;

And while we're so engaged, let's think things over.

Let us go, brother.

VISHNEVETSKY. Yes, my friend, let's go.

NIGHT.

THE GARDEN. THE FOUNTAIN.

PRETENDER. (Enters.) Here is the fountain; hither will she come.

I was not born a coward; I have seen

Death near at hand, and face to face with death

My spirit hath not blenched. A life-long dungeon

Hath threatened me, I have been close pursued,

And yet my spirit quailed not, and by boldness

I have escaped captivity. But what

Is this which now constricts my breath? What means

This overpowering tremor, or this quivering

Of tense desire? No, this is fear. All day

I have waited for this secret meeting, pondered

On all that I should say to her, how best

I might enmesh Marina's haughty mind,

Calling her queen of Moscow. But the hour

Has come - and I remember naught, I cannot

Recall the speeches I have learned by rote;

Love puts imagination to confusion -

But something there gleamed suddenly - a rustling;

Hush - no, it was the moon's deceitful light,

It was the rustling of the breeze.

MARINA. (Enters.) Tsarevich!

PRETENDER. 'Tis she. Now all the blood in me stands still.

MARINA. Dimitry! Is it thou?

PRETENDER. Bewitching voice!

(Goes to her.) Is it thou, at last? Is it thou I see, alone

With me, beneath the roof of quiet night?

How slowly passed the tedious day! How slowly

The glow of evening died away! How long

I have waited in the gloom of night!