The Revenge: A Tragedy

by Edward Young

ACT THE SECOND.

SCENE I.THE SAME.

Enter Don Manuel and Zanga.

Zan. If this be true, I cannot blame your pain

For wretched Carlos; 'tis but humane in you.

But when arriv'd your dismal news?

Man. This hour.

Zan. What, not a vessel sav'd?

Man. All, all, the storm

Devour'd; and now o'er his late envy'd fortune

The dolphins bound, and wat'ry mountains roar,

Triumphant in his ruin.

Zan. Is Alvarez

Determin'd to deny his daughter to him.

That treasure was on shore; must that too join

The common wreck?

Man. Alvarez pleads, indeed,

That Leonora's heart is disinclin'd,

And pleads that only; so it was this morning,

When he coucurr'd: the tempest broke the match;

And sunk his favour, when it sunk the gold.

The love of gold is double in his heart;

The vice of age, and of Alvarez too.

Zan. How does don Carlos bear it?

Man. Like a man

Whose heart feels most a human heart can feel,

And reasons best a human head can reason.

Zan. But is he then in absolute despair?

Man. Never to see his Leonora more.

And, quite to quench all future hope, Alvarez

Urges Alonzo to espouse his daughter

This very day; for he has learn'd their loves.

Zan. Ha! was not that receiv'd with ecstasy

By don Alonzo?

Man. Yes, at first; but soon

A damp came o'er him, it would kill his friend.

Zan. Not if his friend consented: and since now

He can't himself espouse her—

Man. Yet, to ask it

Has something shocking to a gen'rous mind;

At least, Alonzo's spirit startles at it.

Wide is the distance between our despair,

And giving up a mistress to another.

But I must leave you. Carlos wants support

In his severe affliction.[exit.

Zan. Ha, it dawns!—

It rises to me, like a new-found world

To mariners long time distress'd at sea,

Sore from a storm, and all their viands spent;

Or like the sun just rising out of chaos,

Some dregs of ancient night not quite purg'd off.

But shall I finish it?—Hoa, Isabella!

Enter Isabella.

I thought of dying; better things come forward;

Vengeance is still alive! from her dark covert,

With all her snakes erect upon her crest,

She stalks in view, and fires me with her charms.

When, Isabella, arriv'd don Carlos here?

Isa. Two nights ago.

Zan. That was the very night

Before the battle—Mem'ry, set down that;

It has the essence of a crocodile,

Though yet but in the shell—I'll give it birth—

What time did he return?

Isa. At midnight.

Zan. So—

Say, did he see that night his Leonora?

Isa. No, my good lord.

Zan. No matter—tell me, woman,

Is not Alonzo rather brave than cautious,

Honest than subtle, above fraud himself,

Slow, therefore, to suspect it in another?

Isa. You best can judge; but so the world thinks of him.

Zan. Why, that was well—go, fetch my tablets hither.

[exit Isabella.

Two nights ago my father's sacred shade

Thrice stalk'd around my bed, and smil'd upon me:

He smil'd, a joy then little understood—

It must be so—and if so, it is vengeance

Worth waking of the dead for.

Re-enter Isabella, with the tablets; Zanga writes,

then reads as to himself.

Thus it stands—

The father's fix'd—Don Carlos cannot wed—

Alonzo may—but that will hurt his friend—

Nor can he ask his leave—or, if he did,

He might not gain it—It is hard to give

Our own consent to ills, though we must bear them.

Were it not then a master-piece worth all

The wisdom I can boast, first to persuade

Alonzo to request it of his friend,

His friend to grant—then from that very grant,

The strongest proof of friendship man can give

(And other motives), to work out a cause

Of jealousy, to rack Alonzo's peace?

I have turn'd o'er the catalogue of human woes,

Which sting the heart of man, and find none equal.

It is the hydra of calamities,

The sev'nfold death; the jealous are the damn'd.

Oh, jealousy, each other passion's calm

To thee, thou conflagration of the soul!

Thou king of torments, thou grand counterpoise

For all the transports beauty can inspire!

Isa. Alonzo comes this way.

Zan. Most opportunely.—

Withdraw.[exit Isabella.

Enter Don Alonzo.

My lord, I give you joy.

Alon. Of what, good Zanga?

Zan. Is not the lovely Leonora yours?

Alon. What will become of Carlos?

Zan. He's your friend;

And since he can't espouse the fair himself,

Will take some comfort from Alonzo's fortune.

Alon. Alas, thou little know'st the force of love!

Love reigns a sultan with unrival'd sway;

Puts all relations, friendship's self to death,

If once he's jealous of it. I love Carlos;

Yet well I know what pangs I felt this morning

At his intended nuptials. For myself

I then felt pains, which now for him I feel.

Zan. You will not wed her then?

Alon. Not instantly.

Insult his broken heart the very moment!

Zan. I understand you: but you'll wed hereafter,

When your friend's gone, and his first pain assuag'd.

Alon. Am I to blame in that?

Zan. My lord, I love

Your very errors; they are born from virtue.

Your friendship (and what nobler passion claims

The heart?) does lead you blindfold to your ruin.

Consider, wherefore did Alvarez break

Don Carlos' match, and wherefore urge Alonzo's?

'Twas the same cause, the love of wealth. To-morrow

May see Alonzo in don Carlos' fortune;

A higher bidder is a better friend,

And there are princes sigh for Leonora.

When your friend's gone, you'll wed; why, then the cause

Which gives you Leonora now, will cease.

Carlos has lost her; should you lose her too,

Why, then you heap new torments on your friend,

By that respect which labour'd to relieve him—

'Tis well, he is disturb'd; it makes him pause.[aside.

Alon. Think'st thou, my Zanga, should I ask don Carlos,

His goodness would consent that I should wed her?

Zan. I know, it would.

Alon. But then the cruelty

To ask it, and for me to ask it of him!

Zan. Methinks, you are severe upon your friend.

Who was it gave him liberty and life?

Alon. That is the very reason which forbids it.

Were I a stranger I could freely speak:

In me it so resembles a demand,

Exacting of a debt, it shocks my nature.

Zan. My lord, you know the sad alternative.

Is Leonora worth one pang or not?

It hurts not me, my lord, but as I love you:

Warmly as you I wish don Carlos well;

But I am likewise don Alonzo's friend:

There all the diff'rence lies between us two.

In me, my lord, you hear another self;

And, give me leave to add, a better too,

Clear'd from those errors, which, though caus'd by virtue,

Are such as may hereafter give you pain—

Don Lopez of Castile would not demur thus.

Alon. Perish the name! What, sacrifice the fair

To age and ugliness, because set in gold?

I'll to don Carlos, if my heart will let me.

I have not seen him since his sore affliction;

But shunn'd it, as too terrible to bear.

How shall I bear it now? I'm struck already.[exit.

Zan. Half of my work is done. I must secure

Don Carlos, ere Alonzo speak with him.

[he gives a message to a Servant, then returns.

Proud, hated Spain, oft drench'd in Moorish blood!

Dost thou not feel a deadly foe within thee?

Shake not the tow'rs where'er I pass along,

Conscious of ruin, and their great destroyer?

Shake to the centre, if Alonzo's dear.

Look down, oh, holy prophet! see me torture

This Christian dog, this infidel, who dares

To smite thy votaries, and spurn thy law;

And yet hopes pleasure from two radiant eyes,

Which look as they were lighted up for thee!

Shall he enjoy thy paradise below?

Blast the bold thought, and curse him with her charms!

But see, the melancholy lover comes.

Enter Don Carlos.

Car. Hope, thou hast told me lies from day to day,

For more than twenty years; vile promiser!

None here are happy, but the very fool,

Or very wise: I am not fool enough

To smile in vanities, and hug a shadow;

Nor have I wisdom to elaborate

An artificial happiness from pains:

Ev'n joys are pains, because they cannot last.[sighs.

How many lift the head, look gay and smile,

Against their consciences? And this we know,

Yet, knowing, disbelieve, and try again

What we have try'd, and struggle with conviction.

Each new experience gives the former credit;

And rev'rend grey threescore is but a voucher,

That thirty told us true.

Zan. My noble lord,

I mourn your fate: but are no hopes surviving?

Car. No hopes. Alvarez has a heart of steel.

'Tis fix'd—'tis past—'tis absolute despair!

Zan. You wanted not to have your heart made tender,

By your own pains, to feel a friend's distress.

Car. I understand you well. Alonzo loves;

I pity him.

Zan. I dare be sworn you do.

Yet he has other thoughts.

Car. What canst thou mean?

Zan. Indeed he has; and fears to ask a favour

A stranger from a stranger might request;

What costs you nothing, yet is all to him:

Nay, what indeed will to your glory add,

For nothing more than wishing your friend well.

Car. I pray be plain; his happiness is mine.

Zan. He loves to death; but so reveres his friend,

He can't persuade his heart to wed the maid

Without your leave, and that he fears to ask.

In perfect tenderness I urg'd him to it.

Knowing the deadly sickness of his heart,

Your overflowing goodness to your friend,

Your wisdom, and despair yourself to wed her,

I wrung a promise from him he would try:

And now I come, a mutual friend to both,

Without his privacy, to let you know it,

And to prepare you kindly to receive him.

Car. Ha! if he weds, I am undone indeed;

Not don Alvarez' self can then relieve me.

Zan. Alas, my lord, you know his heart is steel:

"'Tis fixed, 'tis past, 'tis absolute despair."

Car. Oh, cruel heav'n! and is it not enough

That I must never, never see her more?

Say, is it not enough that I must die;

But I must be tormented in the grave?—

Ask my consent!—Must I then give her to him?

Lead to his nuptial sheets the blushing maid?

Oh!—Leonora! never, never, never!

Zan. A storm of plagues upon him! he refuses.[aside.

Car. What, wed her—and to-day?

Zan. To-day, or never.

To-morrow may some wealthier lover bring,

And then Alonzo is thrown out like you:

Then whom shall he condemn for his misfortune?

Carlos is an Alvarez to his love.

Car. Oh, torment! whither shall I turn?

Zan. To peace.

Car. Which is the way?

Zan. His happiness is yours——

I dare not disbelieve you.

Car. Kill my friend!

Or worse—Alas! and can there be a worse?

A worse there is: nor can my nature bear it.

Zan. You have convinc'd me 'tis a dreadful task.

I find Alonzo's quitting her this morning

For Carlos' sake, in tenderness to you,

Betray'd me to believe it less severe

Than I perceive it is.

Car. Thou dost upbraid me.

Zan. No, my good lord; but since you can't comply,

'Tis my misfortune that I mention'd it;

For had I not, Alonzo would indeed

Have died, as now, but not by your decree.

Car. By my decree! Do I decree his death?

I do—Shall I then lead her to his arms?

Oh, which side shall I take? Be stabb'd, or—stab?

'Tis equal death! a choice of agonies!——

Ah, no!—all other agonies are ease

To one—O Leonora!—never, never!

Go, Zanga, go, defer the dreadful trial,

Though but a day; something, perchance, may happen

To soften all to friendship and to love.

Go, stop my friend, let me not see him now;

But save us from an interview of death.

Zan. My lord, I'm bound in duty to obey you——

If I not bring him, may Alonzo prosper![aside, exit.

Car. What is this world?—Thy school, oh, misery!

Our only lesson is to learn to suffer;

And he who knows not that was born for nothing.

But put it most severely—should I live—

Live long—alas, there is no length in time!

Nor in thy time, oh, man!—What's fourscore years

Nay, what, indeed, the age of time itself,

Since cut from out eternity's wide round?

Yet Leonora—she can make time long,

Its nature alter, as she alter'd mine.

While in the lustre of her charms I lay,

Whole summer suns roll'd unperceiv'd away;

I years for days, and days for moments, told,

And was surpris'd to hear that I grew old.

Now fate does rigidly its dues regain,

And ev'ry moment is an age of pain.

Enter Zanga and Don Alonzo; Zanga stops Don Carlos.

Zan. Is this don Carlos? this the boasted friend?

How can you turn your back upon his sadness?

Look on him, and then leave him if you can.

Car. I cannot yield; nor can I bear his griefs.

Alonzo![goes to him, and takes his hand.

Alon. Oh, Carlos!

Car. Pray, forbear.

Alon. Art thou undone, and shall Alonzo smile?

Alonzo, who, perhaps, in some degree

Contributed to cause thy dreadful fate?

I was deputed guardian of thy love;

But, oh! I lov'd myself! Pour down, afflictions!

On this devoted head; make me your mark;

And be the world by my example taught,

How sacred it should hold the name of friend.

Car. You charge yourself unjustly: well I know

The only cause of my severe affliction.

Alvarez, curs'd Alvarez!—So much anguish

Felt for so small a failure, is one merit

Which faultless virtue wants. The crime was mine,

Who plac'd thee there, where only thou couldst fail;

Though well I knew that dreadful post of honour

I gave thee to maintain. Ah! who could bear

Those eyes unhurt? The wounds myself have felt

(Which wounds alone should cause me to condemn thee,)

They plead in thy excuse; for I too strove

To shun those fires, and found 'twas not in man.

Alon. You cast in shades the failure of a friend,

And soften all; but think not you deceive me;

I know my guilt, and I implore your pardon,

As the sole glimpse I can obtain of peace.

Car. Pardon for him, who but this morning threw

Fair Leonora from his heart, all bath'd

In ceaseless tears, and blushing for her love!

Who, like a rose-leaf wet with morning dew,

Would have stuck close, and clung for ever there!

But 'twas in thee, through fondness for thy friend,

To shut thy bosom against ecstacies;

For which, while this pulse beats, it beats to thee;

While this blood flows, it flows for my Alonzo,

And every wish is levell'd at thy joy.

Zan. [to Alon.] My lord, my lord, this is your time to speak.

Alon. [to Zan.] Because he's kind? It therefore is the worst;

Do I not see him quite possess'd with anguish,

And shall I pour in new? No, fond desire;

No, love: one pang at parting, and farewell,

I have no other love but Carlos now.

Car. Alas! my friend, why with such eager grasp

Dost press my hand, and weep upon my cheek?

Alon. If, after death, our forms (as some believe)

Shall be transparent, naked every thought,

And friends meet friends, and read each other's hearts,

Thou'lt know one day that thou wast held most dear,

Farewell.

Car. Alonzo, stop—he cannot speak—[holds him.

Lest it should grieve me—Shall I be outdone?

And lose in glory, as I lose in love?[aside.

I take it much unkindly, my Alonzo,

You think so meanly of me not to speak,

When well I know your heart is near to bursting.

Have you forgot how you have bound me to you?

Your smallest friendship's liberty and life.

Alon. There, there it is, my friend; it cuts me there.

How dreadful is it to a generous mind

To ask, when sure it cannot be deny'd!

Car. How greatly thought! In all he towers above me.

[aside.

Then you confess you would ask something of me?

Alon. No, on my soul.

Zan. [to Alon.] Then lose her.

Car. Glorious spirit!

Why, what a pang has he run through for this!

By heaven, I envy him his agonies.[aside.

My Alonzo!

Since thy great soul disdains to make request,

Receive with favour that I make to thee.

Alon. What means my Carlos?

Car. Pray observe me well.

Fate and Alvarez tore her from my heart,

And, plucking up my love, they had well nigh

Pluck'd up life too, for they were twin'd together.

Of that no more—What now does reason bid?

I cannot wed—Farewell, my happiness!

But, O my soul, with care provide for hers!

In life, how weak, how helpless, is a woman!

Take then my heart in dowry with the fair,

Be thou her guardian, and thou must be mine;

Shut out the thousand pressing ills of life

With thy surrounding arms—Do this, and then

Set down the liberty and life thou gav'st me,

As little things, as essays of thy goodness,

And rudiments of friendship so divine.

Alon. There is a grandeur in thy goodness to me,

Which with thy foes would render thee ador'd.

Car. I do not part with her, I give her thee.

Alon. O, Carlos!

But think not words were ever made

For such occasions. Silence, tears, embraces,

Are languid eloquence; I'll seek relief

In absence from the pain of so much goodness,

There, thank the blest above, thy sole superiors,

Adore, and raise my thoughts of them by thee.[exit.

Zan. Thus far success has crown'd my boldest hope.

My next care is to hasten these new nuptials,

And then my master-works begin to play.[aside.

Why that was greatly done, without one sigh[to Car.

To carry such a glory to its period.

Car. Too soon thou praisest me. He's gone, and now

I must unsluice my over-burden'd heart,

And let it flow. I would not grieve my friend

With tears; nor interrupt my great design;

Great, sure, as ever human breast durst think of.

But now my sorrows, long with pain supprest,

Burst their confinement with impetuous sway,

O'er-swell all bounds, and bear e'en life away:

So till the day was won, the Greek renown'd

With anguish wore the arrow in his wound,

Then drew the shaft from out his tortur'd side,

Let gush the torrent of his blood, and dy'd.[exeunt.

---

ACT THE THIRD.

SCENE I.

Enter Zanga.

Zan. O joy, thou welcome stranger! twice three years

I have not felt thy vital beam; but now

It warms my veins, and plays around my heart:

A fiery instinct lifts me from the ground,

And I could mount!—the spirits numberless

Of my dear countrymen, which yesterday

Left their poor bleeding bodies on the field,

Are all assembled here, and o'er-inform me.—

O, bridegroom! great indeed thy present bliss;

Yet even by me unenvy'd! for be sure

It is thy last, thy last smile, that which now

Sits on thy cheek; enjoy it while thou may'st;

Anguish, and groans, and death, bespeak to-morrow.

Enter Isabella.

My Isabella!

Isa. What commands my Moor?

Zan. My fair ally! my lovely minister!

'Twas well, Alvarez, by my arts impell'd

(To plunge don Carlos in the last despair,

And so prevent all future molestation),

Finish'd the nuptials soon as he resolv'd them;

This conduct ripen'd all for me and ruin.

Scarce had the priest the holy rites perform'd,

When I, by sacred inspiration, forg'd

That letter which I trusted to thy hand;

That letter, which in glowing terms conveys,

From happy Carlos to fair Leonora,

The most profound acknowledgement of heart,

For wondrous transports which he never knew.

This is a good subservient artifice,

To aid the nobler workings of my brain.

Isa. I quickly dropp'd it in the bride's apartment,

As you commanded.

Zan. With a lucky hand;

For soon Alonzo found it; I observ'd him

From out my secret stand. He took it up;

But scarce was it unfolded to his sight,

When he, as if an arrow pierc'd his eye,

Started, and trembling dropp'd it on the ground.

Pale and aghast awhile my victim stood,

Disguis'd a sigh or two, and puff'd them from him;

Then rubb'd his brow and took it up again.

At first he look'd as if he meant to read it;

But check'd by rising fears he crush'd it thus,

And thrust it, like an adder, in his bosom.

Isa. But if he read it not, it cannot sting him,

At least not mortally.

Zan. At first I thought so;

But farther thought informs me otherwise,

And turns this disappointment to account.

This, Isabella, is don Carlos' picture;

Take it, and so dispose of it, that found,

It may raise up a witness of her love;

Under her pillow, in her cabinet,

Or elsewhere, as shall best promote our end.

Isa. I'll weigh it as its consequence requires,

Then do my utmost to deserve your smile.[exit.

Zan. Is that Alonzo prostrate on the ground?—

Now he starts up like flame from sleeping embers,

And wild distraction glares from either eye.

If thus a slight surmise can work his soul,

How will the fulness of the tempest tear him?

Enter Don Alonzo.

Alon. And yet it cannot be—I am deceiv'd—

I injure her: she wears the face of heaven.

Zan. He doubts.[aside.

Alon. I dare not look on this again.

If the first glance, which gave suspicion only,

Had such effect, so smote my heart and brain,

The certainty would dash me all in pieces.

It cannot—Ha! it must, it must be true.[starts.

Zan. Hold there, and we succeed. He has descry'd me.

And (for he thinks I love him) will unfold

His aching heart, and rest it on my counsel.

I'll seem to go, to make my stay more sure.[aside.

Alon. Hold, Zanga, turn.

Zan. My lord.

Alon. Shut close the doors,

That not a spirit find an entrance here.

Zan. My lord's obey'd.

Alon. I see that thou art frighted.

If thou dost love me, I shall fill thy heart

With scorpions' stings.

Zan. If I do love, my lord?

Alon. Come near me, let me rest upon thy bosom;

(What pillow like the bosom of a friend?)

For I am sick at heart.

Zan. Speak, sir, O, speak,

And take me from the rack.

Alon. I am most happy: mine is victory,

Mine the king's favour, mine the nation's shout,

And great men make their fortunes of my smiles.

O curse of curses! in the lap of blessing

To be most curst!—My Leonora's false!

Zan. Save me, my lord!

Alon. My Leonora's false![gives him the letter.

Zan. Then heaven has lost its image here on earth.

[while Zanga reads the letter, he trembles, and shows the utmost concern.

Alon. Good-natur'd man! he makes my pains his own.

I durst not read it; but I read it now

In thy concern.

Zan. Did you not read it then?

Alon. Mine eye just touch'd it, and could bear no more.

Zan. Thus perish all that gives Alonzo pain![tears the letter.

Alon. Why didst thou tear it?

Zan. Think of it no more.

'Twas your mistake, and groundless are your fears.

Alon. And didst thou tremble then for my mistake?

Or give the whole contents, or by the pangs

That feed upon my heart, thy life's in danger.

Zan. Is this Alonzo's language to his Zanga?

Draw forth your sword, and find the secret here.

For whose sake is it, think you, I conceal it?

Wherefore this rage? Because I seek your peace?

I have no interest in suppressing it,

But what good-natur'd tenderness for you

Obliges me to have. Not mine the heart

That will be rent in two. Not mine the fame

That will be damn'd, though all the world should know it.

Alon. Then my worst fears are true, and life is past.

Zan. What has the rashness of my passion utter'd?

I know not what; but rage is our destruction,

And all its words are wind—Yet sure, I think,

I nothing own'd—but grant I did confess,

What is a letter? letters may be forg'd.

For heav'n's sweet sake, my lord, lift up your heart.

Some foe to your repose—

Alon. So, heaven look on me,

As I can't find the man I have offended.

Zan. Indeed! [aside]—Our innocence is not our shield.

They take offence, who have not been offended;

They seek our ruin too, who speak us fair,

And death is often ambush'd in their smiles.

'Tis certain

A letter may be forg'd, and in a point

Of such a dreadful consequence as this,

One would rely on nought that might be false—

Think, have you any other cause to doubt her?

Away, you can find none. Resume your spirit;

All's well again.

Alon. Oh that it were!

Zan. It is;

For who could credit that, which, credited,

Makes hell superfluous by superior pains,

Without such proofs as cannot be withstood?

Has she not ever been to virtue train'd?

Is not her fame as spotless as the sun,

Her sex's envy, and the boast of Spain?

Alon. O, Zanga! it is that confounds me most,

That, full in opposition to appearance—

Zan. No more, my lord, for you condemn yourself.

What is absurdity, but to believe

Against appearance!—You can't yet, I find,

Subdue your passion to your better sense;—

And, truth to tell, it does not much displease me.

'Tis fit our indiscretions should be check'd

With some degree of pain.

Alon. What indiscretion?

Zan. Come, you must bear to hear your faults from me.

Had you not sent don Carlos to the court

The night before the battle, that foul slave,

Who forg'd the senseless scroll which gives you pain,

Had wanted footing for his villany.

Alon. I sent him not.

Zan. Not send him!—Ha!—That strikes me.

I thought he came on message to the king.

Is there another cause could justify

His shunning danger, and the promis'd fight?

But I perhaps may think too rigidly;

So long an absence, and impatient love—

Alon. In my confusion, that had quite escap'd me.

By heaven, my wounded soul does bleed afresh;

'Tis clear as day—for Carlos is so brave,

He lives not but on fame, he hunts for danger,

And is enamour'd of the face of death.

How then could he decline the next day's battle,

But for the transports?—Oh, it must be so—

Inhuman! by the loss of his own honour,

To buy the ruin of his friend!

Zan. You wrong him;

He knew not of your love.

Alon. Ha!—

Zan. That stings home.[aside.

Alon. Indeed, he knew not of my treacherous love—

Proofs rise on proofs, and still the last the strongest.

Love is my torture, love was first my crime;

For she was his, my friend's, and he (O horror!)

Confided all in me. O sacred faith!

How dearly I abide thy violation!

Zan. Were then their loves far gone?

Alon. The father's will

There bore a total sway; and he, as soon

As news arriv'd that Carlos' fleet was seen

From off our coast, fir'd with the love of gold,

Determin'd that the very sun which saw

Carlos' return, should see his daughter wed.

Zan. Indeed, my lord; then you must pardon me,

If I presume to mitigate the crime.

Consider, strong allurements soften guilt;

Long was his absence, ardent was his love,

At midnight his return, the next day destin'd

For his espousals—'twas a strong temptation.

Alon. Temptation!

Zan. 'Twas but gaining of one night.

Alon. One night!

Zan. That crime could ne'er return again.

Alon. Again! By heaven, thou dost insult thy lord.

Temptation! One night gain'd! O stings and death!

And am I then undone? Alas, my Zanga!

And dost thou own it too? Deny it still,

And rescue me one moment from distraction.

Zan. My lord, I hope the best.

Alon. False, foolish hope, thou know'st it false;

It is as glaring as the noon-tide sun.

Devil!—This morning, after three years' coldness,

To rush at once into a passion for me!

'Twas time to feign, 'twas time to get another,

When her first fool was sated with her beauties.

Zan. What says my lord? Did Leonora then

Never before disclose her passion for you?

Alon. Never.

Zan. Throughout the whole three years?

Alon. O never! never!

Why, Zanga, shouldst thou strive? 'Tis all in vain:

Though thy soul labours, it can find no reed

For hope to catch at. Ah! I'm plunging down

Ten thousand thousand fathoms in despair.

Zan. Hold, sir, I'll break your fall—wave ev'ry fear,

And be a man again—Had he enjoy'd her,

Be most assur'd, he had resign'd her to you

With less reluctance.

Alon. Ha! Resign'd her to me!—

Resign her!—Who resign'd her?—Double death!

How could I doubt so long? My heart is broke.

First love her to distraction! then resign her!

Zan. But was it not with utmost agony?

Alon. Grant that, he still resign'd her; that's enough.

Would he pluck out his eye to give it me?

Tear out his heart?—She was his heart no more—

Nor was it with reluctance he resign'd her;

By heav'n, he ask'd, he courted, me to wed.

I thought it strange; 'tis now no longer so.

Zan. Was't his request? Are you right sure of that?

I fear the letter was not all a tale.

Alon. A tale! There's proof equivalent to sight.

Zan. I should distrust my sight on this occasion.

Alon. And so should I; by heav'n, I think I should.

What, Leonora! the divine, by whom

We guess'd at angels! Oh! I'm all confusion.

Zan. You now are too much ruffled to think clearly.

Since bliss and horror, life and death, hang on it,

Go to your chamber, there maturely weigh

Each circumstance; consider, above all,

That it is jealousy's peculiar nature

To swell small things to great; nay, out of nought

To conjure much, and then to lose its reason

Amid the hideous phantoms it has form'd.

Alon. Had I ten thousand lives, I'd give them all

To be deceiv'd.

And yet she seem'd so pure, that I thought heav'n

Borrow'd her form for virtue's self to wear,

To gain her lovers with the sons of men.

O, Leonora! Leonora![exit.

Re-enter Isabella.

Zan. Thus far it works auspiciously. My patient

Thrives, underneath my hand, in misery.

He's gone to think; that is, to be distracted.

Isa. I overheard your conference, and saw you,

To my amazement, tear the letter.

Zan. There,

There, Isabella, I out-did myself.

For, tearing it, I not secure it only

In its first force, but superadd a new.

For who can now the character examine

To cause a doubt, much less detect the fraud?

And after tearing it, as loth to show

The foul contents, if I should swear it now

A forgery, my lord would disbelieve me,

Nay, more, would disbelieve the more I swore.

But is the picture happily dispos'd of?

Isa. It is.

Zan. That's well—Ah! what is well? O pang to think!

O dire necessity! is this my province?

Whither, my soul! ah! whither art thou sunk?

Does this become a soldier? this become

Whom armies follow'd, and a people lov'd?

My martial glory withers at the thought.

But great my end; and since there are no other,

These means are just, they shine with borrow'd light,

Illustrious from the purpose they pursue.

And greater sure my merit, who, to gain

A point sublime, can such a task sustain;

To wade through ways obscene, my honour bend,

And shock my nature, to attain my end.

Late time shall wonder; that my joys will raise:

For wonder is involuntary praise.[exeunt.

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