The Revenge: A Tragedy

by Edward Young

ACT THE FOURTH.

SCENE I.

Enter Don Alonzo and Zanga.

Alon. Oh, what a pain to think! when ev'ry thought,

Perplexing thought, in intricacies runs,

And reason knits th' inextricable toil,

In which herself is taken!

No more I'll bear this battle of the mind,

This inward anarchy; but find my wife

And, to her trembling heart presenting death,

Force all the secret from her.

Zan. O, forbear!

You totter on the very brink of ruin.

Alon. What dost thou mean?

Zan. That will discover all,

And kill my hopes. What can I think or do?[aside.

Alon. What, dost thou murmur?

Zan. Force the secret from her!

What's perjury to such a crime as this?

Will she confess it then? O, groundless hope!

But rest assur'd, she'll make this accusation,

Or false or true, your ruin with the king;

Such is her father's pow'r.

Alon. No more, I care not;

Rather than groan beneath this load, I'll die.

Zan. But for what better will you change this load?

Grant you should know it, would not that be worse?

Alon. No; it would cure me of my mortal pangs

By hatred and contempt: I should despise her,

And all my love-bred agonies would vanish.

Zan. Ah! were I sure of that, my lord—

Alon. What then?

Zan. You should not hazard life to gain the secret.

Alon. What dost thou mean? thou know'st I'm on the rack.

I'll not be play'd with; speak, if thou hast aught,

Or I this instant fly to Leonora.

Zan. That is, to death. My lord, I am not yet

Quite so far gone in guilt to suffer it;

Though gone too far, heav'n knows—'Tis I am guilty;

I have took pains, as you, I know, observ'd,

To hinder you from diving in the secret,

And turn'd aside your thoughts from the detection.

Alon. Thou dost confound me.

Zan. I confound myself;

And frankly own, though to my shame I own it,

Nought but your life in danger could have torn

The secret out, and made me own my crime.

Alon. Speak quickly, Zanga, speak.

Zan. Not yet, dread sir:

First, I must be assur'd, that if you find

The fair one guilty, scorn, as you assur'd me,

Shall conquer love and rage, and heal your soul.

Alon. Oh! 't will, by heav'n.

Zan. Alas! I fear it much,

And scarce can hope so far; but I of this

Exact your solemn oath, that you'll abstain

From all self-violence, and save my lord.

Alon. I trebly swear.

Zan. You'll bear it like a man?

Alon. A god.

Zan. Such have you been to me, these tears confess it;

And pour'd forth miracles of kindness on me:

And what amends is now within my pow'r,

But to confess, expose myself to justice,

And as a blessing claim my punishment?

Know then, don Carlos—

Alon. Oh!

Zan. You cannot bear it.

Alon. Go on, I'll have it, though it blast mankind;

I'll have it all, and instantly. Go on.

Zan. Don Carlos did return at dead of night—

That night, by chance (ill chance for me) did I

Command the watch that guards the palace gate.

He told me he had letters for the king,

Despatch'd from you.

Alon. The villain lied!

Zan. My lord,

I pray, forbear—Transported at his sight,

After so long a bondage, and your friend,

(Who could suspect him of an artifice?)

No farther I inquir'd, but let him pass,

False to my trust, at least imprudent in it.

Our watch reliev'd, I went into the garden,

As is my custom, when the night's serene,

And took a moon-light walk: when soon I heard

A rustling in an arbour that was near me.

I saw two lovers in each other's arms,

Embracing and embrac'd. Anon the man

Arose; and, falling back some paces from her,

Gaz'd ardently awhile, then rush'd at once,

And, throwing all himself into her bosom,

There softly sigh'd, "Oh, night of ecstasy!

When shall we meet again?"—Don Carlos then

Led Leonora forth.

Alon. Oh, oh, my heart![he sinks into a chair.

Zan. Groan on, and with the sound refresh my soul!

'Tis through his heart; his knees smite one another:

'Tis through his brain; his eye-balls roll in anguish.[aside.

My lord, my lord, why will you rack my soul?

Alon. Oh, she was all!

My fame, my friendship, and my love of arms,

All stoop'd to her; my blood was her possession.

Deep in the secret foldings of my heart

She liv'd with life, and far the dearer she:

To think on't is the torment of the damn'd,

And not to think on't is impossible.

Zan. You said you'd bear it like a man.

Alon. I do.

Am I not most distracted?

Zan. Pray, be calm.

Alon. As hurricanes:—be thou assur'd of that.

Zan. Is this the wise Alonzo?

Alon. Villain, no:

He died in the arbour—he was murder'd there!—

Zan. Alas! he weeps.

Alon. Go, dig her grave!

Zan. My lord!

Alon. But that her blood's too hot, I would carouse it

Around my bridal board!

Zan. And I would pledge thee.[aside.

Alon. But I may talk too fast. Pray let me think,

And reason mildly.—Wedded and undone

Before one night descends.—Oh, hasty evil!

What friend to comfort me in my extreme!

Where's Carlos? why is Carlos absent from me?

Does he know what has happen'd?

Zan. My lord!

Alon. Oh, villain, villain, most accurst!

If thou didst know it, why didst let me wed?

Zan. Hear me, my lord; your anger will abate.

I knew it not:—I saw them in the garden;

But saw no more than you might well expect

To see in lovers destin'd for each other.

By heav'n, I thought their meeting innocent.

Who could suspect fair Leonora's virtue,

'Till after-proofs conspir'd to blacken it?

Sad proofs, which came too late, which broke not out,

(Eternal curses on Alvarez' haste!)

'Till holy rites had made the wanton yours;

And then, I own, I labour'd to conceal it,

In duty and compassion to your peace.

Alon. Live now, be damn'd hereafter—for I want thee.

Let me think—

The jess'mine bower—'tis secret and remote:

Go, wait me there, and take thy dagger with thee.[exit Zanga.

How sweet the sound still sings within my ear!

When shall we meet again?—To-night, in hell.[going.

Enter Leonora.

Ha! I'm surprised! I stagger at her charms!

Oh, angel-devil!—Shall I stab her now?

No—It shall be as I at first determin'd.

To kill her now were half my vengeance lost.

Then I must now dissemble—if I can.

Leon. My lord, excuse me; see, a second time

I come in embassy from all your friends,

Whose joys are languid, uninspir'd by you.

Alon. This moment, Leonora, I was coming

To thee, and all—but sure, or I mistake,

Or thou canst well inspire my friends with joy.

Leon. What says my lord?

Alon. Thou art exceeding fair.

Leon. Beauty alone is but of little worth;

But when the soul and body of a piece,

Both shine alike; then they obtain a price,

And are a fit reward for gallant actions,

Heaven's pay on earth for such great souls as yours;—

If fair and innocent, I am your due.

Alon. Innocent![aside.

Leon. How, my lord! I interrupt you.

Alon. No, my best life! I must not part with thee—

This hand is mine—Oh, what a hand is here!

So soft, souls sink into it, and are lost!

Leon. In tears, my lord?

Alon. What less can speak my joy?

Why, I could gaze upon thy looks for ever,

And drink in all my being from thine eyes;

And I could snatch a flaming thunderbolt,

And hurl destruction!—

Leon. My lord, you fright me.

Is this the fondness of your nuptial hour?

Why, when I woo your hand, is it deny'd me?

Your very eyes, why are they taught to shun me?—

Nay, my good lord, I have a title here,[takes his hand.

And I will have it. Am I not your wife?

Have I not just authority to know

That heart which I have purchas'd with my own?

Tell me the secret; I conjure you, tell me.

Speak then, I charge you speak, or I expire,

And load you with my death. My lord, my lord!

Alon. Ha, ha, ha!

[he breaks from her, and she sinks upon the floor.

Leon. Are these the joys which fondly I conceiv'd?

And is it thus a wedded life begins?

What did I part with, when I gave my heart?

I knew not that all happiness went with it.

Why did I leave my tender father's wing,

And venture into love? The maid that loves,

Goes out to sea upon a shatter'd plank,

And puts her trust in miracles for safety.

Where shall I sigh?—where pour out my complaint?

He that should hear, should succour, should redress,

He is the source of all.

Alon. Go to thy chamber;

I soon will follow; that which now disturbs thee

Shall be clear'd up, and thou shalt not condemn me.

[exit Leonora.

Oh, how like innocence she looks!—What, stab her!

And rush into her blood?

How then? why thus—no more; it is determin'd.

Re-enter Zanga.

Zan. I fear, his heart has fail'd him. She must die.

Can I not rouse the snake that's in his bosom,

To sting out human nature, and effect it?[aside.

Alon. This vast and solid earth, that blazing sun,

Those skies, through which it rolls, must all have end.

What then is man? the smallest part of nothing.

Day buries day; month, month; and year, the year.

Our life is but a chain of many deaths;

Can then death's self be fear'd? our life much rather.

Life is the desert, life the solitude.

Death joins us to the great majority:

'Tis to be borne to Platos and to Cæsars;

'Tis to be great for ever;

'Tis pleasure, 'tis ambition, then to die.

Zan. I think, my lord, you talk'd of death.

Alon. I did.

Zan. I give you joy, then Leonora's dead.

Alon. No, Zanga; to shed a woman's blood

Would stain my sword, and make my wars inglorious;

He who, superior to the checks of nature,

Dares make his life the victim of his reason,

Does in some sort that reason deify,

And take a flight at heaven.

Zan. Alas, my lord,

'Tis not your reason, but her beauty, finds

Those arguments, and throws you on your sword.

You cannot close an eye that is so bright,

You cannot strike a breast that is so soft,

That has ten thousand ecstasies in store—

For Carlos?—No, my lord, I mean for you.

Alon. Oh, through my heart and marrow! pr'ythee, spare me,

Nor more upbraid the weakness of thy lord:

I own, I try'd, I quarrell'd with my heart,

And push'd it on, and bid it give her death;

But, oh, her eyes struck first and murder'd me.

Zan. I know not what to answer to my lord.

Men are but men; we did not make ourselves.

Farewell then, my best lord, since you must die.

Oh, that I were to share your monument,

And in eternal darkness close these eyes

Against those scenes which I am doom'd to suffer!

Alon. What dost thou mean?

Zan. And is it then unknown?

Oh, grief of heart, to think that you should ask it!

Sure you distrust that ardent love I bear you,

Else could you doubt when you are laid in dust—

But it will cut my poor heart through and through,

To see those revel on your sacred tomb,

Who brought you thither by their lawless loves.

For there they'll revel, and exult to find

Him sleep so fast, who else might mar their joys.

Alon. Distraction! But don Carlos well thou know'st

Is sheath'd in steel, and bent on other thoughts.

Zan. I'll work him to the murder of his friend.[aside.

Yes, till the fever of his blood returns,

While her last kiss still glows upon his cheek.

But when he finds Alonzo is no more,

How will he rush, like lightning, to her arms!

There sigh, there languish, there pour out his soul;

But not in grief—sad obsequies to thee!—

But thou wilt be at peace, nor see, nor hear,

The burning kiss, the sigh of ecstasy,

Their throbbing hearts that jostle one another:

Thank heaven, these torments will be all my own.

Alon. I'll ease thee of that pain. Let Carlos die;

O'ertake him on the road, and see it done.

'Tis my command.[gives his signet.

Zan. I dare not disobey.

Alon. My Zanga, now I have thy leave to die.

Zan. Ah, sir! think, think again. Are all men buried

In Carlos' grave? you know not womankind:

When once the throbbing of the heart has broke

The modest zone, with which it first was ty'd,

Each man she meets will be a Carlos to her.

Alon. That thought has more of hell than had the former.

Another, and another, and another!

And each shall cast a smile upon my tomb.

I am convinc'd; I must not, will not, die.

Zan. You cannot die; nor can you murder her.

What then remains? In nature no third way,

But to forget, and so to love again.

Alon. Oh!

Zan. If you forgive, the world will call you good;

If you forget, the world will call you wise;

If you receive her to your grace again,

The world will call you—very, very kind.

Alon. Zanga, I understand thee well. She dies;

Though my arm tremble at the stroke, she dies.

Zan. That's truly great. What think you 'twas set up

The Greek and Roman name in such a lustre,

But doing right in stern despite to nature;

Shutting their ears to all her little cries,

When great, august, and godlike justice call'd?

At Aulis, one pour'd out a daughter's life,

And gain'd more glory than by all his wars;

Another, slew a sister in just rage;

A third, the theme of all succeeding times,

Gave to the cruel axe a darling son:

Nay more, for justice some devote themselves,

As he at Carthage, an immortal name!

Yet there is one step left above them all,

Above their history, above their fable:

A wife, bride, mistress, unenjoy'd—do that,

And tread upon the Greek and Roman glory.

Alon. 'Tis done!—Again new transports fire my brain:

I had forgot it, 'tis my bridal night.

Friend, give me joy, we must be gay together;

See that the festival be duly honour'd.

And when with garlands the full bowl is crown'd,

And music gives her elevating sound,

And golden carpets spread the sacred floor,

And a new day the blazing tapers pour,

Thou, Zanga, then my solemn friends invite,

From the dark realms of everlasting night;

Call Vengeance, call the furies, call Despair,

And Death, our chief-invited guest, be there;

He, with pale hand, shall lead the bride, and spread

Eternal curtains round our nuptial bed.[exeunt.

---

ACT THE FIFTH.

SCENE I.

Enter Alonzo, meeting Zanga.

Alon. Is Carlos murder'd?

Zan. I obey'd your order.

Six ruffians overtook him on the road;

He fought as he was wont, and four he slew.

Then sunk beneath an hundred wounds to death.

His last breath blest Alonzo, and desir'd

His bones might rest near yours.

Alon. Oh, Zanga! Zanga!

But I'll not think: for I must act, and thinking

Would ruin me for action.

Where's Leonora then? Quick, answer me:

I'm deep in horrors, I'll be deeper still.

I find thy artifice did take effect,

And she forgives my late deportment to her.

Zan. I told her, from your childhood you was wont,

On any great surprise, but chiefly then

When cause of sorrow bore it company,

To have your passion shake the seat of reason;

A momentary ill, which soon blew o'er:

Then did I tell her of don Carlos' death

(Wisely suppressing by what means he fell),

And laid the blame on that. At first she doubted;

But such the honest artifice I us'd,

And such her ardent wish it should be true,

That she, at length, was fully satisfied.

But what design you, sir, and how?

Alon. I'll tell thee.

Thus I've ordain'd it. In the jess'mine bow'r,

The place which she dishonour'd with her guilt,

There will I meet her; the appointment's made;

And calmly spread (for I can do it now)

The blackness of her crime before her sight;

And then, with all the cool solemnity

Of public justice, give her to the grave.[exit.

Zan. Why, get thee gone! horror and night go with thee.

Sisters of Acheron, go hand in hand,

Go dance around the bow'r, and close them;

And tell them, that I sent you to salute them

Profane the ground; and for th' ambrosial rose,

And breath of jess'mine, let hemlock blacken,

And deadly nightshade poison, all the air.

For the sweet nightingale, may ravens croak,

Toads pant, and adders rustle through the leaves;

May serpents winding up the trees let fall

Their hissing necks upon them from above,

And mingle kisses—such as I would give them.[exit.

SCENE II. THE BOWER.