A pleasing scene of solitary grief.
Enter Veramond and Ximena, he with an Ovid in his hand.
Vera. How darest thou, rebel, thus provoke my patience
Beyond all sufferance, and transgress thy bounds?
Alph. When kings and fathers, on their sons and subjects
Exact intolerable things to bear,
Nature and self-defence dispense with duty.
Vera. Oh, heaven! what horrid sin have I committed
That I was punished to beget this son?
Alph. I could ask heaven another question too,