A beam of comfort, like the moon through clouds,
Gilds the brown horror, and directs my way.—
Blast not my purpose, by refusing leave,
Nor ask the means; but know, I will not die,
Till I have proved the extremest remedy.
And if, unarmed, I go to tempt my fate,
Think my despair is from Victoria's hate. [Exit Alphonso.
Ram. I might have used the power heaven gives to parents,
And hindered his departure;
But somewhat of divine controuled my tongue: