Bert. Thought of the queen, perhaps?
Torr. Why, if it were,
Heaven may be thought on, though too high to climb.
Bert. O, now I find where your ambition drives!
You ought not to think of her.
Torr. So I say too,
I ought not; madmen ought not to be mad;
But who can help his frenzy?
Bert. Fond young man!
The wings of your ambition must be clipt:
Your shame-faced virtue shunned the people's praise,
And senate's honours: But 'tis well we know
What price you hold yourself at. You have fought
With some success, and that has sealed your pardon.
Torr. Pardon from thee!—O, give me patience, heaven!—
Thrice vanquished Bertran, if thou dar'st, look out
Upon yon slaughtered host, that field of blood;
There seal my pardon, where thy fame was lost.
Ped. He's ruined, past redemption!
Alph. [To Torr.] Learn respect
To the first prince of the blood.
Bert. O, let him rave!
I'll not contend with madmen.
Torr. I have done:
I know, 'twas madness to declare this truth:
And yet, 'twere baseness to deny my love.
'Tis true, my hopes are vanishing as clouds;
Lighter than children's bubbles blown by winds:
My merit's but the rash result of chance;
395 My birth unequal; all the stars against me:
Power, promise, choice, the living and the dead;
Mankind my foes; and only love to friend:
But such a love, kept at such awful distance,
As, what it loudly dares to tell a rival,
Shall fear to whisper there. Queens may be loved,
And so may gods; else why are altars raised?
Why shines the sun, but that he may be viewed?
But, oh! when he's too bright, if then we gaze,
'Tis but to weep, and close our eyes in darkness.[Exit.