Don A. They made but faint resistance: some were slain,
Some perish'd in the fire, others escap'd,
Giving the alarm in quarters more remote
To their companions drown'd in sleep and wine
Who, at the outcry and the noise of trumpets,
Methinks I fancy starting from their beds,
As pale and wan, as from their dormitories
Those the last trump shall rouse: diff'ring in this,
That those awake to live, but these to die.
Don O. O, how unsafe it is to be secure!
Don A. Finding no more resistance, I made haste
To a lofty structure which, as I conceiv'd,
Was the likeliest quarter for their officer;
Led thither by desire to rescue both—
Him from the soldier's rage, that from the fire.
Don O. A care most worthy of a gallant leader.
Don A. But think, Octavio, how I was surpris'd
When, entering a pavilion i' th' garden,
I found a woman of a matchless form,
Stretch'd all along upon the marble floor.
Don O.[59] I easily can divine how such a heart,
As harbours in the brave Antonio's breast,
May suffer at so sad a spectacle.
Don A. At the first sight I did believe her dead;
Yet in that state so awful she appear'd,
That I approach'd her with as much respect
As if the soul had animated still
That body which, though dead, scarce mortal seem'd.
But as, the sun from our horizon gone,
His beams do leave a tincture on the skies,
Which shows it was not long since he withdrew:
So in her lovely face there still appear'd
Some scatter'd streaks of those vermilion beams,
Which us'd t' irradiate that bright firmament.
Thus did I find that distress'd miracle,
Able to wound a heart as if alive,
Uncapable to cure it as if dead.
Don O. I no more doubt your pity than your wonder.
Don A. My admiration did suspend my aid,
Till passion join'd to pity made me bold.
I kneel'd, and took her in my arms, then bow'd
Her body gently forward; at which instant
A sigh stole from her. O the ravishing sound!
Which being a symptom of remaining life
Made me forget that 'twas a sign of grief.
At length she faintly opens her bright eyes:
So breaks the day, and so do all the creatures
Rejoice, as I did, at the new-born light:
But as the Indians, who adore the sun,
Are scorch'd by's beam, ere half his race be run,
So I, who did adore her rising eyes,
Found myself wounded by those deities.
Don O. I am big with expectation; pray
Deliver me.