Maurice. It is not so, remember that, my friends!
Cowards are cruel, and the cruel cowards.

Alhadra. Scatter yourselves, take each a separate way, [105]
And move in silence to the house of Velez. [Exeunt.

Scene.—A Dungeon.

Albert (alone) rises slowly from a bed of reeds.

Albert. And this place my forefathers made for men!
This is the process of our love and wisdom
To each poor brother who offends against us—
Most innocent, perhaps—and what if guilty? 110
Is this the only cure? Merciful God!
Each pore and natural outlet shrivell'd up
By ignorance and parching poverty,
His energies roll back upon his heart,
And stagnate and corrupt till changed to poison, 115
[[587]] They break out on him like a loathsome plague-spot!
Then we call in our pamper'd mountebanks—
And this is their best cure! uncomforted
And friendless solitude, groaning and tears,
And savage faces at the clanking hour [120]
Seen thro' the steaming vapours of his dungeon
By the lamp's dismal twilight! So he lies
Circled with evil, till his very soul
Unmoulds its essence, hopelessly deform'd
By sights of ever more deformity! [125]
With other ministrations thou, O Nature!
Healest thy wandering and distemper'd child:
Thou pourest on him thy soft influences,
Thy sunny hues, fair forms, and breathing sweets,
Thy melodies of woods, and winds, and waters, 130
Till he relent, and can no more endure
To be a jarring and a dissonant thing
Amid this general dance and minstrelsy;
But bursting into tears wins back his way,
His angry spirit heal'd and harmoniz'd [135]
By the benignant touch of love and beauty.

[A noise at the dungeon-door. It opens, and Osorio enters with a goblet in his hand.

[[588]]Osorio. Hail, potent wizard! In my gayer mood
I pour'd forth a libation to old Pluto;
[[589]] And as I brimm'd the bowl, I thought of thee!

Albert (in a low voice). I have not summon'd up my heart to give [140]
That pang, which I must give thee, son of Velez!

Osorio (with affected levity). Thou hast conspired against my life and honour,
Hast trick'd me foully; yet I hate thee not!
Why should I hate thee? This same world of ours—
It is a puddle in a storm of rain, [145]
And we the air-bladders, that course up and down,
And joust and tilt in merry tournament,
And when one bubble runs foul of another, [Waving his hand at Albert.
The lesser must needs break!

Albert. I see thy heart!
There is a frightful glitter in thine eye, [150]
[[590]] Which doth betray thee. Crazy-conscienc'd man,
This is the gaiety of drunken anguish,
Which fain would scoff away the pang of guilt,
And quell each human feeling!