Alfon. What hast thou done?
Orsi. Preserved Castile in thee.
Mel. Hew him to pieces!
Hen. Monster thy son——
Orsi. He was so; yet I slew him.
Think ye, I loved him not?—Oh! heaven, the blood
My breast now pours, gives me not half such pain
As that which stains this poniard: yet I slew him,
I, I his father!—And as I with him,
So, traitors, shall your father deal with ye,
Your father who frowns yonder.—[Thunder.]—mark! he speaks!
The avenger speaks, and stretches from the clouds
His red right arm.—See, see! his javelins fly,
And fly to strike you dead!—While yet 'tis time,
Down, rebels, down!—Tremble, repent, and tremble!
Fall at your sovereign's feet, and sue for grace.
The conspirators sink on their knees.
Alfon. Oh! soul of honour.—Oh! my full, full heart!
Orsino, friend!——
Orsi. No more—Thy hand—farewell.
Life ebbs apace—Oh, lay me by my son,
That I may bless him ere I die—Pale, pale:
No warmth:—No sense:—Not one convulsive throb:
Not one last lingering breath on those wan lips!
All gone! all, all!—So fair, so young, to die
Was hard, most hard: canst thou forgive thy father,
Canst thou, my boy? he loved thee dearly, dearly,
And would to save thy life have died himself,
Though he had rather see thee dead than guilty.
My sand runs fast.—Oh! I am sick at soul!
I'll breathe my last sigh on my son's cold lips.
Clasp his dead hand in mine, and lay my heart
Close to his gaping wound, that it may break
'Gainst his dear breast.—My eyes grow faint and clouded.
I see thy face no more, my boy, but still
Feel thy blood trickle!—Oh! that pang, that pang!
'Tis done—All's dark!—My son, my son, my son!
[Dies.