ACT II. SCENE 2.
Sisabert enters.
Sis. Uncle, and is it true, say, can it be,
That thou art leader of these faithless Moors?
That thou impeachest thy own daughter’s fame
Thro’ the whole land, to seize upon the throne
By the permission of these recreant slaves?
What shall I call thee? art thou, speak Count Julian,
A father, or a soldier, or a man?
Jul. All—or this day had never seen me here.
Sis. O falsehood! worse than woman’s!
Cov. Once, my cousin,
Far gentler words were uttered from your lips;
If you loved me, you loved my father first,
More justly and more steddily, ere love
Was passion and illusion and deceit.
Sis. I boast not that I never was deceived,
Covilla, which beyond all boasts were base,
Nor that I never loved; let this be thine.
Illusions! just to stop us, not delay,
Amuse, not occupy!—too true! when love
Scatters its brilliant foam, and passes on
To some fresh object in its natural course,
Widely and openly and wanderingly,
’Tis better! narrow it, and it pours its gloom
In one fierce cataract that stuns the soul.
Ye hate the wretch ye make so, while ye choose
Whoever knows you best and shuns you most.
Cov. Shun me then: be beloved, more and more.
Honour the hand that showed you honour first,
Love—O my father! speak, proceed, persuade,
Thy voice alone can utter it—another.
Sis. Ah lost Covilla! can a thirst of power
Alter thy heart, thus, to abandon mine,
And change my very nature at one blow.
Cov. I told you, dearest Sisabert, ’twas vain
To urge me more, to question, or confute.