Jul. Egilona lives:
And were she buried with her ancestors,
Covilla should not be the gaze of men,
Should not, despoiled of honour, rule the free.
Rod. Stern man! her virtues well deserve the throne.
Jul. And Egilona—what hath she deserved,
The good, the lovely?
Rod. But the realm in vain
Hoped a succession.
Jul. Thou hast torn away
The roots of royalty.
Rod. For her, for thee.
Jul. Blind insolence! base insincerity!
Power and renown no mortal ever shared,
Who could retain or grasp them to himself:
And, for Covilla? patience! peace! for her?
She call upon her God, and outrage Him
At His own altar! she repeat the vows
She violates in repeating! who abhors
Thee and thy crimes, and wants no crown of thine.
Force may compel the abhorrent soul, or want
Lash and pursue it to the public ways;
Virtue looks back and weeps, and may return
To these, but never near the abandoned one
Who drags religion to adultery’s feet,
And rears the altar higher for her sake.
Rod. Have then the Saracens possessed thee quite,
And wilt thou never yield me thy consent?
Jul. Never.
Rod. So deep in guilt, in treachery!
Forced to acknowledge it! forced to avow
The traitor!