Elvira A Tragedy |
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 | Elvira |  |
SCENE VI.
The QUEEN, ELVIRA.QUEEN.
Elvira—You have heard your queen's complaints;
Have heard too what Alonzo, fix'd as fate
And resolutely just, has now determin'd.
The fatal secret that alarms us both,
I think, is in your keeping.
ELVIRA.
Heaven! in mine?
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In yours. Whene'er the prince vouchsafes a visit
To my poor court, his eyes are ever turn'd,
Are ever fix'd on you—What should that mean?
ELVIRA.
Your words amaze me!—
QUEEN.
Are Almeyda's charms,
Whatever Nature's kindest hand can lavish
On favor'd youth, to justify at full
A mother's fondness—tell me, are those charms
Hid but from him? while all beholders else
Divide, with mine, the transports they confess.
They see in her combin'd each brighter grace
Of look and air, see virtue's fairest stamp
Upon her brow imprest, and over all
And all exalting, modest ignorance
Of her own worth: And have I yet to fear,
For such a daughter, coldness or disdain?
ELVIRA.
How can you deem the prince so stern of nature,
That beauty has no power upon his heart?
No, Madam, he has felt it, and admires
Its awful influence in Almeyda's eyes!
QUEEN.
You know it then?
ELVIRA.
It is not mine to read
The secret of his bosom; but he oft,
With me confessing her superior charms,
And that true virtue, lovely as unfeign'd,
The beam that lights those beauties into blaze,
Has oft proclaim'd her all your fondness thinks.
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And sought out you, and only you, to pour
His amorous rapture in your willing ear?
Indeed!—Elvira—tremble! You but pull
Destruction on your head—yes, sure destruction,
By daring to deceive me! No: not her,
When you are by, his theme is not Almeyda.
Of you he talks!
ELVIRA.
Of me!
QUEEN.
Of you alone!
You either dare to love—or, calm my fears,
And point me to the bosom I should pierce!
For here—I here disclose my inmost soul—
She, the rash fair one, who should lift her eyes
To that forbidden height; should wound my breast,
A parent's breast, in its most tender sense,
She, the devoted victim of my rage,
The wretch, the vain presumer, then should feel
How far a mother and a queen can punish!
ELVIRA.
Ye saints and angels!—Madam, let calm reason—
QUEEN.
My daughter is to me health, pleasure, fame!
My sum of good or ill is wrapt in her!
Mine her affront, her rival too is mine!
And to revenge her, earth and heaven in vain
Would bar my way. I am on fire to know
Where I should strike. Then—mark me—find her out,
This guilty head—or ruin hangs o'er thine!
| Elvira | |