University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

Near the Palace.
Enter Garcia and Alvaro.
Gar.
This Hebrew madam makes our Arragon
Her pleasure and her spoil: all bow before her;
People and nobles lacquey her alike,
And the mere crown is all she wants of Queen:
Nay, men already name the Hebrew Queen,
And Xavier sways the nation's ministry.
Alphonso in his dotage is gone mad,
And his proud kingdom uses as a toy
To please a wench's fancy; yet she stands
In honour unassailable—that the King's passion
Must die, or end in marriage.

Alv.
Marriage!

Gar.
Ay:
The lady Isabella is despised;
As if she were a garment half outworn,
And not a bridal robe, trimm'd for the wearing—
But ne'er put on. Be joyful, Arragon!
Your Queen's a Jewess.

Alv.
Would to Heaven's God!
My feet were on the upstart Xavier's neck;
His daughter in my arms—I'd teach them both
What honour is!

Gar.
I thought them unoffending—
Peaceful; but give them claws and fangs, I find
They'll tear like other brutes: it shall not last!
Jews shall no longer be the chiefs of state,
And mock our Holy Faith with blasphemy!

Alv.
They shall not, by the Cross!—they shall not, dogs!—
What! Jews make levy upon Christians? pluck
Our fortunes from us—Now, by all the Saints!—

Gar.
What royal sorrow's this strikes pity mute
With witchcraft of its tears? The beauteous princess?

Enter Isabella.
Isa.
I can endure no more: I've suffer'd long;
Letting the duteous heart of loyal love
Beat 'gainst the sense of injury; and now—
After calm brooking of so many wrongs,
Now to be banish'd, now!—it breaks my heart.

Gar.
Banished! O, gracious madam, speak again
The king is not so clutch'd in by the devil,
As to do this?

Isa.
He frowns me from his presence;
Xavier looks death upon me as I pass,
And Rachel—there is poison in the name!—
Insults me with the triumph of her smile.
I'd rather live on roots i' the wild woods,
Than thus beside a throne!—my honour'd lords,
I here commend my fortunes to your care:
Take me where'er you will—I reck not where;—
Back to my father's court—to exile, death!
No future sorrow can exceed the past!

Gar.
O, royal lady! your good cause is ours.
We will avenge thee; and thy royal sire,
Shall need to stir no foot in thy behalf.
Be this your comfort, the Jew strikes himself
And this presumptuous levy he hath dared
To make on Saragossa's citizens,
To serve his daughter's fast extravagance,
Fells him to earth: resistance is on foot;
Alphonso's troops are out against the Moors;
The city shall rise arm'd within the hour—
And her ten thousand voices thunder death
To the proud Jewess and her upstart sire!

Alv.
Ay, and to every cursed Israelite
That taints our kingdom's air with villainy:
How the Jew dogs will howl!—I hear them now.

Isa.
Amaze and joy burn brightly in my heart,
But apprehension's breath doth shake the flame.

Gar.
He shall be hurtless; and his dignity
In our revenges will but rise renew'd
From its long cloud of slumber: rest content!
Please you await the issue, in my house
Of this great blow for justice, to which shelter
A troop of friends shall guard your royalty.

Isa.
Even be it so, my lords: what else should be?
My bliss and greatness in their infancy
Have sicken'd, at the least—and well may die;
Would I might too!—death is not misery.

[Exeunt.