 | The Revenge |  |
51
Leonora sleeping. Enter Alonzo.
Alon.
Ye Amaranths! Ye Roses like the Morn!
Sweet Myrtles; and ye Golden Orange Groves!
Why do you smile? Why do you look so fair?
Are you not blasted as I enter in?
Yes, see how every Flow'r lets fall its Head!
How shudders every Leaf without a Wind!
How every Green is as the Ivy pale!
Did ever Midnight Ghosts assemble here?
Have these sweet Ecchoes ever learnt to groan?
Joy-giving, Love-inspiring, holy Bow'r!
Know, in thy fragrant Bosom thou receiv'st
A—Murderer. Oh! I shall stain thy Lillies,
And Horror will usurp the Seat of Bliss.
So Lucifer broke into Paradise,
And soon Damnation follow'd. [He advances.]
Ha! she sleeps—
The Day's uncommon Heat has overcome her.
Then take, my longing Eyes, your last full Gaze.
Oh! What a Sight is here? How dreadful Fair!
Who would not think that Being innocent?
Where shall I strike! Who strikes her, strikes himself.
My own Life-Blood will issue at her Wound.
O my distracted Heart!—O Cruel Heav'n!
To give such Charms as Those, and then call Man,
Meer Man, to be your Executioner.
Was it because it was too hard for you?
But see she smiles! I never shall smile more.
It strongly tempts me to a parting Kiss.
[Going, he starts back.
52
Curse on her Charms! I'll stab her thro' them all.
[As he is going to strike, she wakes.
Leon.
My Lord, your Stay was long, and yonder Lull
Of falling Waters tempted me to Rest,
Dispirited with Noon's excessive Heat.
Alon.
Ye Pow'rs! with what an Eye she mends the Day!
While they were clos'd I should have giv'n the Blow.
O for a last Embrace! And then for Justice.
Thus Heav'n and I shall both be satisfy'd.
Leon.
What says my Lord?
Alon.
Why this Alonzo says.
If Love were endless, Men were Gods: 'tis that
Does counter-ballance Travel, Danger, Pain—
'Tis Heav'n's Expedient to make Mortals bear
The Light, and cheat them of the peaceful Grave.
Leon.
Alas! my Lord, why talk you of the Grave?
Your Friend is dead; in Friendship you sustain
A mighty Loss, repair it with my Love.
Alon.
Thy Love? Thou piece of Witchcraft! I wou'd say,
Thou brightest Angel! I could gaze for ever.
Where hadst thou This? Enchantress, tell me, where?
Which with a Touch works Miracles, boils up
My Blood to Tumult, and turns round my Brain!
Ev'n now thou swim'st before me. I shall lose thee.
No, I will make thee sure, and clasp thee all.
Who turn'd this slender Waste with so much Art,
And shut Perfection in so small a Ring?
Who spread that pure Expanse of White above!
On which the dazzled Sight can find no Rest;
But drunk with Beauty, wanders up and down
For ever, and for ever finds new Charms!
But, O those Eyes! Those Murderers! O whence!
Whence didst thou steal their burning Orbs? from Heav'n?
Thou didst, and 'tis Religion to adore them.
Leon.
My best Alonzo, moderate your Thought:
Extremes still fright me, tho' of Love it self.
Alon.
Extremes indeed! it hurried me away;
53
And now for Death—it is impossible!
Sure such were made by Heav'n guiltless to Sin,
Or in their Guilt to laugh at Punishment.
[aside.
I leave her to just Heav'n.
[Drops the Dagger.
Leon.
Ha! a Dagger!
What dost thou say, thou Minister of Death?
What dreadful Tale dost tell me? Let me think.
Enter Zanga.
Zan.
Death to my tow'ring Hopes! O fall from high!
My close long-labour'd Scheme at once is blasted.
That Dagger found will cause her to enquire,
Enquiry will discover all, my Hopes
Of Vengeance perish; I my self am lost—
Curse on the Coward's Heart! wither his Hand
Which held the Steel in vain!—What can be done!—
Where can I fix?—That's something still—'twill breed
Fell Rage, and Bitterness betwixt their Souls,
Which may perchance grow up to greater Evil;
If not, 'tis all I can—it shall be so—
Leon.
O Zanga! I am sinking in my Fears.
Alonzo dropt this Dagger as he left me,
And left me in a strange Disorder too.
What can this mean? Angels preserve his Life!
Zan.
Yours, Madam, yours.
Leon.
What, Zanga, dost thou say?
Zan.
Carry you Goodness then to such Extremes,
So blinded to the Faults of him you love,
That you perceive not he is jealous?
Leon.
Heav'ns!
And yet a Thousand Things recur that swear it.
What Villain could inspire him with that Thought?
It is not of the Growth of his own Nature.
Zan.
Some Villain. Who, Hell knows; but he is Jealous;
And 'tis most fit a Heart so pure as yours
Do it self Justice, and assert its Honour,
And make him conscious of his Stab to Virtue.
Leon.
Jealous! it sickens at my Heart. Unkind,
54
Why? Wherefore? On what shadow of Occasion?
'Tis Fascination, 'tis the Wrath of Heav'n
For the collected Crimes of all his Race.
Oh how the Great Man lessens to my Thought!
How could so mean a Vice as Jealousy,
Unnatural Child of Ignorance and Guilt,
Which tears, and feeds upon its Parent's Heart,
Live in a Throng of such exalted Virtues?
I scorn, and hate, yet love him, and adore.
I cannot, will not, dare not, think it true,
Till from himself I know it.
[Exit.
Zan.
This succeeds
Just to my Wish. Now she with Violence
Upbraids him. He, well knowing she is guilty,
Rages no less, and if on either side
The Waves run high, there still lives Hope of Ruin.
Enter Alonzo.
My Lord.
Alon.
O Zanga! hold thy Peace, I am no Coward;
But Heav'n it self did hold my Hand; I felt it,
By the Well-being of my Soul, I did.
I'll think of Vengeance at another Season.
Zan.
My Lord, her Guilt.
Alon.
Perdition on thee, Moor,
For that one Word! Ah! do not rouse that Thought;
I have o'erwhelm'd it much as possible:
Away then, let us talk of other things.
I tell thee, Moor, I love her to Distraction.
If 'tis my Shame, why be it so—I love her;
Nor can I help it, 'tis impos'd upon me
By some superior and resistless Pow'r.
I could not hurt her to be Lord of Earth;
It shocks my Nature like a Stroke at Heav'n.
Angels defend her, as if innocent!
But see, my Leonora comes!—Begone.
[Exit Zanga.
Enter Leonora.
O seen for ever! yet for ever new!
The Conquer'd thou dost Conquer o'er again,
Inflicting Wound on Wound.
55
Alas! My Lord,
What need of this to me?
Alon.
Ha! Dost thou weep?
Leon.
Have I no Cause?
Alon.
If Love is thy Concern,
Thou hast no Cause; None ever lov'd like me.
But wherefore this? Is it to break my Heart,
Which loses so much Blood for every Tear?
Leon.
Is it so tender?
Alon.
Is it not? O Heav'n!
Doubt of my Love? Why I am nothing else;
It quite absorbs my every other Passion.
O that this one Embrace would last for ever!
Leon.
Could this Man ever mean to wrong my Virtue?
Could this Man e'er design upon my Life?
Impossible! I throw away the Thought.
[Aside.
These Tears declare how much I taste the Joy
Of being folded in your Arms and Heart;
My Universe does lye within that space.
This Dagger bore false Witness.
Alon.
Ha! My Dagger?
It rouzes horrid Images. Away,
Away with it; and let us talk of Love,
Plunge our selves deep into the sweet Illusion,
And hide us there from every other Thought.
Leon.
It touches you.
Alon.
Let's talk of Love.
Leon.
Of Death.
Alon.
As thou lov'st Happiness—
Leon.
Of Murder.
Alon.
Rash,
Rash Woman, yet forbear.
Leon.
Approve my Wrongs!
Alon.
Then must I fly, for thy sake and my own.
Leon.
Nay, by my Injuries, you first must hear me:
Stab me, then think it much to hear my Groan?
Alon.
Heav'ns strike me deaf!
56
It well may sting you home.
Alon.
Alas! Thou quite mistak'st my Cause of Pain.
Yet, yet dismiss me; I am all in Flames.
Leon.
Who has most Cause? You or my self? What Act
Of my whole Life encourag'd you to This?
Or of your own, what Guilt has drawn it on you?
You find me kind, and think me kind to all:
The weak, ungenerous Error of your Sex.
What could inspire the Thought? We oftnest judge
From our own Hearts; and is your's then so frail,
It prompts you to conceive thus ill of me?
He that can stoop to harbour such a Thought,
Deserves to find it true.
[Holding him.
Alon.
O Sex, Sex, Sex!
[Turning on her.
The Language of you all. I'll-fated Woman!
Why hast thou forc'd me back into the Gulph
Of Agonies, I had block'd up from Thought?
I know the Cause; thou saw'st me Impotent
E'er while to hurt thee, therefore thou turn'st on me;
But by the Pangs I suffer, to thy Woe.
For since thou hast replung'd me in my Torture,
I will be satisfy'd.
Leon.
Be satisfy'd!
Alon.
Yes, thy own Mouth shall witness it against Thee.
I will be satisfy'd.
Leon.
Of what?
Alon.
Of what?
How dar'st thou ask that Question? Woman, Woman,
Weak, and assur'd at once; thus 'tis for ever.
Who told thee that thy Virtue was suspected?
Who told thee I design'd upon thy Life?
You found the Dagger; but that could not speak;
Nor did I tell Thee; Who did tell thee then?
Guilt, conscious Guilt.
Leon.
This to my Face! O Heav'n!
Alon.
This to thy very Soul.
Leon.
Thou'rt not in Earnest?
57
Serious as Death.
Leon.
Then Heav'n have Mercy on thee.
'Till now I struggled not to think it true,
I fought Conviction, and would not believe it.
And dost thou force me? This shall not be born,
Thou shalt repent this Insult.
[Going.
Alon.
Madam, stay.
Your Passion's wise, 'tis a Disguise for Guilt:
'Tis my Turn now to fix you here awhile;
You, and your Thousand Arts shall not escape me.
Leon.
Arts?
Alon.
Arts. Confess; for Death is in my Hand.
Leon.
'Tis in your Words.
Alon.
Confess, Confess, Confess;
Nor tear my Veins with Passion to compel thee.
Leon.
I scorn to answer thee, presumptuous Man!
Alon.
Deny then, and incur a fouler Shame.
Where did I find this Picture?
Leon.
Ha! Don Carlos?
By my best Hopes, more welcome than thy own.
Alon.
I know it; but is Vice so very rank,
That thou should'st dare to dash it in my Face?
Nature is sick of thee, abandon'd Woman!
Leon.
Repent.
Alon.
Is that for me?
Leon.
Fall, ask my Pardon.
Alon.
Astonishment!
Leon.
Dar'st thou persist to think I am dishonest?
Alon.
I know thee so.
Leon.
This Blow then to thy Heart—
[She stabs her self, he endeavouring to prevent her.
Alon.
Hoa! Zanga! Isabella! Hoa! She Bleeds.
Descend ye blessed Angels, to assist her.
Leon.
This is the only Way I would wound Thee:
Tho' most unjust. Now think me guilty still.
Enter Isabella.
Alon.
Bear her to instant Help. The World to save her!
58
Unhappy Man! Well may'st thou gaze and tremble;
But fix thy Terror and Amazement right.
Not on my Blood; but on thy own Distraction.
What hast thou done? Whom censur'd?—Leonora.
When thou hadst censur'd, thou would'st save her Life;
O Inconsistent! Should I live in Shame;
Or stoop to any other Means but This,
To assert my Virtue? No: she who disputes,
Admits it possible she might be guilty.
While ought but Truth could be my Inducement to it,
While it might look like an Excuse to thee,
I scorn'd to vindicate my Innocence;
But now, I let thy Rashness know, the Wound
Which least I feel, is that my Dagger made.
[Isabella leads out Leonora.
Alon.
Ha! Was this Woman guilty?—and if not—
How my Thought darkens that Way! Grant, kind Heaven,
That she prove guilty, or give Being End.
Is that my Hope then?—Sure the sacred Dust
Of her that bore me trembles in its Urn.
Is it in Man the sore Distress to bear,
When Hope it self, is blacken'd to Despair,
When all the Bliss I pant for, is to gain
In Hell a Refuge from severer Pain?
[Ex. Alon.
Enter Zanga.
Zan.
How stands the great Account 'twixt me and Vengeance?
Tho' much is paid, yet still it owes me much,
And I will not abate a single Groan.—
Ha! That were well—but That were Fatal too—
Why be it so—Revenge so truly Great
Would come too cheap, if bought with less than Life.
Come Death, come Hell then! 'tis resolv'd, 'tis done.
Enter Isabella.
Isab.
Ah! Zanga, see me tremble! has not yet
Thy cruel Heart its fill?—Poor Leonora—
Zan.
Welters in Blood, and gasps for her last Breath.
What then? We all must dye.
59
Alonzo raves,
And in the Tempest of his Grief, has thrice
Attempted on his Life. At length disarm'd,
He calls his Friends that save him, his worst Foes,
And importunes the Skies for swift Perdition.
Thus in his Storm of Sorrow. After Pause
He started up, and call'd aloud for Zanga,
For Zanga rav'd; and see he seeks you here,
To learn that Truth, which most he dreads to know.
Zan.
Begone. Now, now, my Soul, consummate all!
[Ex. Isab.
Alon.
O Zanga!
Zan.
Do not tremble so; but speak.
Alon.
I dare not.
[Falls on him.
Zan.
You will drown me with your Tears.
Alon.
Have I not Cause?
Zan.
As yet You have no Cause.
Alon.
Dost thou too rave?
Zan.
Your Anguish is to come.
You much have been abus'd.
Alon.
Abus'd! By whom?
Zan.
To know, were little Comfort.
Alon.
Oh! 'twere much.
Zan.
Indeed!
Alon.
By Heav'n. O give him to my Fury!
Zan.
Born for your Use, I live but to oblige you.
Know then, 'twas—I.
Alon.
Am I awake?
Zan.
For ever.
Thy Wife is guiltless, that's one Transport to me,
And I, I let Thee know it; that's another.
I urg'd Don Carlos to resign his Mistress,
I forg'd the Letter, I dispos'd the Picture;
I hated, I despis'd, and I destroy.
Alon.
Oh!
[Swoons.
Zan.
Why this is well,—why this is Blow for Blow.
Where are you? Crown me, shadow me with Laurels,
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Let Europe and her palid Sons go weep,
Let Africk and her Hundred Thrones rejoyce.
O my dear Countrymen! Look down, and see,
How I bestride your prostrate Conqueror!
I tread on Haughty Spain, and all her Kings.
But this is Mercy, this is my Indulgence,
'Tis Peace, 'tis Refuge from my Indignation.
I must awake him into Horrors. Hoa!
Alonzo, Hoa! the Moor is at the Gate:
Awake, Invincible, Omnipotent!
Thou who dost all subdue.
Alon.
Inhuman Slave!
Zan.
Fall'n Christian, thou mistak'st my Character.
Look on me. Who am I? I know, thou say'st,
The Moor, a Slave, an abject, beaten Slave,
(Eternal Woes to him that made me so.)
But look again. Has six Years cruel Bondage
Extinguish'd Majesty so far, that nought
Shines here, to give an Awe of one above thee?
When the great Moorish King Abdalla fell,
Fell by thy Hand accurst, I fought fast by him,
His Son, tho' thro' his Fondness in Disguise,
Less to expose me to th'Ambitious Foe.
Ha! does it wake thee? O'er my Father's Corse
I stood astride, till I had clove thy Crest,
And then was made the Captive of a Squadron,
And sunk into thy Servant—But Oh! what?
What were my Wages? Hear nor Heav'n, nor Earth!
My Wages were a Blow, by Heav'n, a Blow,
And from a Mortal Hand.
Alon.
O Villain! Villain!
Zan.
All Strife is vain.
[Shewing a Dagger.
Alon.
Is thus my Love return'd?
Is this my Recompence? Make Friends of Tygers!
Lay not your Young, O Mothers, on the Breast,
61
And pay you for their Nourishment with Death.
Carlos is dead, and Leonora dying;
Both innocent, both murder'd, both by me.
That Heav'nly Maid, which should have liv'd for ever,
At least have gently slept her Soul away;
Whose Life should have shut up as Evening Flow'rs
At the departing Sun,—Was Murder'd! Murder'd!
O Shame? O Guilt! O Horror! O Remorse!
O Punishment! Had Satan never fell,
Hell had been made for me.—O Leonora!
Zan.
Must I despise Thee too as well as hate Thee?
Complain of Grief? Complain Thou art a Man.
Priam from Fortune's lofty Summit fell,
Great Alexander 'midst his Conquests mourn'd,
Heroes and Demigods have known their Sorrows,
Cæsars have wept, and I have had my Blow:
But 'tis Reveng'd, and now my Work is done.
Yet, e'er I fall, be it one part of Vengeance,
To make ev'n Thee confess that I am just.
Thou see'st a Prince, whose Father thou hast Slain,
Whose Native Country thou hast laid in Blood,
Whose Sacred Person, Oh, thou hast prophan'd!
Whose Reign extinguish'd; What was left to me
So highly born! No Kingdom, but Revenge;
No Treasure, but thy Tortures, and thy Groans.
If Men shall ask who brought thee to thy End,
Tell them, The Moor, and they will not despise thee.
If cold white Mortals censure this great Deed,
Warn them, they judge not of superior Beings
Souls made of Fire, and Children of the Sun,
With whom Revenge is Virtue. Fare thee well—
Now fully satisfy'd I should take leave;
But one thing grieves me, since thy Death is near,
I eave thee my Example how to dye.
62
Alon.
No, Monster, thou shalt not escape by Death.
Oh Father!
Alon.
O Alonzo—Isabella,
Touch'd with Remorse to see her Mistress' Pangs;
Told all the Dreadful Tale.
Alon.
What Groan was that?
Zan.
As I have been a Vultur to thy Heart,
So will I be a Raven to thine Ear,
And true as ever snuff'd the Scent of Blood,
As ever flapt its heavy Wing against
The Window of the Sick, and croak'd Despair.
Thy Wife is dead.
[Alvarez goes to the side of the Stage, and returns.]
Alv.
The dreadful News is true.
Alon.
Prepare the Rack, invent new Torments for him.
Zan.
This too is well. The fix'd and noble Mind
Turns all Occurrence to its own Advantage,
And I'll make Vengeance of Calamity.
Were I not thus reduc'd, thou would'st not know,
That thus reduc'd, I dare defy thee still.
Torture Thou may'st; but thou shalt ne'er despise me.
The Blood will follow where the Knife is driven,
The Flesh will quiver where the Pincers tear,
And Sighs and Cries by Nature grow on Pain.
But these are foreign to the Soul; Not mine
The Groans that issue, or the Tears that fall;
They disobey me; On the Rack I scorn Thee,
As when my Fauchion clove thy Helm in Battel.
Alv.
Peace, Villain!
Zan.
While I live, Old Man, I'll speak,
And, well I know Thou dar'st not kill me yet;
For that wou'd rob thy Bloodhounds of their Prey.
Alon.
Who call'd Alonzo?
Alv.
No one call'd, my Son.
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Again!—'tis Carlos' Voice, and I obey.
Oh how I laugh at all that This can do,
[Shewing the Dagger.
The Wounds that pain'd, the Wounds that murder'd me
Were giv'n before; I am already dead,
This only marks my Body for the Grave.
[Stabs himself.
Africk, Thou art reveng'd—O Leonora!—
[Dies.
Zan.
Good Ruffians give me leave, my Blood is yours,
The Wheel's prepar'd, and you shall have it all;
Let me but look one Moment on the Dead,
And pay your selves with gazing on my Pangs.
[He goes to Alonzo's Body.
Is this Alonzo? Where's his haughty Mein?
Is that the Hand which smote me? Heav'ns, how pale!
And art thou dead? So is my Enmity.
I war not with the Dust: the Great, the Proud,
The Conqueror of Africk was my Foe.
A Lyon preys not upon Carcasses.
This was thy only Method to subdue me.
Terror and Doubt fall on me, all thy Good
Now blazes, all thy Guilt is in the Grave.
Never had Man such Funeral Applause;
If I lament thee, sure thy Worth was Great.
Oh Vengeance! I have follow'd thee too far,
And to receive me, Hell blows all her Fires.
[He is born off.
Alv.
Dreadful Effect of Jealousy! a Rage
In which the Wise with Caution will engage;
Reluctant long, and tardy to believe,
Where sway'd by Nature we our selves deceive,
Where our own Folly joins the Villain's Art,
And each Man finds a Zanga in his Heart.
| The Revenge | |