University of Virginia Library

SCENE VIII.

Tancred, Siffredi, Rodolpho.
Tancred
, entering, to Siffredi.
Avoid me, hoary Traitor!—Go, Rodolpho,
Give Orders that all Passages this Way
Be shut—Defend me from a hateful World,
The Bane of Peace and Honour—then return—
What! dost Thou haunt me still? O monstrous Insult!
Unparallel'd Indignity! Just Heaven!
Was ever King, was ever Man so treated?
So trampled into Baseness!

Siffredi.
Here, my Liege,
Here strike! I nor deserve, nor ask for Mercy.

Tancred.
Distraction!—O my Soul!—Hold, Reason, hold
Thy giddy Seat—O this inhuman Outrage
Unhinges Thought!

Siffredi.
Exterminate thy Servant!

Tancred.
All, all but this I could have borne—but This!
This daring Insolence beyond Example!
This murderous Stroke that stabs my Peace for ever!
That wounds me there—there! where the human Heart
Most exquisitely feels—

Siffredi.
O bear it not,
My royal Lord! appease on me your Vengeance!

Tancred.
Did ever Tyrant image aught so cruel!
The lowest Slave that crawls upon this Earth,
Robb'd of each Comfort Heaven bestows on Mortals,
On the bare Ground, has still his Virtue left,
The sacred Treasures of an honest Heart,
Which thou hast dar'd, with rash audacious Hand,
And impious Fraud, in me to violate—

Siffredi.
Behold, my Liege, that rash audacious Hand,
Which not repents its Crime—O glorious! happy!
If by my Ruin I can save your Honour.

Tancred.
Such Honour I renounce! with sovereign Scorn
Greatly detest it, and its mean Adviser!
Hast thou not dar'd beneath my Name to shelter—
My Name for other Purposes design'd,
Given from the Fondness of a faithful Heart,
With the best Love o'erflowing—hast thou not
Beneath thy Sovereign's Name basely presum'd
To shield a Lye? a Lye! in Public utter'd,
To all deluded Sicily? But know,
This poor Contrivance is as weak as base.
In such a wretched Toil none can be held
But Fools and Cowards—O thy flimsy Arts,
Touch'd by my just my burning Indignation,
Shall burst like Threads in Flame!—Thy doating Prudence,
But more secures the Purpose it would shake.
Had my Resolves been wavering and doubtful,
This would confirm them, make them fix'd as Fate;
This adds the only Motive that was wanting
To urge them on thro' War and Desolation—
What! marry Her! Constantia! Her! the Daughter
Of the fell Tyrant who destroy'd my Father!
The very Thought is Madness! Ere thou seest
The Torch of Hymen light these hated Nuptials,
Thou shalt behold Sicilia wrapt in Flames,
Her Cities raz'd, her Valleys drench'd with Slaughter—
Love set aside—my Pride assumes the Quarrel.
My Honour now is up; in spite of Thee,
A World combin'd against me, I will give
This scatter'd Will in fragments to the Winds,
Assert my Rights, the Freedom of my Heart,
Crush all who dare oppose me to the Dust,
And heap Perdition on Thee!

Siffredi.
Sir, 'tis just.
Exhaust on me your Rage; I claim it all.
But for these public Threats thy Passion utters,
'Tis what Thou canst not do!

Tancred.
I cannot! Ha!
Driven to the dreadful Brink of suck Dishonour,
Enough to make the tamest Coward brave,
And into Fierceness rouze the mildest Nature,
What shall arrest my Vengeance? who?

Siffredi.
Thy Self!

Tancred.
Away! dare not to justify thy Crime!
That That alone can aggravate it's Horror,
Add Insolence to Insolence—perhaps
May make my Rage forget—

Siffredi.
O let it burst
On this grey Head devoted to thy Service!
But when the Storm has vented all it's Fury,
Thou then must hear—nay more, I know, thou wilt—
Wilt hear the calm, yet stronger Voice of Reason.
Thou must reflect that a whole People's Safety,
The Weal of trusted Millions should bear down,
Thy self the Judge, thy fondest partial Pleasure.
Thou must reflect that there are other Duties,
A nobler Pride, a more exalted Honour,
Superior Pleasures far, that will oblige,
Compel thee, to abide by this my Deed,
Unwarranted perhaps in common Justice,
But which Necessity, even Virtue's Tyrant,
With awful Voice commanded—Yes, thou must,
In calmer hours, divest thee of thy Love,
These common Passions of the vulgar Breast,
This boiling Heat of Youth, and be a King!
The Lover of thy People!

Tancred.
Truths ill-employ'd!
Abus'd to colour Guilt!—a King! a King!
Yes I will be a King, but not a Slave!
In This will be a King! in this my People
Shall learn to judge how I will guard their Rights,
When they behold me vindicate my own.
But have I, say, been treated like a King?—
Heavens! could I stoop to such outragious Usage,
I were a mean a shameless Wretch, unworthy
To wield a Scepter in a Land of Slaves,
A Soil abhor'd of Virtue, should bely
My Father's Blood, bely those very Maxims,
At other times, you taught my Youth—Siffredi!

[in a softened Tone of Voice.
Siffredi.
Behold, my Prince, behold thy poor old Servant,
Whose darling Care, these twenty Years, has been
To nurse thee up to Virtue; who for Thee,
Thy Glory and thy Weal, renounces all,
All Interest or Ambition can pour forth;
What many a selfish Father would pursue
Thro' Treachery and Crimes: behold him here,
Bent on his feeble Knees, to beg, conjure Thee,
With Tears to beg Thee, to controul thy Passion,
And save thy self, thy Honour, and thy People!
Kneeling with me, behold the many Thousands
To thy Protection trusted: Fathers, Mothers,
The sacred Front of venerable Age,
The tender Virgin and the helpless Infant;
The Ministers of Heaven, Those, who maintain,
Around thy Throne, the Majesty of Rule;
And Those, whose Labour, scorch'd by Winds and Sun,
Feeds the rejoicing Public: see them all,
Here at thy Feet, conjuring Thee to save them,
From Misery and War, from Crimes and Rapine!
Can there be aught, kind Heaven! in Self-indulgence
To weigh down These? This Aggregate of Love,
With which compar'd the dearest private Passion
Is but the wafted Dust upon the Ballance?
Turn not away—Oh is there not some Part,
In thy great Heart, so sensible to Kindness,
And generous Warmth, some nobler Part, to feel
The Prayers and Tears of These, the mingled Voice
Of Heaven and Earth!

Tancred.
There is! and thou hast touch'd it.
Rise, rise, Siffredi—Oh! Thou hast undone me,
Unkind old Man!—O ill-entreated Tancred!
Which Way soe'er I turn, Dishonour rears
Her hideous Front—and Misery and Ruin!
Was it for This you took such Care to form me?
For This imbued me with the quickest Sense
Of Shame; these finer Feelings, that ne'er vex
The common Mass of Mortals, dully happy
In blest Insensibility? O rather
You should have fear'd my Heart; taught me that Power
And splendid Interest lord it still o'er Virtue;
That, gilded by Prosperity and Pride,
There is no Shame, no Meanness: temper'd thus,
I had been fit to rule a venal World.
Alas! what meant thy Wantonness of Prudence?
Why have you rais'd this miserable Conflict
Betwixt the Duties of the King and Man?
Set Virtue against Virtue?—Ah Siffredi!
'Tis thy superfluous, thy unfeeling Wisdom,
That has involv'd me in a Maze of Error,
Almost beyond Retreat—But hold, my Soul,
Thy steady Purpose—Tost by various Passions,
To this eternal Anchor keep—There is,
Can be, no Public without Private Virtue—
Then mark me well, observe what I command;
It is the sole Expedient now remaining—
To-morrow, when the Senate meets again,
Unfold the whole, unravel the Deceit;
Nor That alone, try to repair it's Mischief;
There all thy Power, thy Eloquence and Interest,
Exert, to reinstate me in my Rights,
And from thy own dark Snares to disembroil me—
Start not, my Lord—This must and shall be done!
Or here our Friendship ends—Howe'er disguis'd,
Whatever thy Pretence, thou art a Traitor!

Siffredi.
I should indeed deserve the Name of Traitor,
And even a Traitor's Fate, had I so slightly,
From Principles so weak, done what I did,
As e'er to disavow it—

Tancred.
Ha!

Siffredi.
My Liege,
Expect not This—Tho' practis'd long in Courts,
I have not so far learn'd their subtle Trade,
To veer obedient with each Gust of Passion.
I honour Thee, I venerate thy Orders,
But honour more my Duty. Nought on Earth
Shall ever shake me from that solid Rock,
Nor Smiles nor Frowns.—

Tancred.
You will not then?

Siffredi.
I cannot!

Tancred.
Away! Begone!—O my Rodolpho, come,
And save me from this Traitor!—Hence, I say,
Avoid my Presence strait! and, know, old Man,
Thou my worst Foe beneath the Mask of Friendship,
Who, not content to trample in the Dust
My dearest Rights, dost with cool Insolence
Persist, and call it Duty; hadst thou not
A Daughter that protects thee, thou shouldst feel
The Vengeance thou deservest—No Reply!
Away!