University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

ULFINORE, TIBALT.
Tibalt.
You strive in vain to hide your Sorrows from me,
Your Words, your Silence equally betray you.
Your Cheeks are tinctur'd with the yellow Plague
Of Jealousy, which marks you for her Conquest.
If Friendship may relieve you speak your Grief,
My Counsel may direct you to the Port
Of sweet Contentment and the Paths of Peace;
Or is my Friendship and its Proffers slighted?
My Hours were tedious tho' possess'd of Laura,
Till Ulfinore was Master of the secret:
My Happiness ev'n suffer'd a Stagnation,
Pent up within my Breast, till I cou'd open
The Sluices of my Joy to Thee, my Friend,
And pour the copious Stream upon thy Bosom:
Yet Tibalt is neglected by his Ulfinore.

Ulfinore.
No, witness, Heav'n! thy Friendship is my Glory:
But what avail its kindly Care and Wishes?
Despair forbids all Cure.

Tibalt.
But why Despair?
If Love possess Thee, Love may be procur'd,
If Honour bleed, thy Honour may be heal'd;
I'll plead thy Passion, or I'll fight thy Cause,
Prevail in Both, or dye to give thee Comfort.

Ulfinore.
Wou'd I had dy'd in Battle! e're my Eyes
Beheld her fatal Beauties—but She's lost,
For ever gloriously lost to me.—
Yes, Gondibert alone cou'd merit Birtha.

Tibalt.
Hah!—Gondibert and Birtha—Thy Despair,
Black with a baleful Humour, turns thy Brain;
Say rather Gondibert and Rhodolinda.
For so thy Purpose means;—and Heav'n has will'd.

Ulfinore.
The King might will it so; but, Tibalt, Heav'n,
Heav'n to reward his Virtues gives Him Birtha.
A Kingdom had been less with Rhodolinda.

Tibalt.
Amazement chains my Tongue.—But did She spurn Thee,
Despise thy Passion, and disdain thy Vows?
No doubt She did, when Gondibert ador'd Her.

Ulfinore.
I never told my Love, I never own'd it.
The secret Serpent, folded in my Brain,
Shot all his Stings, or twisting round my Heart
Drank my warm Life-Blood there. And let Him riot,
The purple Currents are well-nigh exhausted;
My Torments too will end when They are dry.

Tibalt.
Heav'n knows I pity Thee and wou'd relieve—

Ulfinore.
I know Thou wou'dst: But leave me to my Fate,
Since Death alone must ease me: For I swear
I wou'd not if I might possess my Wishes,
Nor violate my Master's matchless Goodness;
He lives alone in Her and She in Him;
Hope were Ingratitude, and wishes Sin;
I cut Them off, and gladly plunge in Ruin.

Tibalt.
Illustrious Sufferer! Thy Virtues shine
Fairer through Misery and gild Destruction.
But lo! the King, He seems to bend this Way,
And Astragon attends Him, with his Friends
The grave Philosophers. Let us retire.

[Exeunt.