University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

Before the walls of Burgos.—The storm continues.
Enter CÆSARIO.
CÆSARIO.
Shall I ne'er find him? Shall my mother's spirit
Still ask revenge in vain? This flame, which burn
My blood up, shall it ne'er be quench'd with his?
'Tis he! 'tis he!—I see the high plume waving
O'er his crowned helmet:—Thunders, cease, nor rob me
Of his expiring shriek!—Turn, turn, Alfonso!

[Exit.
[Shouts of victory.]
Enter HENRIQUEZ, MELCHIOR, MARCOS, GOMEZ, and Soldiers.
HENRIQUEZ.
We triumph, Melchior!—See our trusty squadrons
Range the field unopposed. But where's our chief?

MARCOS.
How now! what clamour. ....

MELCHIOR.
Look, Henriquez, look!
Cæsario and the King in single combat!

HENRIQUEZ.
They come this way!—Hark, with their ponderous blows
How their shields ring!—Cæsario loses ground!
Yield thee, Alfonso!— [Interposing between Alfonso and Cæsario, who enter fighting.


CÆSARIO.
Back, I say! Back, back!
No arm but mine. ....

ALFONSO.
Cæsario, pause, and hear me!
Whate'er thou wilt. .....

CÆSARIO.
Thy life!

ALFONSO.
Medina's dukedom,
And Amelrosa. ....

CÆSARIO.
Flames consume the tongue,
That names her! Thou hast rent my wound anew,
Recalling what was mine, but is no longer!
Look to thy heart, for, if my sword can reach it,
Thou diest!—Come on!— [They sight; Alfonso loses his sword, and is beaten on his knees.]


CÆSARIO.
Thou'rt mine!—and thus. ....

[At the moment that he motions to stab Alfonso, Orsino, without his helmet, deadly pale, and bleeding profusely, rushes in, and arrests his arm.]
ORSINO.
Hold! hold!

CÆSARIO.
My father bleeding! Horror!

ORSINO.
Does that pain thee?
Oh! by this blood, (a father's blood, the same
Which fills thy veins, and feeds thy life) I charge thee,
Shed not thy King's.

CÆSARIO.
Father, thy prayers are vain!
He broke my mother's heart! his own must bleed for't!
Release my arm!

ORSINO.
My son, I kiss thy feet:
Thy father kneels; let him not kneel in vain.
—Nay, if thou stirr'st, my deadliest curse. ....

CÆSARIO.
'Twill grieve me,
But yet e'en that I'll brave:—Curse; still I'll strike!
No more!

ORSINO.
Can nought appease thee .....?

CÆSARIO.
Nothing! nothing!

ALFONSO.
Nay, cease, Orsino: 'tis in vain. ....

CÆSARIO.
True, true!
This to thy heart.

ORSINO.
Oh! yet arrest thy sword!
My son. ....

CÆSARIO.
He dies!

ORSINO.
One word! But one!

CÆSARIO.
Dispatch then!

ORSINO.
Swear, ere you strike the blow, if still your power
Answers your will, as now it does, the King
Has not an hour to live!

CÆSARIO.
An hour?—An age!
Thrones shall not buy that hour.—By Hell, I swear,
Alfonso breathes his last, if fate allows me
To live one moment more!

ORSINO.
[Stabbing him.]
Then die this moment.

CÆSARIO.
My heart! my heart!—Oh! oh!

[Falls lifeless at Orsino's feet.]
ALFONSO.
What hast thou done?

ORSINO.
Preserved Castile in thee!

MELCHIOR.
Hew him to pieces!

HENRIQUEZ.
Monster, thy son. ....

ORSINO.
He was so; yet I slew him.
Think ye, I loved him not?—Oh! Heaven, the blood
My breast now pours, gives me not half such pain
As that which stains this poniard: yet I slew him,
I, I his father!—And as I with him,
So, traitors, shall your Father deal with ye,
Your Father who frowns yonder.— [Thunder.]
—Hark! He speaks!
The avenger speaks, and stretches from the clouds
His red right-arm.—See, see! His javelins fly,
And fly to strike you dead!—While yet 'tis time,
Down, rebels, down!—Tremble, repent, and tremble!
Fall at your sovereign's feet, and sue for grace!

[The Conspirators sink on their knees.]
ALFONSO.
Oh! Soul of Honour!—Oh! my full, full heart!
Orsino! Friend!—

ORSINO.
No more!—Thy hand!—Farewell.
Life ebbs apace—Oh! lay me by my son,
That I may bless him, ere I die—Pale, pale!
No warmth!—No sense!—Not one convulsive throb!
Not one last lingering breath on those wan lips!
All gone! All, all!—So fair, so young! to die
Was hard, most hard! Canst thou forgive thy father,
Canst thou, my boy? He loved thee dearly, dearly,
And would to save thy life have died himself,
Though he had rather see thee dead than guilty.
My sand runs fast.—Oh! I am sick at soul!
I'll breathe my last sigh on my son's cold lips,
Clasp his dead hand in mine, and lay my heart
Close to his gaping wound, that it may break
'Gainst his dear breast.—My eyes grow faint and clouded.
I see thy face no more, my boy, but still
Feel thy blood trickle!—Oh! that pang, that pang!
'Tis done—All's dark!—My son, my son, my son!

[Dies.