University of Virginia Library

SCEN. V.

Enter Graciana weeping.
Grac.
Farewel all thoughts of happiness, farewell:
My fears together with my sorrows swell:
Whilst from my eyes there flows this Christal flood,
From their brave hearts there flows such streams of blood.
Here I am lost, while both for me contend;
With what success can this strange Combate end!
Honour with Honour fights for Victory,
And Love is made the common enemy.

Enter Lord Bevill.
L. Bevill
weeping.
Ah, Child!—

Grac.
Kill me not with expectation, Sir.

L. Bev.
The gen'rous Bruce has kill'd himself
For you: Being disarm'd, and at his Rival's mercy,
His Life and Sword were given him by the
Noble Youth; He made a brave acknowledgment
For both; but then considering you were lost,
He scorn'd to live; and falling on his Sword,
Has giv'n himself a mortal wound.
[Exit L. Bevill.

Enter Aurelia weeping.
Aurel.
Cruel Graciana, Go but in and see
The fatal Tryumph of your Victory.
The Noble Bruce, to your eternal shame,
With his own blood has quench'd his raging flame.

Grac.
weeping.
My carriage shall in these misfortunes prove
That I have Honour too, as well as Love.

Aurel.
aside.
Thy sorrows, sad Aurelia, will declare
At once, I fear, thy Love and thy Despair:
These streams of grief straight to a flood will rise;
I can command my Tongue, but not my eyes.
Exit Aurel.

Grac.
In what a Maze, Graciana, dost thou tread!
Which is the Path that doth to Honour lead?
I in this Lab'rynth so resolve to move,
That none shall judg I am misled by Love.

Enter Beaufort.
Beauf.
Here Conq'rours must forget their Victories,
And homage pay to your victorious Eyes.
Graciana, hither your poor slave is come,
After his Conquest to receive his doom;
Smile on his Vict'ry; had he prov'd untrue
To Honour, he had then prov'd false to you.

Grac.
Perfidious man, can you expect from me
An approbation of your Treacherie!
When I, distracted with prophetick fears,
Blasted with sighs, and almost drown'd in tears,
Begg'd you to moderate your Rage last night;
Did you not promise me you wou'd not fight?
Go now and triumph in your Victory;
Into the Field you went my Enemy,
And are return'd the only man I hate,
The wicked instrument of my sad fate.
My Love has but dissembled been to thee,
To try my gen'rous Lover's constancy.
[Exit Graciana.

Beauf.
Oh Heav'n! how strange and cruel is my fate!
Preserv'd by Love, to be destroy'd by Hate!
[Exit Beaufort.