University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

a Forest.
PALADORE, RINALDO following.
PALADORE.
Am I the slave of sense, that know her fickle,
Ungrateful, perjur'd, yet still doat thus fondly?
Faith, prudence, honor, govern'd appetites,
(Whose everlasting bonds make passion wise)
In her were only seeming, or like ornament
Thrown by, or worn at pleasure; then this sorrow
Hangs on her outside only, that's unchang'd,
For falshood did not dim her radiant eyes,
Her cheek was damask'd with as pure a rose,
Her breath as odorous, when she most deceiv'd,
As when her virture, like her specious form,
Seem'd spotless, and unparagon'd.

RINALDO.
My Lord!
Court not this solitude, speak out your grief;
Mine is no flinty breast; this dangerous spleen,
That makes your bane its nurture, then shews worst,
When nothing spent in loudness, and complaint,
Like a deep stream it rolls its noiseless way,
Mining the banks in silence.

PALADORE.
Wou'd the pain
Vanish with the exposure of the cause,
I shou'd make blunt the patience of your ear
By endless iteration. But why tell thee?
Thinkst thou there is a charm in soothing words
To pluck the sting from anguish? Good Rinaldo,
Thou hadst a son and lost him.

RINALDO.
True, I had so.

PALADORE.
See there, his very name provokes thy tears.
Say, can wise counsel stop them? Shall I tell thee,
The lot of mortals is mortality?
That fate will take its course, 'twas Heaven's high will;
And man is born to sorrow. This is wise;
The sum of consolation. Strains like these
Flow smoothly from the tongues of moralists,
Patient as sleep in others sufferings,
But vex'd as wasps and hornets in their own.

RINALDO.
From these imperfect starts I cannot answer,
They speak but passion. If my guess deceive not,
A woman sure has wrong'd you.

PALADORE.
A true woman;
I thought her angel once, most basely wrong'd me.
Yet if revenge kept measure with her shame,
I cou'd wash out in her polluted blood
This stain to modesty. Yes, fair falsehood!
Shou'd I appeal thee of the incontinence
My blasted eyes have witness'd, the stern law
Wou'd give me ample vengeance.

RINALDO.
Your great spirit
(Whoe'er she be that thus has injur'd you)
Wou'd scorn your reparation from that law,
The shame even of justice.

PALADORE.
Fear not; still she twines
Here round my heartstrings. No, let late remorse,
For sure it will o'ertake, punish her sin.
But hie thee back to Pavia presently,
Dismiss my attendants, (useless pageantry
To my now alter'd state!) send hither to me
My arms and horses; these may hasten death
Fitting a soldier; then return and seek me.
A little longer will I hold in life,
Till in requital of her father's kindness,
I render some brave service. 'Midst these oaks,
Till you return, I'll keep my lonely haunt.

RINALDO.
There stands an humble hamlet in yon glade,
Own'd by some simple peasants, who supply
The western suburbs with such homely fare
As their few fields afford; thither bestow you,
And take some nourishment. I will return
With my best diligence.

PALADORE.
Go, get thee gone.
Sorrow's my food; I'll drink my falling tears.
Ye savage denizons of this wild wood,
Gaunt wolves, and tusky boars! No more my hounds
Shall dash the spangled dew-drops from your brakes!
No more with echoing cries, or mellow horn,
I'll rouse your dreadful slumber! Sleep securely—
With disposition deadly as your own,
I go to mingle with you.

[Exeunt severally.