 | Almida |  |
SCENE II.
Tancred, Aldamon.TANCRED.
Ah! little do they know the secret pangs,
That harrow up my breast. I could have borne
Pain, disappointment, poverty, or shame;
All that embitters life, all that the gods
Pour in their wrath severe on wretched man!
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My soul's best hopes; there to be lost, betray'd,
Is death like anguish! misery supreme!
ALDAMON.
My dearest lord! your sorrows deeply move me,
Nor know I what to counsel. Yet methinks,
You ought to see Almida. 'Tis a custom,
By immemorial use made almost sacred,
To meet the fair, who owes you life and honour.
TANCRED.
No Aldamon, I must not, cannot see her.
ALDAMON.
Not see her! you who brav'd death to save her,
Can you fly her?
TANCRED.
I must, and she deserves it.
ALDAMON.
Yet you fought for her.
TANCRED.
Perjur'd as she is,
Could I support, ye gods, to see her perish?
Even had I lov'd her less, could I forsake her?
'Twas mine to save, but never to forgive her.
“Ah let her live! and let sad Tancred die!
“Yes Aldamon, yes, she shall learn to weep
“Too late my wretched fate; if yet one spark
“Of truth or pity lives within her bosom.
O heavens! to what excess I doated on her!
She bore the semblance of such grace and virtue,
I could have thought her word, her single word,
More sacred far than altars, oaths, or ought
That man has yet invented for our reverence.
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Is all then barbarous, or perfidious here?
Your name was mark'd in black proscription's page;
Inhuman laws, and faithless love pursue you;
Ah! let us hence, and seek some happier clime.
TANCRED.
Gods! by what charm even now she rises on me!
Lovely and virtuous as I once believ'd her;
Adorn'd with dignity and modest grace,
Delight and rapture; all that fancy paints,
Or nature can bestow. O faithless maid!
Perfidious, cruel, still alas ador'd!
Why does thy image cling around my heart;
Unman me, sink me, thus to fond complaints,
And all the weakness of a woman's love?
ALDAMON.
Ah! would to heaven, there was some healing art,
To calm your tortur'd mind. Awhile you talk'd
Of envy's lies, and slander's cruel tongue;
Perhaps she's innocent.
TANCRED.
Would there were doubt,
One slender doubt, for eager hope to seize,
But all is prov'd; her perfidy is certain;
She was ador'd in secret by the Moor,
He ask'd her hand a pledge of offer'd peace.
Could he have dar'd thus, had he not been lov'd?
They were of concert; and in vain I doubted,
In vain I trusted to my heart. Her father
Confess'd to me her crime; nay she avows it,
These eyes have seen, have read that cursed letter.
‘May you acknowledg'd reign in Syracusa,
As in this heart you reign.’ Is there a name
For treachery like this?
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Alas! forget her;
Learn to despise a false ungrateful woman.
TANCRED.
And to complete my shame, she fondly dreamt
This Solyman was something more than human.
Light and capricious sex! by outward shew,
And pomp seduc'd; unable to distinguish
The love that springs from harmony of souls,
And mutual choice, above the stupid forms
Of vanity and pride; joy far beyond
The gross desire: the paradise of minds!
Unfelt, and unconceiv'd by vulgar breasts.
But I'll despise the traitress, scorn her arts,
And throw this unbecoming weakness from me.
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