University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

DON VELASCO and DONNA LOUISA.
Velasco.
Presumptuous maid—how durst thou disobey,
And rush abroad, amid tumultuous scenes,
And risque the wrath of an offended sire?

Louisa.
Excuse, my lord, this hasty, bold intrusion;
The boon I ask admits of no delay.

Louisa.
What means this daring importuning girl?
What brought thee to the threshold of a jail?
Thy trembling gestures and thy frighted mein,
Are sad presages that relieve thy tongue
Ere it betrays some bold accurs'd request.

Louisa.
All gracious sire, whose goodness I adore,
Thus on my bended knee, my bleeding heart,
Swell'd with its gratitude, as if 'twould burst,
Intreats thee once to hear Don Francis speak,
Ere thy lip dooms to death the bravest man.

Velasco.
What int'rest hast thou in a rebel life,
That thus in tears—in agonies of grief—
In weeds of woe, thou pleadest for Don Francis?

Louisa.
The first impression of my early youth,
Thine own injunction, and my infant heart,
Taught me to love—whate'er Maria lov'd—
Her brother.—

Velasco.
—dies, as her husband shall;
Nor will thy tears retard the blow
Due to a traitor's crimes.—

Louisa.
Oh! grant an audience ere his fate is seal'd.

Velasco.
Think not I am deceiv'd, audacious maid!
'Tis not a childish fondness for Maria
Wakes up a zeal that misbecomes thy sex—
'Tis baser passions foster'd in thy soul;
Don Francis is the object of thy love:—
Thy quick blood flows, and loose desires now play
About thy heart, and wanton in thy eye;
Yet sense of shame, still burns thy redden'd cheek,
And cinders the smooth blush of innocence;
But I've the means to cool thy hot brain'd flame,
And from disgrace my family retrieve.

Louisa.
Oh! spare Louisa—save thy hapless child!

Velasco.

Louisa.
By the dear mem'ry of that sainted name
Forgive her daughter's agony of soul.
Zelinda, oh!—compassionate my woes—
Look down, bless'd saint, from thy divine abode,
And teach my sire to pity thy Louisa.

Velasco.
While guilt hangs on thy base degen'rate lip,
Durst thou appeal to purity itself?—

Louisa.
This keen reproach distracts my tortur'd soul—
A thought unworthy of Zelinda's self,
Ne'er found a place in this my spotless heart.

Enter DON PEDRO.
Velasco.
Then will I now bestow thee caste and pure,
And bless the noble Pedro with thy hand;
Thou art his bride—bound by my solemn oath,
A just reward for loyalty and faith.

Louisa.
Now all ye powers of earth and heaven, save
From this last stroke—this worst of human ills!—

Pedro.
I am too bless'd, by such an heavenly gift.

Louisa.
Revoke thy sentence—snatch me from perdition—
Or let me die with him my heart adores.

[Sinks on her knee before her father, and faints.
Velasco.
Poor lifeless maid—sure she's not dead;—
[Lays his hand on her forehead.
She almost wakes compassion in my breast:
But let my ear be deaf—my heart be fear'd
To every soft sensation of the soul,
'Till infamy is wip'd from off my house.

Pedro.
[Raises, and holds Louisa in his arms.

Louisa.
The tardy hand of death still lengthens out
A life of woe—Hah! where am I—
[Opens her eyes and finds herself in Pedro's arms—shrieks, and starts from him.
On earth—the grave—in hades—or in hell?—
Art thou the fiend chain'd to my frighted soul,
To add new tortures to the shades below?—

Velasco.
Be calm, thou frantic girl—
[Stops, and holds her.
Nor thus enrag'd fly from thy husband's arms.

Louisa.
Was I the price, for which at Villabar,
That perjur'd wight, betray'd and sold his friends?
Go, minion! traitor! hide thy guilty head,
Thy country blushes that she gave thee birth.

Velasco.
Respect becomes thy lip—he is thy lord.—

Louisa.
As much as does my soul abhor his name,
If possible, I more despise than hate,
The infamous—the cowardly Don Pedro.

Velasco.
Pedro, retire—I'll bend her to thy will—
She shall be thine—thou art my son—
By all the saints and angels I adore,
This eve shall solemnize the nuptial rights;
Ere Francis dies—let consummation crown
Don Pedro's wish, and wake full vengeance up.

[Exit Pedro.
Louisa.
Alas! my sire—Oh! let religion plead:—
Forgive thy child, and bless me ere I die.
Pardon the purpose of my daring soul:
But ere I yield, I'll bare my filial breast,
Meet the drawn dagger's point, and kiss the poignard
In my father's hand—uplift in wrath,
Its edge to bury in this spotless breast—
A breast replete with duty and respect—
With every sentiment that heaven requires,
Or to paternal or conjugal love—
From thy fond daughter, or Don Francis' wife.

Velasco.
Don Francis' wife!—Heaven blast my ears!—

Louisa.
His wife—his wedded wife—
Nor let the grave, the sacred tie dissolve:
By the same sanction let us perish both,
Or both be bless'd, and by thy pardon live.

Velasco.
Could my Louisa prostitute her fame;
In a mad fit of wanton love, entail
Disgrace eternal, on the illustrious name
Of Don Velasco!—abandon'd girl!—
Then take my sword, and use it as ye list;
Thy paramour this moment meets the death
Thy perfidy extorts and his deserves.
[Exit Velasco.