 | Don Garcia |  |
SCENE THE SECOND.
Diego, Piero, Garcia.Gar.
He from our deeds, far more than from our words,
Can betwixt us discriminate. But yet,
I feel no grief that I have thus reveal'd
My judgment to my father: to my lips
Perchance the feelings which my heart contains
9
I have not learn'd the talent to suppress,
And now I fear it never will be mine.
Di.
What more doth Cosmo want? Within his palace,
Among his sons, he finds a lofty censor
Who teaches him to reign.
Gar.
What fearest thou?
Thou ever wilt be more acceptable
To him than me. To kings those are most welcome
Who best know how in their sword's edge to place
Infallibility.
Pi.
Why should your rage,
Because ye differ in opinion, thus
Transgress all bounds? I too dissent from you;
But not, on this account, I love you less.
Brothers, and sons, and subjects of one father
Are not we all? Now go ...
Gar.
Let each of us
Indulge his own opinions: praise I seek not;
Nor cast I blame on others. Certainly,
I say, that we shall all the grievous load
Of public hate endure, if Cosmo chuse
To adopt deceit or force; from this will rise
The scorn of others, and from that the rage;
The vengeance from them both.
Di.
Oh! wise and great
Assuredly thou art: may it please thee
To sit the moderator of our youth.—
Now, when wilt thou be silent? To thy sire
Thou wert already known; by him already,
In such esteem as thou deservest, held.
Go; if thou lovest darkness, live obscure:
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Make us not shadows of thy central gloom.
Gar.
I call that infamy which thou call'st splendour.
But my discourse of that peace robs you not
Which is not in yourselves: peace ill is bought
With universal cries; ill with the blood
Of innocent citizens. An alien
Among you I am born; but, since that I
Nathless am born among you, do not hope
That I shall ever hide from you the truth.
Pi.
Thou art not, Garcia, to thy sire a foe:
Then why the friend to him that does offend him?
Gar.
The friend of justice, and of nothing else.
To you I thus address myself, but keep
Towards strangers an inflexible reserve.
I am willing to believe one supreme lord,
Where he doth keep himself within the pale
Of natural rights, doth best bested a people;
But tyranny? ... It is my execration;
And ah, my father doth too much affect it!
I ever was more tender of his honour
Than of his power: with a true love I love him,
And if o'er him my prayers will not avail,
They shall be all turn'd tyranny to lessen.
Di.
And I (if I avail) will concentrate
My efforts all to give stability
To sacred power, which a rash rebel dares
To stigmatize unjustly.
Gar.
The design
Is worthy of thyself.
Di.
Dost thou insult me?
Soon will I make thee ...
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Stop: replace thy sword.
Gar.
Permit him, Piero, to display his sword.
He of himself would give a worthy sample,
A hopeful omen of his future reign,
His sword against his brother.
Pi.
Ah, refrain ...
And thou, be silent! ...
Di.
Change thy style, or I ...
Gar.
I clearly see: anger in thee supplies
The place of reason. I am not incensed,
Whom reason only moves.
Di.
Perhaps thou art
More backward in performance than in speech;
Hence art thou not incensed.
Gar.
Far more am I
To terror, than to action, indisposed.
Di.
And who knows this?
Gar.
My sword.—And thou should'st know it ...
If I were not thy brother.
| Don Garcia | |