University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

ALPHONSO, OLYMPIA.
OLYMPIA.
Who's this? defend me!
What are you?

ALPHONSO.
Need I tell my name, OLYMPIA?

OLYMPIA.
I have no business with your name nor you.
What brought me hither?—

ALPHONSO.
Stay, OLYMPIA, hear me.—

OLYMPIA.
I'm not at leisure.—

ALPHONSO.
But, we part not so.
I will be heard.

OLYMPIA.
Presumptuous! are you mad?
Let go my hand.

ALPHONSO.
'Twas mine—till fate and you—

OLYMPIA.
Yours!—Never!—'Twas not fate but I that gave it,
And my heart with it, to a man ten times
Your worth. It was my voluntary deed.
I gave it to—

ALPHONSO.
A villain.

OLYMPIA.
Tell him so.

ALPHONSO.
I will; ne'er doubt it: what should hinder me?

OLYMPIA.
You will? I like your manners, to abuse
My husband to my face.

ALPHONSO.
Your husband! plagues!
A knave that should be married to the wheel.—
And you to call him husband!

OLYMPIA.
I'm not used
T' exchange high speeches with the mad. Go, leave me,
And keep your head cool.—Good God! I cannot think
What brought you here. How! leave your bride so soon!—
I've had a lucky miss.

ALPHONSO.
Alas, OLYMPIA!
How you mistake!

OLYMPIA.
In what?

ALPHONSO.
Both you and I
Are monstrously abused; the meerest dupes
That artful villainy and capricious fate
Ever combined to laugh at.

OLYMPIA.
How?

ALPHONSO.
Good God!
Can you imagine, were I so engaged
As you conceive, I should so far depart
From all propriety as this day to stun you
With impertinent complaints?

OLYMPIA.
O Heaven! what mean you?

ALPHONSO.
While you remain thus ignorant of the truth,
My conscious honour so forsakes me, that
I deem myself the traitor you suppose me.
But know, OLYMPIA—

OLYMPIA.
What?

ALPHONSO.
There never was
A heart more true to tenderness than mine.
'Twas your's, 'tis your's; you reign unrivaled there;
You ever did, and ever shall: I scorn
All other vows.

OLYMPIA.
Bless me! you rave indeed.
This is strange talk for a new-married man!

ALPHONSO.
You will not understand me, dear OLYMPIA—
I am not married.

OLYMPIA.
Horrors! Did I hear you?—
Not married!

ALPHONSO.
No.

OLYMPIA.
Not married!

ALPHONSO.
No, OLYMPIA.

OLYMPIA.
Not married!—Oh such monstrous villainy!—
I'm dizzy—hold me—ah!—

ALPHONSO.
Alas! alas!
What shall I do? Dear dear OLYMPIA!—ah me!
I fear she's dead. A sad and mortal paleness
O'erspreads her lovely face—These hands are cold
And damp as clay—She does not breathe—O God,
She's gone for ever—Dead, dead, dead, OLYMPIA!
O horrible hour!—I follow thee,—yes, thou
Shalt be my angel to conduct my flight
From this base world.—She stirs—the deadly hue
Shifts from her cheek—she breathes—she sighs—
OLYMPIA!

OLYMPIA.
Where am I?—Ah—

ALPHONSO.
Lift these sweet eyes again.

OLYMPIA.
Alas, this is no dream! I am awake.
It is ALPHONSO!—will no shock destroy me?
Ah! when shall I be dead?

OLYMPIA.
Talk not of dying.—
OLYMPIA, when you do, this world to me
Becomes a waste: 'tis little better now.

OLYMPIA.
What blows of fate the wretched may survive!
The worst I had to fear is come upon me;
And yet I live!—But—

ALPHONSO.
Something in that look
Made beauty dreadful.

OLYMPIA.
Oh, my fatal rashness!
Alas, ALPHONSO!—yet what could I do?
Provoked by false intelligence—how false
Is yet a MYSTERY; STURIO, an honest man,
Your friend, produced it. Was there room to doubt
Of his integrity? your well-known hand
Confirmed it.—God of Heaven! I must suppose
Your friend corrupted, and that letter forged.
What else?—I tore it hastily; yet still
It was so perfectly your hand, O villainy!
Ingenious villainy! 'twould have amazed you.

ALPHONSO.
Alas! this mystery is soon unravelled.
Forgive th' intemperance of a frantic fit:
'Twas mine, OLYMPIA.

OLYMPIA.
This is stranger still.
Quite inconceiveable!

ALPHONSO.
I'll tell you all:
And when I've done judge if I was to blame.
My father, as you know, when all his arts
And interest fail'd to mitigate the King,
Would needs himself accompany my exile.
So much he stomached the disgrace, he swore
The burning vault should swallow Naples ere
He touched its shore again. Besides, he felt
Too much his friend Lord STRENI's altering mind.
He dwelt on that; it stung him keenly: me
It only mortified. He strove in vain
To rouse me to resentment. Inwardly
He burnt for some fair opportunity,
That I might be the first to cancel vows
Which STRENI seemed not forward to confirm.
The opportunity he wished for came
As fate had winged it. For I had not long
Pin'd at Palermo, when a friendship grew
Between my father and the Count CASERTA;
Who from some discontent had long before
Retired from Naples thither, and still loved
By sympathy whoever hated Naples.
This noble Count, proud of his ancient blood,
Had two young daughters. The eldest JULIA,
Some time had lived confined for an attempt
To steal a marriage with a youth whose family,
Tho' not obscure, he thought no match for his.
Now grown impatient of his jealous cares,
It pleased him in my favour to let slip
Some distant hints, which with a ranc'rous joy
My father snatched; he pressed me eagerly
To seize th' occasion: as inflexibly
I waved th' unwelcome offer. Till at last
There went a rumour made my blood run cold,
That my false rival's suit was daily prospering.
When I look back, 'twas his own crafty lie,
For I can trace it to his emissaries;
Tho', blinded then and giddy with despair
And jealousy, too easily I was wrought on
To give it credit. What confirmed it too
Was that to all my frequent letters, one
Reply had ne'er been made.

OLYMPIA.
Oh Heaven!—not one
Of all those letters ever came to chear
My desolate mind. I guess'd the cause, it seems,
Too truly.—But proceed.

ALPHONSO.
Long urg'd and teiz'd
In vain, at last provoked I made my suit;
Which, from a coy reception, by degrees
Was kindly entertained: but still it made
A ling'ring progress, which I more rejoiced
Than grieved at. For, tho' JULIA was compleat
In all th' engaging ways that could be wished
In a companion; and, tho' scarce a beauty,
Had personal charms sufficient to surprize
A vacant breast; yet, ah OLYMPIA! mine
Still with vain efforts struggled to shake off
Its first lov'd conqueror's sway; and still I hoped:
Till with such plausible consistent strokes
Your marriage was reported, that self-flattery
No longer could amuse me. By this our fathers,
Tired with a dallied courtship, hurryingly
Urged on the treaty, and the day was fix'd.
'Twas now just not arrived, when late at night
Your letter came. Never was mortal breast
So tortured with conflicting powers; with joy,
With anxious hopes and fluttering fears, shame, honour.
Not for all Sicily would I again
Endure that restless night's perplexity.
Tho' 'twas determined in my mind, howe'er
The world might clamour, that all other interests,
All other decencies and duties, should
Yield to my first engagement. The morning came
On which I had to deal with difficulties
That no address, without some miracle,
Seemed equal to encounter. When, behold—
JULIA was fled!—Good God! my lighten'd soul
Grew mad with joy.—I took a hasty leave,
And hied me hither.

OLYMPIA.
Ah! you came, ALPHONSO,
But just too late. But Heaven would have it so.—
I'm doom'd to wretchedness!

ALPHONSO.
Alas, OLYMPIA!
Think on my misery!

OLYMPIA.
We both are ruined
By those who loved us, and have been too busy
To make us happy.

ALPHONSO.
Is there no resource?
No means to burst thro' all these rotten ties,
The work of treachery? Sure there are, OLYMPIA!
Heaven does not hear involuntary vows,
Vows cunningly surprized, or made in anger.
Shall the heart's vows, the ties of mutual love,
Old plighted faith, and sympathy of souls,
Yield to a mere cold formal obligation?
It must not be. I claim the elder right:
You were by all consents devoted mine,
Before this selfish in sincere profane
Intruder ever saw you. Dear OLYMPIA,
Let us oppose fair arts to impious fraud.
I have the means at hand to snatch you from
This fatal place, to where the purest vows
May soon before the holy shrine dispel
The sorcery of those sacrilegious rites;
And to its lawful owner render back
Th' inviolated prize.

OLYMPIA.
Alas! alas!
ALPHONSO, this is raving.

ALPHONSO.
Where's the difliculty?
The night comes on to favour this exploit.
Let us not curse our timid hearts hereafter
Because for fear of little squalls we lost
The tide of fortune.—Ah pity me, OLYMPIA!
To live without you is despair and frenzy.
I will not live upon such terms.

OLYMPIA.
Alas!
What you propose is neither fit nor practicable.
We needs must part—yes, we must part for ever.
Farewell, ALPHONSO?—Leave me to my fate;
No matter what it be. Farewell, farewell—
And when you think of me drop a sad tear,
And say there was a maid that lov'd me more
Than her own life. My kindest wishes still
Attend you with a warmth no time can cool;
And my last breath shall bless you. Again farewell.

ALPHONSO.
We must not part.

OLYMPIA.
We must, we must. Farewell.—
I heard a foot; it comes this way.—If e'er
You loved me, leave this place without delay.
Stay not a moment longer.—Ah ALPHONSO!—
Farewell for ever!—

ALPHONSO.
Stay, OLYMPIA! stay!—
She's gone! O Heaven!