 | Elvira |  |
SCENE III.
ALONZO.Advise!—Thou general Parent of mankind!
Who bidst thy sun arise, thy rain descend
On all the various creatures thou hast made,
Just and unjust alike! is one sad father
Reserved, in his grey years, himself to punish
A lov'd, an only son? And must he sit
In judgment on him? hear the doom of death—
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Shrinks and starts back from this detested duty;
But 'tis a King's—and thou, Alonzo, thou
Art he, that king! O did the beggar know
What splendid misery is lodg'd within
The circle of a crown, he would not stoop
His palsy'd hand to take it from the dust,
And be its wearer—What, or how determine?
Was it for this I weary'd heaven with vows
To give my throne an heir? Was it in wrath,
Heaven granted my request? and have I form'd
His youth to glory, seen his steps outrun
The swiftest in her race, that he, this son,
With her fresh laurel wreath'd, should bleed at last
Beneath the murderous axe?
Guards—bring my son;
Conduct Don Pedro hither.
Once, once more
I mean to hear him—could I pardon too,
I yet were blest! for my torn bosom feels
The pangs of guilt, in following Virtue's call.
Then summon all the monarch to thine aid!
For think, the present, think, each future age
Will fix their eyes of censure or applause
On this one act of thine. Altho a father,
That private name must bend before the large,
The universal duties of a sovereign.
Quit we the sceptre, or its rights assert;
Chastise offence, while weeping o'er th'offender:
That humankind may tremble to transgress,
Who see inexorable Justice stretch,
O'er all alike, her rod of punishment;
Not even a prince, a throne's immediate heir
Exempted from her arm!
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