 | Tancred and Sigismunda |  |
75
SCENE VI.
Tancred. Sigismunda.Tancred.
Be not allarm'd, my Love!
Sigismunda.
My Royal Lord! why at this Midnight Hour,
How came you hither?
Tancred.
By that secret Way
My Love contriv'd, when We, in happier Days,
Us'd to devote these Hours, so much in vain,
To Vows of Love and everlasting Friendship.
Sigismunda.
Why will you thus persist to add new Stings
To her Distress, who never can be thine?
O fly me! fly! You know—
Tancred.
I know too much.
O how I could reproach Thee, Sigismunda!
Pour out my injur'd Soul in just Complaints!
But now the Time permits not, These swift Moments—
I told thee how thy Father's Artifice
Forc'd me to seem perfidious in thy Eyes.
Ah, fatal Blindness! not to have observ'd
The mingled Pangs of Rage and Love that shook me;
When, by my cruel Publick Situation
Compell'd, I only feign'd Consent, to gain
A little Time, and more secure Thee mine.
E'er since—A dreadful Interval of Care!—
My Thoughts have been employ'd, not without Hope,
How to defeat Siffredi's barbarous Purpose.
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Thy rash, thy wild—I know not what to name it—
Oh it has prov'd the giddy Hopes of Man
To be Delusion all, and sickening Folly!
Sigismunda.
Ah, generous Tancred! ah thy Truth destroys me!
Yes, yes, 'tis I, 'tis I alone am false!
My hasty Rage, join'd to my tame Submission,
More than the most exalted filial Duty
Could e'er demand, has dash'd our Cup of Fate
With Bitterness unequal'd—But, alas!
What are thy Woes to mine?—to mine! just Heaven!—
Now is thy Turn of Vengeance—hate, renounce me!
O leave me to the Fate I well deserve,
To sink in hopeless Misery!—at least,
Try to forget the worthless Sigismunda!
Tancred.
Forget Thee! No! Thou art my Soul itself!
I have no Thought, no Hope, no Wish but Thee!
Even this repented Injury; the Fears,
That rouze me all to Madness, at the Thought
Of losing Thee; the whole collected Pains
O my full Heart, serve but to make thee dearer!
Ah, how forget Thee!—Much must be forgot
Ere Tancred can forget his Sigismunda!
Sigismunda.
But you, my Lord, must make that great Effort.
Tancred.
Can Sigismunda make it?
Sigismunda.
Ah! I know not
With what Success—But all that feeble Woman
And Love-entangled Reason can perform,
I, to the utmost, will exert to do it.
Tancred.
Fear not—'Tis done!—If thou canst form the Thought,
Success is sure—I am forgot already!
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Ah Tancred!—But, my Lord, respect me more,
Think who I am—What can you now propose?
Tancred.
To claim the plighted Vows which Heaven has heard,
To vindicate the Rights of holy Love,
By Faith and Honour bound, to which compar'd
These empty Forms, which have ensnar'd thy Hand,
Are impious Guile, Abuse, and Profanation—
Nay, as a King, whose high Prerogative
By this unlicens'd Marriage is affronted,
To bid the Laws themselves pronounce it void.
Sigismunda.
Honour, my Lord, is much too proud to catch
At every slender Twig of nice Distinctions.
These for th'unfeeling Vulgar may do well:
But Those, whose Souls are by the nicer Rule
Of virtuous Delicacy nobly sway'd,
Stand at another Bar than that of Laws.
Then cease to urge me—Since I am not born
To that exalted Fate to be your Queen—
Or, yet a dearer Name—to be your Wife!—
I am the Wife of an illustrious Lord,
Of your own princely Blood; and what I am,
I will with proper Dignity remain.
Retire, my Royal Lord—There is no Means
To cure the Wounds this fatal Day has given.
We meet no more!
Tancred.
Oh barbarous Sigismunda!
And canst Thou talk thus steadily? thus treat me
With such unpitying, unrelenting Rigour?
Poor is the Love, that rather than give up
A little Pride, a little formal Pride,
The Breath of Vanity! can bear to see
The Man, whose Heart was once so dear to thine.
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A Prey to Anguish, Fury and Distraction!—
Thou canst not surely make me such a Wretch,
Thou canst not, Sigismunda!—Yet relent,
O save us yet!—Rodolpho, with my Guards,
Waits in the Garden—Let us seize the Moments
We ne'er may have again—With more than Power
I will assert Thee mine, with fairest Honour.
The World shall even approve; each honest Bosom
Swell with a kindred Joy to see us happy.
Sigismunda.
The World approve!—What is the World to me?
The conscious Mind is its own awful World.—
And yet, perhaps, if thou wert not a King,
I know not, Tancred, what I might have done.
Then, then, my Conduct, sanctify'd by Love,
Could not be deem'd, by the severest Judge,
The mean Effect of Interest, or Ambition.
But now not all my partial Heart can plead,
Shall ever shake th' unalterable Dictates
That tyrannize my Breast.
Tancred.
'Tis well—No more—
I yield me to my Fate—Yes, yes Inhuman!
Since thy Barbarian Heart is steel'd by Pride,
Shut up to Love and Pity, here behold me
Cast on the Ground, a vile and abject Wretch!
Lost to all Cares, all Dignities, all Duties!
Here will I grow, breathe out my faithful Soul,
Here, at thy Feet—Death, Death alone shall part us!
Sigismunda.
Have you then vow'd to drive me to Perdition?
What can I more?—Yes, Tancred! once again
I will forget the Dignity my Station
Commands me to sustain—for the last time
Will tell thee, that, I fear, no Ties, no Duty,
Can ever root Thee from my hapless Bosom
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To see what once we tenderly have lov'd,
Cut off from every Hope—cut off for ever!
Is Pain thy Generosity should spare me.
Then rise, my Lord; and if you truly love me;
If you respect my Honour, nay, my Peace,
Retire! For tho' th'Emotions of my Heart
Can ne'er alarm my Virtue; yet, alas!
They tear it so, they pierce it with such Anguish—
Oh 'tis too much!—I cannot bear the Conflict!
| Tancred and Sigismunda | |