University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Enter Alonzo and Zanga.
Alon.
Oh, what a Pain to think! when every Thought,
Perplexing Thought in Intricacies runs,
And Reason knits th'inextricable Toil
In which her self is taken. I am lost,
Poor Insect that I am, I am involv'd,
And bury'd in the Web my self have wrought.
One Argument is ballanc'd by another,
And Reason Reason meets in doubtful Fight,
And Proofs are countermin'd by equal Proofs.
No more I'll bear this Battel of the Mind,
This inward Anarchy; but find my Wife,
And to her trembling Heart presenting Death,
Force all the Secret from her.

Zan.
O forbear!
You totter on the very Brink of Ruin.

Alon.
What dost thou mean?

Zan.
That will discover all,
And kill my Hopes. What can I think or do?

[Aside.
Alon.
What dost thou murmur?

Zan.
Force the Secret from her!
What's Perjury to such a Crime as this?—
Will she confess it then? O groundless Hope!
But rest assur'd, she'll make this Accusation,
Or false or true, your Ruin with the King;
Such is her Father's Pow'r.

Alon.
No more, I care not;
Rather than Groan beneath this Load, I'll dye.

Zan.
But for what better will you change this Load?
Grant you should know it, would not That be worse?

Alon.
No, it would cure me of my Mortal Pangs:
By Hatred and Contempt, I should despise her;
And all my Love-bred Agonies would vanish.

Zan.
Ah! were I sure of that? My Lord.

Alon.
What then?

Zan.
You should not hazard Life to gain the Secret.

Alon.
What dost thou mean? Thou know'st I'm on the Rack;
I'll not be play'd with, speak, if thou hast ought,
Or I this instant fly to Leonora.

Zan.
That is to Death. My Lord, I am not yet
Quite so far gone in Guilt to suffer it,
Tho' gone too far, Heav'n knows—'Tis I am guilty.—
I have took Pains, as you I know observ'd,
To hinder you from diving in the Secret,
And turn'd aside your Thoughts from the Detection.

Alon.
Thou dost confound me.

Zan.
I confound my self;
And frankly own, tho' to my Shame I own it,
Nought but your Life in Danger could have torn
The Secret out, and made me own my Crime.

Alon.
Speak quickly; Zanga, speak.

Zan.
Not yet, dread Sir:
First I must be assur'd, that if you find
The fair one guilty, Scorn, as you assur'd me,
Shall conquer Love and Rage, and heal your Soul.

Alon.
Oh! 'twill, by Heav'n.

Zan.
Alas! I fear it much,
And scarce can hope so far; but I of this
Exact your solemn Oath, that you'll abstain
From all Self-Violence, and save my Lord,

Alon.
I trebly Swear.

Zan.
You'll bear it like a Man?

Alon.
A God.

Zan.
Such have you been to me, these Tears confess it,
And pour'd forth Miracles of Kindness on me:
And what Amends is now within my Pow'r,
But to confess, expose my self to Justice,
And as a Blessing claim my Punishment?
Know then, Don Carlos—

Alon.
Oh!

Zan.
You cannot bear it.

Alon.
Go on, I'll have it, tho' it blast Mankind;
I'll have it all, and instantly. Go on.

Zan.
Don Carlos did return at dead of Night.

Enter Leonora.
Leon.
My Lord Alonzo, you are absent from us,
And quite undo our Joy.

Alon.
I'll come, my Love:
Be not our Friends deserted by us both;
I'll follow you this Moment.

Leon.
My good Lord,
I do observe Severity of Thought
Upon your Brow. Ought hear you from the Moors?

Alon.
No, my Delight.

Leon.
What then employ'd your Mind?

Alon.
Thou, Love, and only Thou; so Heav'n befriend me,
As other Thought can find no Entrance here.

Leon.
How good in you, my Lord, whom Nation's Cares
Sollicit, and a World in Arms obeys,
To drop one Thought on me!

[He shews the utmost Impatience.
Alon.
Dost thou then Prize it?

Leon.
Do you then ask it?

Alon.
Know then to thy Comfort,
Thou hast me all, my throbbing Heart is full
With thee alone, I've thought of nothing else;
Nor shall, I from my Soul believe, till Death.
My Life, our Friends expect thee.

Leon.
I obey.
[Ex. Leon.

Alon.
Is that the Face of curs'd Hypocrisy?
If she is guilty, Stars are made of Darkness,
And Beauty shall no more belong to Heav'n—
Don Carlos did return at dead of Night.
Proceed, good Zanga, so thy Tale began.

Zan.
Don Carlos did return at dead of Night;
That Night, by Chance (ill Chance for me) did I
Command the Watch that guards the Palace Gate.
He told me he had Letters for the King
Dispatch'd from you.

Alon.
The Villain ly'd.

Zan.
My Lord,
I pray forbear—Transported at his Sight,
After so long a Bondage, and your Friend,
(Who could suspect him of an Artifice?)
No farther I enquir'd; but let him pass,
False to my Trust, at least imprudent in it.
Our Watch reliev'd, I went into the Garden,
As is my Custom when the Night's serene,
And took a Moon-light Walk: When soon I heard
A rustling in an Arbour that was near me.
I saw two Lovers in each other's Arms,
Embracing and Embrac'd. Anon the Man
Arose, and falling back some Paces from her,
Gaz'd ardently awhile, then rush'd at once.
And throwing all himself into her Bosom,
There softly sigh'd; “O Night of Ecstasie!
“When shall we meet again? Don Carlos then
Lead Leonora forth.

Alon.
Oh! Oh my Heart!

[He sinks into a Chair.
Zan.
[Aside.]
Groan on, and with the Sound refresh my Soul.
'Tis thro' his Heart, his Knees smite one another;
'Tis thro' his Brain, his Eye-balls roll in Anguish.—
My Lord, my Lord, why will you rack my Soul?
Speak to me, let me know that you still live.
Do you not know me, Sir? Pray look upon me;
You think too deeply, I'm your own Zanga,
So lov'd, so cherish'd, and so faithful to you.—
Where start you in such Fury? Nay, my Lord,
For Heav'n's sake sheath your Sword! What can this mean?
Fool that I was, to trust you with the Secret,
And you unkind to break your Word with me!
O Passion for a Woman! On the Ground?
Where is your boasted Courage? Where your Scorn,
And prudent Rage that was to cure your Grief,
And chace your Love-bred Agonies away?
Rise, Sir, for Honour's sake. Why should the Moors,
Why should the Vanquish'd Triumph?

Alon.
Would to Heav'n,
That I were lower still! Oh she was All!
My Fame, my Friendship, and my Love of Arms,
All stoop'd to her, my Blood was her Possession.
Deep in the secret Foldings of my Heart
She liv'd with Life, and far the dearer She.
But—and no more—set Nature in a Blaze,
Give her a fit of Jealousy—away—
To think on't is the Torment of the Damn'd,
And not to think on't is impossible.
How fair the Cheek that first alarm'd my Soul!
How bright the Eye that set it on a Flame!
How soft the Breast, on which I lay'd my Peace
For Years to slumber, unawak'd by Care!
How fierce the Transport! How sublime the Bliss!
How deep, how black the Horror, and Despair!

Zan.
You said, you'd bear it like a Man.

Alon.
I do.
Am I not most distracted?

Zan.
Pray be calm.

Alon.
As Hurriances. Be thou assur'd of that.

Zan.
Is this the wise Alonzo?

Alon.
Villain, no.
He dy'd in the Arbour, he was murder'd there;
I am his Dæmon tho'—My Wife!—My Wife!—

Zan.
Alas! he weeps.

Alon.
Go, dig her Grave.

Zan.
My Lord!

Alon.
But that her Blood's too hot, I would carouse it
Around my Bridal Board.

Zan.
And I would pledge thee.

[Aside.
Alon.
But I may talk too fast. Pray let me think,
And reason mildly.—Wedded and undone
Before one Night descends—O hasty Evil!
What Friend to comfort me in this Extreme!
Where's Carlos? Why is Carlos absent from me?
Does he know what has happen'd?

Zan.
My good Lord!

Alon.
O Depth of Horrors! He!—my Bosom Friend?

Zan.
Alas! compose your self, my Lord.

Alon.
To Death.
Gaze on her with both Eyes so ardently!
Give them the Vulturs, tear him all in Pieces!

Zan.
Most excellent!

[Aside.
Alon.
Hark! You can keep a Secret.
In yonder Arbour bound with Jessamin,
Who's that? What Villain's that? unhand her—Murder!—
Tear them asunder—Murder—How they grind
My Heart betwixt them.—O let go my Heart!
Yet let it go—Embracing and Embrac'd!
O Pestilence!—Who let him in? a Traytor.
[Goes to stab Zanga, he prevents him.
Alas! my Head turns round, and my Limbs fail me.

Zan.
My Lord!

Alon.
O Villain, Villain most accurst!
If thou didst know it, why didst let me wed?

Zan.
Hear me, my Lord, your Anger will abate.
I knew it not. I saw them in the Garden;
But saw no more than you might well expect
To see in Lovers destin'd for each other.
By Heav'n, I thought their meeting Innocent.
(Who could suspect fair Leonora's Virtue?)
'Till After-proofs conspir'd to blacken it;
Sad Proofs, which came too late, which broke not out,
(Eternal Curses on Alvarez' Haste)
'Till holy Rites had made the Wanton yours.
And then, I own, I labour'd to conceal it,
In Duty, and Compassion to your Peace.

Alon.
Live now, be damn'd hereafter; for I want thee.
O Night of Ecstasie!—Ha! was't not so?
I will enjoy this Murder—Let me think—
The Jess'min Bow'r, 'tis secret and remote.
Go, wait me there, and take thy Dagger with thee.
[Exit Zan.
How the sweet Sound still Sings within my Ear?
When shall we meet again? To-Night, in Hell.
As he is going, Enter Leonora.
Ha! I'm surpriz'd, I stagger at her Charms.
O Angel-Devil! shall I stab her now?
No, it shall be as I had first determin'd:
To kill her now were half my Vengeance lost.
Then I must now dissemble—If I can.

Leon.
My Lord, excuse me, see a second Time
I come in Embassy from all your Friends,
Whose Joys are languid, uninspir'd by you.

Alon.
This Moment, Leonora, I was coming
To Thee, and all—but sure, or I mistake,
Or Thou canst well inspire my Friends with Joy.

Leon.
Why sighs my Lord?

Alon.
I sigh'd not, Leonora.

Leon.
I thought you did; your Sighs are mine, my Lord,
And I shall feel them all.

Alon.
Dost flatter me?

Leon.
If my Regards for you are Flattery,
Full far indeed I stretch'd the Compliment
In this Day's solemn Rite.

Alon.
What Rite?

Leon.
You sport me.

Alon.
Indeed I do; my Heart is full of Mirth.

Leon.
And so is mine—I look on Cheerfulness,
As on the Health of Virtue.

Alon.
Virtue!—Damn—

Leon.
What says My Lord!

Alon.
Thou art exceeding Fair.

Leon.
Beauty alone is but of little Worth;
But when the Soul and Body of a Piece,
Both shine alike, then they obtain a Price,
And are a fit Reward for gallant Actions,
Heav'n's Pay on Earth for such great Souls as your's,
If Fair and Innocent I am your Due.

Alon.
Innocent!

[Aside.
Leon.
How! my Lord, I interrupt you.

Alon.
No, my best Life, I must not part with thee,
This Hand is mine. Oh! What a Hand is here?
So soft, Souls sink into it, and are lost!

Leon.
In Tears, my Lord?

Alon.
What less can speak my Joy?
I gaze, and I forget my own Existence;
'Tis all a Vision, my Head swims in Heav'n.
Wherefore? Oh! Wherefore this Expence of Beauty?
And wherefore? Oh!—
Why, I could gaze upon thy Looks for ever,
And drink in all my Being from thine Eyes;
And I could snatch a flaming Thunderbolt,
And hurl Destruction.—

Leon.
How, my Lord! What mean you?
Acquaint me with the Secret of your Heart,
Or cast me out for ever from your Love.

Alon.
Art thou concern'd for me?

Leon.
My Lord, you fright me.
Is this the Fondness of your Nuptial Hour?
I am ill-us'd, my Lord, I must not bear it.
Why when I woe your Hand is it deny'd me?
Your very Eyes, why are they taught to shun me?
Nay, my good Lord, I have a Title here.
[Taking his Hand.
And I will have it. Am I not your Wife?
Have not I just Authority to know
That Heart, which I have purchas'd with my own?
Lay it before me then, it is my Due.
Unkind Alonzo, tho' I might demand it.
Behold I kneel! See, Leonora kneels,
And deigns to be a Beggar for her own!
Tell me the Secret, I conjure you tell me.
The Bride foregoes the Homage of her Day,
Alvarez' Daughter trembles in the Dust.
Speak then, I charge you speak, or I expire,
And load you with my Death. My Lord—my Lord!

Alon.
Ha! ha! ha!

[He breaks from her, and she sinks upon the Floor.
Leon.
Are these the Joys which fondly I conceiv'd?
And is it thus a Wedded Life begins?
What did I part with, when I gave my Heart?
I knew not that all Happiness went with it.
Why did I leave my tender Father's Wing,
And venture into Love? The Maid that loves,
Goes out to Sea upon a shatter'd Plank,
And puts her Trust in Miracles for Safety.
Where shall I sigh? Where pour out my Complaints?
He that should hear, should succour, should redress,
He is the Source of all.

Alon.
Go, to thy Chamber,
I soon will follow; that which now disturbs thee
Shall be clear'd up, and thou shalt not condemn me.
[Ex. Leon.
Oh how like Innocence she looks! What, stab her,
And rush into her Blood?—I never can.
In her Guilt shines, and Nature holds my Hand.
How then? Why thus—No more; it is determin'd

Enter Zanga.
Zan.
I fear his Heart has fail'd him. She must dye.
Can I not rouze the Snake that's in his Bosom,
To Sting out human Nature, and effect it?

Alon.
This vast and solid Earth, that blazing Sun,
Those Skies thro' which it rolls, must all have End.
What then is Man? the smallest part of Nothing.
Day buries Day, Month Month, and Year the Year,
Our Life is but a Chain of many Deaths;
Can then Death self be fear'd? Our Life much rather:
Life is the Desart, Life the Solitude,
Death joins us to the great Majority:
'Tis to be born to Plato's and to Cæsar;
'Tis to be Great for ever.
'Tis Pleasure, 'tis Ambition then to dye.

Zan.
I think, my Lord, you talk'd of Death.

Alon.
I did.

Zan.
I give you Joy, then Leonora's Dead?

Alon.
No, Zanga, no, the greatest Guilt is mine,
'Tis mine, who might have mark'd his Midnight Visit,
Who might have mark'd his Tameness to Resign her,
Who might have mark'd her sudden Turn of Love.
These, and a Thousand Tokens more; and yet,
For which the Saints absolve my Soul, did Wed.

Zan.
Where does this tend?

Alon.
To shed a Woman's Blood
Would stain my Sword, and make my Wars inglorious;
But just Resentment to my self, bears in it
A Stamp of Greatness above vulgar Minds.
He who, superior to the Checks of Nature,
Dares make his Life the Victim of his Reason,
Does in some sort that Reason deify,
And take a Flight at Heav'n.

Zan.
Alas! My Lord,
'Tis not your Reason, but her Beauty finds
Those Arguments, and throws you on your Sword.
You cannot close an Eye that is so bright,
You cannot strike a Breast that is so soft,
That has Ten Thousand Ecstasies in store
For Carlos—No, my Lord, I mean for you.

Alon.
Oh! thro' my Heart, and Marrow! Pr'ythee spare me;
Nor more upbraid the Weakness of thy Lord.
I own, I try'd, I quarrell'd with my Heart,
And pusht it on, and bid it give her Death;
But Oh! her Eyes struck first, and murder'd me.

Zan.
I know not what to answer to my Lord.
Men are but Men; we did not make our selves.
Farewell then, my best Lord, since you must dye.
O that I were to share your Monument,
And in Eternal Darkness close these Eyes
Against those Scenes which I am doom'd to suffer!

Alon.
What dost thou mean?

Zan.
And is it then unknown?
O Grief of Heart, to think that you should ask it!
Sure you distrust that Ardent Love I bear you,
Else could you doubt when you are laid in Dust,—
But it will cut my poor Heart thro' and thro'
To see those revel on your sacred Tomb,
Who brought you thither by their lawless Loves?
For there they'll revel, and exult to find
Him sleep so fast, who else would marr their Joys.

Alon.
Distraction!—but Don Carlos, well thou know'st
Is sheath'd in Steel, and bent on other Thoughts.

Zang.
I'll work him to the Murder of his Friend.
Yes, till the Fever of his Blood returns,
[Aside.
While her last Kiss still glows upon his Cheek;
But when he finds Alonzo is no more
How will he rush like Lightning to her Arms!
There sigh, there languish, there pour out his Soul;
But not in Grief—sad Obsequies to thee—
But thou wilt be at Peace, nor see, nor hear
The burning Kiss, the Sigh of Ecstasie,
Their throbbing Hearts that justle one another:
Thank Heav'n, these Torments will be all my own.

Alon.
I'll ease thee of that Pain. Let Carlos dye,
O'ertake him on the Road, and see it done.
'Tis my Command

[Gives his Signet.
Zan.
I dare not disobey.

Alon.
My Zanga, now I have thy Leave to dye.

Zan.
Ah Sir! think, think again. Are all Men buried
In Carlos' Grave? You know not Womankind
When once the throbbing of the Heart has broke
The modest Zone with which it first was ty'd,
Each Man she meets will be a Carlos to her.

Alon.
That Thought has more of Hell than had the former.
Another, and another, and another!
And each shall cast a Smile upon my Tomb!
I am convinc'd; I must not, will not dye.

Zan.
You cannot dye; nor can you Murder her.
What then remains? In Nature no Third Way,
But to forget, and so to love again.

Alon.
Oh!

Zan.
If you forgive, the World will call you Good;
If you forget, the World will call you Wise;
If you receive her to your Grace again,
The World will call you, very, very kind.

Alon.
Zanga, I understand thee well. She dies,
Tho' my Arm tremble at the Stroke, she dies.

Zan.
That's truly Great. What think you 'twas set up
The Greek and Roman Name in such a Lustre;
But doing Right in stern Despight to Nature,
Shutting their Ears to all her little Cries,
When Great, August, and Godlike Justice call'd?
At Aulis one pour'd out a Daughter's Life,
And gain'd more Glory than by all his Wars;
Another slew a Sister in just Rage;
A Third, the Theme of all succeeding Times,
Gave to the Cruel Ax a darling Son.
Nay more, for Justice some devote themselves,
As he at Carthage, an Immortal Name!
Yet there is one Step left above them all,
Above their History, above their Fable,
A Wife, Bride, Mistress unenjoy'd—do That,
And tread upon the Greek and Roman Glory.

Alon.
'Tis done—again? new Transports fire my Brain!
I had forgot it, 'tis my Bridal Night.
Friend, give me Joy, we must be gay together,
See that the Festival be duly honour'd.
And when with Garlands the full Bowl is crown'd,
And Musick gives her elevating Sound,
And golden Carpets spread the sacred Floor,
And a new Day the blazing Tapers pour,
Thou, Zanga, thou my solemn Friends invite,
From the dark Realms of everlasting Night,
Call Vengeance, call the Furies, call Despair,
And Death our chief-invited Guest be there;
He with pale Hand shall lead the Bride, and spread
Eternal Curtains round our Nuptial Bed.