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SCENE II.
THE KING, MAJONE.THE KING,
(entering.)
Where, where, Majone is a Prince secure,
If all the blooming loveliness of youth
Crown'd with a mind benevolent as Heaven,
Can perish thus by treason?—O had I
Been born the humble lord of some poor cottage,
I had preserv'd my darling child in peace.
Now I've no comfort.
MAJONE.
O my royal master
I lov'd the prince, e'en as a father lov'd him,
And feel the sharpness of a father's sorrow;
Tis not within the power of art to make
Such woes seem light, or soothe the troubled mind
To calm oblivion of a loss like this!
Yet there is vengeance;—vengeance can unbind
The charm of grief, and o'er the fading cheek
Of cold affliction spread a smile of joy.
THE KING.
Could I with justice but revenge my son,
I think Majone, it would ease my soul
Of half the burden, that now weighs me down:
But ne'er, O ne'er let my misguided vengeance
Rashly condemn the innocent to bleed!
MAJONE.
Heaven shield the innocent! but shall our pride
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Shall the brave youth, who fought his country's battles,
Untimely fall, by blackest treason fall,
And perish unreveng'd?—O had the wretch,
Whose treacherous heart could plan so base a deed,
Been born my brother, had he long been bound
In closest ties of friendship to my soul,
This hellish act would cancel every bond,
And I would drag him to the stroke of justice.
THE KING.
My kind Majone! well I know thy love
Is warm and zealous to revenge thy master:
Thou dost not think that Raymond can be guilty.
MAJONE.
I would not think it—but alas! my liege,
The lust of empire in the youthful mind
Can burst the ties of gratitude and honor,
And dare, beyond what honest men can think;
I've heard but now, that two of Raymond's train
Have publicly disclosed the dreadful deed
And proved their master's guilt—this may be false,
So do I hope, and so believe it is;
Yet while he stands accused, 'twere due respect
To that dear youth, whose memory I doat on,
To hold Lord Raymond prisoner, but so slightly,
As least may hurt his freedom and his fame.
THE KING.
Thou counsel'st well, Majone, but alas
This bitter trial has o'erpowered thy master!
My soul has lost its strength, and wearied life
Is hastening to its close: yet would I live
To see the hour of vengeance.—'Tis from thee,
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My power be thine, and whosoe'er he be,
Tho' all the ministers of darkness hide him,
Produce the villain with such damning proof
That justice cannot pause! grant me but this,
And I will bow me to the will of Heaven,
Adore its mercies; and then die content.
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