 | Eudora |  |
SCENE VII.
To MAJONE, enter SICARDI.MAJONE.
Whence, my Sicardi, this disordered haste?
SICARDI.
Alas! my lord, our better plans are blasted:
Raymond still lives: Eudora's piety,
With fond entreaties, and prevailing tears,
Awaked him from despair; taught him to scorn
The desperate remedy of self-destruction,
And trust his being to the power who gave it.
MAJONE.
Curse on her saintly pride! it ever springs
To thwart my great designs: but 'twill not be;
The glorious aim of spirits like to mine
Is not defeated by a doleful prayer—
This paper still shall urge the troubled King
To break his promise, and the very suit,
In which I lent my voice, to aid Eudora,
Shall, as my instrument of vengeance, serve
To hasten Raymond's death.—But say my friend,
What learn you of Verino?
55
Now retired,
He broods in silence o'er his violent deed,
As yet unknowing that Eudora's tears
Prevailed on Raymond to neglect his present,
He thinks him poisoned.
MAJONE.
Let him think so still!
It shall be now my first, my greatest care
To keep him thus deceived—hence may arise
Most glorious mischief, and of this at least
We shall be sure, that while Verino thus
Laments the fancied murder of his son,
He cannot mar the arts, I now must use
To ruin Raymond with the King.—But time
Calls us my friend to seize the golden minute,
Which hastes to crown us with our great reward!
(Exeunt.
| Eudora | |