Eudora A Tragedy |
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SCENE II.
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 | Eudora |  |
SCENE II.
THE KING, MAJONE, OFFICERS, &c.Enter VERINO. (distracted)
THE KING.
Poor Verino!
VERINO.
Hang up fresh garlands on the palace gates!
Let the young virgins scatter flowers before him—
And swell their voices to the victor's praise!
Let their sweet songs to listening Heaven proclaim,
That valiant Raymond, old Verino's son,
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See! see! he comes—
Twelve Moorish Princes drag his golden car,
And crouch beneath his frown!
But see! behold a hellish fiend, whose breath
Would blast the brightness of the mid-day sun
Has seized him in his course: ah me! she tears
His laurel crown, and in its place inscribes
Infernal characters; see! round his brow,
Whence beamed the radiance of a God, she spreads
A hideous gloom, and brooding in the midst
Sits haggard Shame:—avaunt detested slander!
THE KING.
Alas! the fate of his unworthy son
O'erwhelms his mind, and drowns in deepest horror
His nobler faculties.
VERINO.
Will you believe it?
Will you, ungrateful, credit such a tale?
Is that a countenance of guilt? that face
Where honor sits enthroned! where from the dawn
Of earliest youth each opening virtue bloomed!
Ah me! they hear me not—Ingratitude
Has steeled their hearts; they have forgotten all
My boy's exploits, the glories of his youth:
Slander has cancelled all, and see they send
Their brave deliverer to a dungeon's gloom,
To die disgraced, to perish like a robber!
THE KING.
This piteous spectacle will rend my heart:
I cannot bear his wretchedness: Majone,
Try thou to sooth him—and with mild persuasion
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MAJONE,
to VERINO.
Come my good lord, be comforted!
Compose your spirits—all will yet be well!
Let me attend you to—
VERINO.
No! Raymond, no!
Thou shalt not to the rack! should we endure it,
Oh should I suffer thee, my son, to finish
Thy days of glory, by a death so vile,
The gallant soldiers, our great ancestors,
E'en in their very graves would shake with horror:
And their pure spirits in the realms of bliss,
Would scorn to join in fellowship with ours,
Nor own us for their line—it shall not be!
I will preserve thee yet—still in my bosom
I wear a faithful guard against dishonor:
Tis but a blow—I've struck it—thou art free!
(Wounds Majone and exit.
| Eudora | |