University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

A view of the country near the city.
Enter ABDALLAH.
O! City! once the seat of all I lov'd!
O! hills and dales! haunts of my youthful days!
O! scenes well known! unalter'd you remain.
But I approach you with an alter'd mind,
Hate what I lov'd, and loath what I desir'd.
Intolerable state! My soul is void!
A chaos without form. Why, nature, why!
Art thou so watchful o'er the brutal tribes,
And yet so careless of the human race.
By certain instinct beasts and birds discern
Their proper food: For them the fairest fruit
Untouch'd, if pois'nous, withers on the bough:
But man, by a fair outside, still deceiv'd,
And by his boasted reason more betray'd,
Gives the affection of his soul to beauty,
Devours the deadly bane.

Enter VELASCO.
My Lord! Thy people,
Where thou commanded'st, halt, and wait thy coming.

ABDALLAH.
'Tis well! I wish'd to speak with thee alone.
Velasco! tho' to thee but little known,
I did in part reveal my secret soul,
Told thee the feign'd Abdallah was Alonzo.
Further than that, thou hast not sought to know,
Tho' many a lonely hour we two have worn
On sea and shore, that some men would have thought
Most opportune.

VELASCO.
My Lord! There are some men
Who having once been trusted with a little,
Avail themselves of that, some more to learn,
And penetrate the bosom of a friend,
Even with the wedge his uneasiness had furnish'd—
Such men should not be trusted.

ABDALLAH.
True, Velasco!
But thou art not like them: I have observ'd thee,
Warm in affection, but in temper cool:
A steady judgment guides thee thro' the world.
Thy gen'rous mind pursues the path of honour,
Unbiass'd and unmov'd.

VELASCO.
From early youth,
The chosen confident of my companions,
I never yet from perfidy betray'd,
From babling vanity, divulg'd a secret.

ABDALLAH.
I have a tale to tell, that will amaze,
Confound, and strike thee dumb. The deserts vast
Of Asia and of Africa have heard it.
The rocky cliffs of Caucasus and Atlas
Have echo'd my complaints: But never yet
The human ear receiv'd them. Thou hast heard
Already more than ever mortal did.
Thou know'st the princess?

VELASCO.
Ormisinda!

ABDALLAH.
Her.

VELASCO.
Not many of the court have been more honour'd
With opportunities to know her worth;
And there is none who more her worth reveres.

ABDALLAH.
Her worth! Thou may'st as well revere a fiend,
The blackest fiend, that dwells in burning hell,
Is not more opposite to all that's good
Than Ormisinda.

VELASCO.
What a strain is this?

ABDALLAH.
'Tis true, by every high and holy name,
That binds a soldier's and a prince's vow:
I swear, Velasco, she's the vilest woman
That e'er disgrac'd her sex. The most abandon'd,
The hardiest, most determin'd in her vice,
That ever wrong'd a fond believing heart.

VELASCO.
Great God!

ABDALLAH.
You start and shudder like a man
Struck with a heavy blow.

VELASCO.
And so I am.

ABDALLAH.
And now you lift your eye-lids up and stare
With looks full of conjecture and suspicion,
As if you doubted of my sober mind.
I am not mad, Velasco, tho' sometimes
I have been near, yes, very near to madness;
By that bad woman craz'd.

VELASCO.
O! Would to heav'n!
That this afflicting moment of my life
Were a delirious dream! Unreal all
That's heard and spoken now! But how, my Lord,
Art thou so much affected by her crimes?

ABDALLAH.
I am her husband.

VELASCO.
Heav'n for that be prais'd!

ABDALLAH.
How dar'st thou thus profane the name of heav'n,
And mock my misery? Thou art mad, I think;
The frenzy which thou wished'st has come upon thee
Beware, for if this extasy endures,
My sword secures thy silence.

VELASCO.
O! forgive me,
Noble Alonzo, royal, I should say,
Doubly my master now. There's not a man,
Whose veins contain one drop of Spanish blood,
Who does not wish thee wedded to the princess.
And for her virtue! Thou hast long been absent,
And know'st not what an angel's life she leads!
Reserv'd, retir'd, and sad. I'll stake my soul,
Some villain has belied thy faithful wife,
And snar'd thy easy faith.

ABDALLAH.
Take heed, take heed!
I am the villain who accuse the princess,
And thou shalt be her judge.

VELASCO.
Eternal power!
What should I think of this?

ABDULLAH.
Listen to me.
I have perplex'd thee, and have marr'd the story
By my abruptness. 'Tis a serious story,
Not to be told in parcels and by starts,
As I from impotence of mind began,
But I will bear my swelling passion down,
And utter all my shame. Thou dost remember
How I was banish'd from my native land?

VELASCO.
For killing young Ramirez.

ABDALLAH.
At that time
I doated on the princess. She conjur'd me
With earnest pray'rs, with deluges of tears,
Not to resist her father, nor advance
My better title to the crown of Spain,
As I had once resolv'd. My rage she sooth'd;
Pride, anger, int'rest, yielded all to love.
With her I made a merit of obedience,
And pleaded so effectually my cause,
That she consented to a private marriage,
Before I left the kingdom. We were married,
And met together, four successive nights,
In the sequestered cottage of the wood,
Behind the palace garden. O! I thought
Myself the happiest and the most belov'd
Of all mankind. She mock'd me all the while;
Meant me the cover of her loose amours,
A cloak to hide her shame. O God! O God!
Did I deserve no better?

VELASCO.
Good my Lord!
What circumstance to warrant such conclusion?
What evidence?

ABDALLAH.
The evidence of sight—
Mine eyes beheld: I saw myself dishonour'd.

VELASCO.
Your eyes beheld!

ABDALLAH.
By Heav'n and Hell—they did.
The night preceding the appointed day
Of my departure, from the realm of Spain,
I flew impatient to the place of meeting,
Before the hour was come: To wear away
The tedious time, for ev'ry minute seem'd
An age to me, I struck into the wood
And wander'd there, still steering to the gate
By which she was to enter. Thro' the trees
The moon full orb'd in all her glory shone.
My am'rous mind a sportful purpose form'd,
Unseen to watch the coming of my bride,
And wantonly surprize her. Near the gate
There stood an aged tree. It was a beech,
Which far and wide stretch'd forth its level arms
Low, near the ground, and form'd a gloomy shade.
Behind its trunk I took my secret stand;
The gate was full in view, and the green path
On which it open'd. There I stood awhile,
And soon I heard the turning of the key.
My heart beat thick with joy—and forth she came:—
Not as I wish'd: She had a minion with her;
A handsome youth was tripping by her side,
Girt with a sword, and dress'd in gay attire.
He seem'd to court her, as they pass'd along,
Coy, but not angry, for I heard her laugh.
She flung away. He follow'd, soon o'ertook her,
Embrac'd her—

VELASCO.
Ah! The Princess Ormisinda!

ABDALLAH.
I drew my sword, that I remember well,
And then an interval like death ensued.
When consciousness return'd, I found myself
Stretch'd at my length upon the naked ground
Under the tree: My sword lay by my side.
The sudden shock, the transport of my rage,
And grief, had stopt the current of my blood,
And made a pause of life.

VELASCO.
Alas! my Lord!
'Twas piteous indeed. What did'st thou do,
When life and sense return'd?

ABDALLAH.
With life and sense,
My rage return'd. Stumbling with haste, I ran
To sacrifice them to my just revenge.
But whether they had heard my heavy fall,
Or that my death-like swoon had lasted long,
I know not, but I never saw them more.
I search'd till morning; then away I went,
Resolv'd to scorn the strumpet, and forget her.
But I have not been able to forget
Nor to despise her; tho' I hate her more
Than e'er I lov'd her, still her image haunts me
Where'er I go. I think of nothing else
When I'm awake, and never shut my eyes
But she's the certain vision of my dream.
Sometimes, in all her loveliness she comes
Without her crimes: In extasy I wake,
And wish the vision had endur'd for ever.
For these deceitful moments, O! my friend!
Are the sole pleasant moments which Alonzo
For eighteen years has known.

VELASCO.
Within that time,
What regions barbarous hast thou explor'd,
What strange vicissitudes of life endur'd
In action and repose.

ABDALLAH.
Extremes of both
I courted to relieve my tortur'd mind:
But the tormenter still my steps attends;
Behind me mounts, when thro' the ranks of war
I drive my fiery steed; and when I seek
The hermit's cell, the fiend pursues me there.
Time, which they say the wounds of passion cures
In other hearts, inflames and festers mine.
There's but one remedy.

VELASCO.
Would I could name one!

ABDALLAH.
Her life. The unction for the serpent's bite
Is the fell serpent's blood. I'll have her life.
Th'adulteress with infamy shall die,
By public justice doom'd. With this intent
Disguis'd I come. If in my proper shape
I had appear'd, alarm'd she would have fled,
And baffled my revenge.

VELASCO.
My Lord, permit me
One thing to mention, which these eyes beheld,
Altho' it squares not just with thy opinion.

ABDALLAH.
Opinion!

VELASCO.
Good my Lord! with patience hear.
When first I was to this employment nam'd,
Which since I have so happily discharg'd,
The Princess sent and call'd me to her presence.
The treaty with the Moor engross'd her thoughts.
That sad and pensive air she always wears
Was settled to a thicker gloom of grief.
Her voice was low and languid. Few her words,
And the short periods ended with a sigh.
But when I gave her hopes of thy return,
A sudden gleam of joy spread o'er her face,
Like morning breaking in a cloudy sky.
With earnest voice, still rising as she spoke,
She urg'd dispatch, exhorted me to zeal
And perseverance. Never to desist
Till I had found thee: For her fate, she said,
The fate of Spain, depended on Alonzo.
Her passion then burst in a flood of tears
That choak'd her utterance.

ABDALLAH.
And thou didst believe
That ev'ry word she spoke was most sincere.
How to interpret her let me instruct thee.
Whate'er she utters with unusual warmth,
As the effusion genuine of her heart,
Receive and construe in another sense
Reverse and opposite; for that's the truth.
The words she spoke, her sighs, the tears she shed,
Were all from apprehension of my coming,
Not as they seem'd, for fear I should not come.

VELASCO.
'Tis dreadful that.

ABDALLAH.
'Tis horrible, 'tis monstrous!
When I for her had way'd my right to reign,
The right undoubted of the Gothic line,
And stoop'd, enamour'd, to that base decree
From Spain, which banish'd the true heir of Spain,
That she should pitch on me to be her fool,
And pour such infinite contempt upon me.
But four days married! Fond, to madness fond!
And on the very eye of my departure!
She would not for a single day refrain,
But rush'd to prostitution!

VELASCO.
I have heard
Stories and tales enough of female falshood,
Some that were true, and others that were feign'd,
By spiteful wits maliciously devis'd.
But this surpasses all.

ABDALLAH.
All wicked women
Compar'd with her are saints. She is a foil
To set them off, and make their foulness fair.
In her incontinence she stands unrivall'd,
Burning in fires peculiar to herself,
Phœnix in lewdness.

VELASCO.
May I ask my Lord
How he intends?—But see, the King draws near.

ABDALLAH.
He's much impair'd.

VELASCO.
When sore affliction comes
In the decline of life! 'tis like a storm
Which in the rear of autumn shakes the tree:
That frost had touch'd before; and strips it bare
Of all its leaves.

(Enter the KING with attendants.)
(As he advances, speaks to VELASCO.)
KING.
We thank thy care, Velasco!
To ABDALLAH.
Illustrious Prince! whom love of glory brings
From regions so remote, to fight for Spain,
Accept the thanks a grateful nation pays
To her defender.

ABDALLAH.
Monarch of Asturia!
The nations of the East have heard thy praise.
Had not the hand of Time unstrung thine arm,
Spain never would have sought for foreign aid
To quell her foes.

KING.
'Tis better far for Spain
That I am old: For in my warlike days,
When in the prime of flow'ring youth I fought,
I equall'd not thy friend. Above his own,
Above the strength of ev'ry mortal arm
Alonzo thine exalts.

ABDALLAH.
Three times we fought
With equal fortune on the Wolga's banks;
He for the Monguls, I against them stood.
But at our last encounter, on my helm
His faithless blade broke short, and in his hand
The useless hilt remain'd. My sword I dropt,
And in my arms the valiant chief embrac'd.
Our friendship thus commenc'd, and since that time
We have been brothers sworn, and leagu'd in arms.
Alonzo, fighting in my cause, receiv'd
That wound which now detains him from the field.
Urg'd by affection, and by honor bound,
For him I come against the foes of Spain.
But of myself more than enough is said;
'Tis time to act. The Moorish knight, I hear,
Is in the lists already.

KING.
Prince of Persia!
The terms to thee are known.

ABDALLAH.
The first of men
With pride such honors might from Spain receive;
But never can these honors grace Abdallah.
Long since my heart and hand were giv'n away;
And tho' the custom of the East permits
Unnumber'd consorts, me my faith restrains.
But if victorious in the strife of death,
I have an earnest and a just request
To thee, O King! which, at a proper time,
I shall be bold to make.

KING.
Whate'er it is,
I pledge my honor and my faith, to grant it.

Enter SEBASTIAN and ALBERTO.
(ALBERTO goes on to the KING.)
KING.
Advance, Alberto! to the Prince himself,
Deliver thou thy message and the present.

ALBERTO.
Great Sir! the Princess Ormisinda greets
The gen'rous champion of her country's cause,
Wishes that victory may sit to day,
And ev'ry day of battle, on his sword.
This costly bracelet from her arm she sends
To prince Abdallah, to Alonzo's friend.

ABDALLAH.
(Looking stedfastly on ALBERTO.)
The Princess is most bountiful, as thou,
Who hast the honor to attend her, know'st.
Her gracious present humbly I accept,
And thank her for her goodness to Alonzo,
Who will be proud to be by her remember'd.
The combat ended, I propose to pay
My homage to her beauty. At this time
My mind is in the lists.—The Moorish knight
Will think me tardy.

(To the KING.)
KING.
Let our trumpets sound
A sprightly charge. The warrior's heart beats time
To that brave music. Onward from this place
A path direct to thy pavilion leads.

(The KING turns and gives orders).
ABDALLAH
(to VELASCO.)
Another minion! View him well, Velasco.
How insolent! See what a crest he rears,
Elated with her favour. O! vile woman!
Insatiate and inconstant.

VELASCO.
Ah! my Lord!
Truce with such thoughts! Sure this is not a time!
The combat claims a cool and present mind.

ABDALLAH.
Fear not the combat.

VELASCO.
Thou art waited for;
The King himself intends with thee to walk.

[Exeunt: Abdallah looking back at Alberto.]
(Manent Alberto, Sebastian.)
ALBERTO.
That Prince of Persia is compos'd of pride;
He did not deign to look upon the present,
But stretch'd his sun-burnt hand straight out before him,
Like a blind man, and would have stood so still,
Had I not made his fingers feel the pearls.
And all the while he star'd me in the face,
As if he meant t'oppress me with his eye,
And fright me with his fierce and uncouth looks.
I blush'd at first, but anger came at last,
And bore me up.

SEBASTIAN.
Those princes of the East,
Us'd to the servile manners of their country,
Where ev'ry prostrate slave adores his lord,
Without intention shock the sons of Europe.

ALBERTO.
O! how unlike to him the King of Spain,
And that most gentle Princess, Ormisinda!
Her look, her voice, benign and mild, dispel
The awe her rank inspires, and reassure
The modest mind. Would'st thou believe, Sebastian,
She talk'd to me, I cannot tell how long,
Before thou cam'st, and question'd me minutely
How I had liv'd, how past my youthful days?
I fear I was too copious in my answers.
What signifies my rural life to her?
And yet she seem'd to listen with delight,
As if she had an int'rest in my fate;
And once or twice when I of danger spoke,
From which I hardly had escap'd with life,
Methought I saw her tremble. Much she blam'd
My rashness; yet she prais'd my courage too.
With all her tenderness of heart, I see
That she admires true valour.

SEBASTIAN.
So she does.
The bravest knight that e'er was clad in steel,
Alonzo, was the lover of her youth:
And since he left this land she ne'er rejoic'd.
But of these matters I will tell thee more
At a convenient season. Let us follow,
And join the train before they reach the lists.

ALBERTO.
I would not lose one moment of this sight
For half the lands of Spain. Tho' I abhor
The Persian, yet I pray devoutly for him.

[Exeunt.]