University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

a Forest.
PALADORE, RINALDO following.
PALADORE.
Am I the slave of sense, that know her fickle,
Ungrateful, perjur'd, yet still doat thus fondly?
Faith, prudence, honor, govern'd appetites,
(Whose everlasting bonds make passion wise)
In her were only seeming, or like ornament
Thrown by, or worn at pleasure; then this sorrow
Hangs on her outside only, that's unchang'd,
For falshood did not dim her radiant eyes,
Her cheek was damask'd with as pure a rose,
Her breath as odorous, when she most deceiv'd,
As when her virture, like her specious form,
Seem'd spotless, and unparagon'd.

RINALDO.
My Lord!
Court not this solitude, speak out your grief;
Mine is no flinty breast; this dangerous spleen,
That makes your bane its nurture, then shews worst,
When nothing spent in loudness, and complaint,
Like a deep stream it rolls its noiseless way,
Mining the banks in silence.

PALADORE.
Wou'd the pain
Vanish with the exposure of the cause,
I shou'd make blunt the patience of your ear
By endless iteration. But why tell thee?
Thinkst thou there is a charm in soothing words
To pluck the sting from anguish? Good Rinaldo,
Thou hadst a son and lost him.

RINALDO.
True, I had so.

PALADORE.
See there, his very name provokes thy tears.
Say, can wise counsel stop them? Shall I tell thee,
The lot of mortals is mortality?
That fate will take its course, 'twas Heaven's high will;
And man is born to sorrow. This is wise;
The sum of consolation. Strains like these
Flow smoothly from the tongues of moralists,
Patient as sleep in others sufferings,
But vex'd as wasps and hornets in their own.

RINALDO.
From these imperfect starts I cannot answer,
They speak but passion. If my guess deceive not,
A woman sure has wrong'd you.

PALADORE.
A true woman;
I thought her angel once, most basely wrong'd me.
Yet if revenge kept measure with her shame,
I cou'd wash out in her polluted blood
This stain to modesty. Yes, fair falsehood!
Shou'd I appeal thee of the incontinence
My blasted eyes have witness'd, the stern law
Wou'd give me ample vengeance.

RINALDO.
Your great spirit
(Whoe'er she be that thus has injur'd you)
Wou'd scorn your reparation from that law,
The shame even of justice.

PALADORE.
Fear not; still she twines
Here round my heartstrings. No, let late remorse,
For sure it will o'ertake, punish her sin.
But hie thee back to Pavia presently,
Dismiss my attendants, (useless pageantry
To my now alter'd state!) send hither to me
My arms and horses; these may hasten death
Fitting a soldier; then return and seek me.
A little longer will I hold in life,
Till in requital of her father's kindness,
I render some brave service. 'Midst these oaks,
Till you return, I'll keep my lonely haunt.

RINALDO.
There stands an humble hamlet in yon glade,
Own'd by some simple peasants, who supply
The western suburbs with such homely fare
As their few fields afford; thither bestow you,
And take some nourishment. I will return
With my best diligence.

PALADORE.
Go, get thee gone.
Sorrow's my food; I'll drink my falling tears.
Ye savage denizons of this wild wood,
Gaunt wolves, and tusky boars! No more my hounds
Shall dash the spangled dew-drops from your brakes!
No more with echoing cries, or mellow horn,
I'll rouse your dreadful slumber! Sleep securely—
With disposition deadly as your own,
I go to mingle with you.

[Exeunt severally.

SCENE II.

TWO FORESTERS.
FIRST FORESTER.
This place will suit our purpose, 'twere lost time
To lead her further; so we but dispatch her,
No matter for the spot. The deed once done,
The Duke will not be nice, but pay us nobly.

SECOND FORESTER.
Half of our hire's to come. How shall we do it
Stab her, or strangle?

FIRST FORESTER.
Make this cord her necklace:
Blood may beget suspicion. When she's dead,
We'll drag her body to yon hazel copse,
And leave the maws of wolves to bury it.
There's scarce a bush in this green labyrinth
But is familiar to me. Many a traveller,
When I was master of as stout a gang
As ere defied the law, here has paid down
His life in conflict for the gold I wanted,
And never more was heard of.

SECOND FORESTER.
Sound your horn.
I told her, we'd a little on before
To give our horses forage, and directed
Her way to follow; shou'd she miss the path,
Her ear will be her guide—See, Carlo! see,
The pretty innocent caught by her eye
Stops for a while to pluck the velvet bells
That blow beneath her feet, then forward bounds,
Light as the roe, till some fresh floweret
Lures her again.

FIRST FORESTER.
Ay, like the lamb that plays,
And crops his pasture, in the butcher's eye,
Even while the knife's a whetting. Hush! She's here.

SCENE III.

To them ALINDA.
ALINDA.
Beneath a rugged thorn I found this flower
Blushing unmark'd its odorous life away;
I'll wear it in my breast, and all who see,
Will praise its beauty, modest worth's sweet emblem,
That first must be conspicuous ere 'tis priz'd.
Oh, are you there? I'm ready, my good guides!
Where is our equipage? The way's but short,
We shall be there ere moonshine.

FIRST FORESTER.
Pretty lady!
You have a longer journey than you wot of,
And a dark dreary road to travel thro'.

ALINDA.
Why then the Duke deceiv'd me, for he said
The way was pleasant, and the distance nothing.

SECOND FORESTER.
We have helped many forward the same way,
And all were much averse to travel it.

ALINDA.
They had no lover to obey like me,
For I am light, and were it ten times further,
To please my Lord I'd go it blithesomely.
Come, come, to horse.

FIRST FORESTER.
Are you prepar'd to die?

ALINDA.
Mercy defend me! How! Prepar'd to die!
'Tis a strange question.

FIRST FORESTER.
But most seasonable;
As fit as if your couch were spread at midnight
To ask if you were weary. With our will
We do it not, for we were gently bred,
And hous'd with gallants once: but this rough trade
Necessity enforces. Come, prepare.

ALINDA.
What do you search for? And why turn you pale?
You make me shake, to see your stedfast eye.
Does this become the servants of the Duke,
To frighten whom they shou'd protect from fear?

SECOND FORESTER.
We are, indeed, the servants of the Duke,
For we receive his hire; then for your fears,
We mean to rid you of them by your death.

ALINDA.
Can this be sport? Alas! What have I done,
That such detested thoughts shou'd rise in you?

FIRST FORESTER.
You are troublesome. Our business is to kill you.
If you have a ready prayer, and brief, kneel there,
And say it presently. We run great hazard
To let you live so long.

ALINDA.
I'll kneel to you,
Make you my saint, if you'll have mercy on me.
I never injur'd you, nay, cou'd not injure,
For till this hour that I was made your charge,
I never saw you. Do not turn away.
Think how you'll answer this to him whose love
Trusted me to your care. He will require
A strict account.

SECOND FORESTER.
Pr'ythee let go my arm.

ALINDA.
May I not know why you do wish to kill me?
If for these sparkling bawbles, take them freely;
Rob me of all, but do not murder me.
I am not fit to die.

FIRST FORESTER.
We need not thank you
For what you can't withhold. Fall to your prayers.

ALINDA.
But are you not the servants of the Duke?
Think how you swore to tend me faithfully,
How he enjoin'd you, as you priz'd his favor.
Ev'n in your looks he'll read this cruelty,
And find how you have abus'd him. Think on that.

FIRST FORESTER.
'Twere pity she shou'd die in ignorance.
Caught in the falcon's pounce, the dove as well
Might gurgle to the kite to stoop, and save her,
As you cry to Bireno. Know, 'tis he
Who laid this snare, and pays us for your blood.

ALINDA.
The Duke Bireno?

SECOND FORESTER.
Yes, the Duke Bireno.
You have been privy to some passages
Require concealment. Being wise, he thinks
They are safest when you are dumb, so gives us gold
To stop your blabbing. If you doubt our word,
Peruse that paper. Are you satisfied?

[Shews a paper.
ALINDA.
Yes, if 'tis satisfaction to be torn
With worse than death ere death, I'm satisfied.
But yet you will not kill me.

FIRST FORESTER.
There's no end.
She'll prate us from our purpose. Bind her arms.
All strife is vain.

ALINDA.
Oh, Sir! yet hold a moment;
You murder more than one. An innocent pledge
Of my disastrous love leaps at my side,
And joins his speechless prayer.

SECOND FORESTER.
And not his wife!
Why then your head's a forfeit to the law,
And we but take before, what sport or malice
Might make you render at the bloody block,
With process more afflicting.

ALINDA.
Barbarous villains!
Is there no help? Oh, spare me!—With my cries
I'll wake the dead.

SCCOND FORESTER.
Dispatch her with your dagger.
Be quick.

FIRST FORESTER.
'Tis done.

[Stabs her.

SCENE IV.

To them PALADORE.
PALADORE.
Sure 'twas the scream of woe—
A woman struggling! Villains, loose your hold!
Dogs! hell-hounds!

[He drives them out and returns.
ALINDA,
fainting.
Oh!

PALADORE.
Guilt has the wings of wind,
My sight can scarce o'ertake them. On the ground!
I came too late to save her. Hearts of stone
Might feel compunction sure, to mar a form
So soft and fair as this. Thou beauteous marble,
Forgive my tardy succour! Here's a mould
So delicate, 'twere worth a miracle
To give it second life. I've seen this face.—
Ha! As I live, 'tis she; the beauteous girl
That waited on the Princess. Soft! the blood
Steals to her cheek again, the azure lids
Begin to open.

ALINDA.
Oh!

PALADORE.
Look up, sweet maid!

ALINDA.
Bless me! Where am I?

PALADORE.
Safe from violence,
Nor in a stranger's arms.

ALINDA.
Your voice is gentle.
But will you save me from these barbarous men,
Shou'd they again return? I tremble still,
Still feel their ruffian gripe, nor can believe
I yet am safe, tho' I no more behold them.

PALADORE.
They are fled far: but, ah! thy side is pierc'd;
Nor does this houseless solitude afford
The chance of timely succour.

ALINDA.
Heaven is just,
(For now I know you) since it bids me die,
Weeping for pardon at your injur'd knees;
For I have basely wrong'd you.

PALADORE.
Wrong'd me! How?
All who have ever serv'd, or lov'd that false one,
As they bring back her irksome memory,
I shou'd avoid in wisdom. So confin'd,
It is not in thy sphere to wake a thought,
More than compassion for thy helpless sex,
And aid my order binds to.

ALINDA.
Have but patience,
Nor waste the few short moments fate allows me
To doubt my truth; the seal of death is on it.
You left the court on much supposed proof
Of her incontinence.

PALADORE.
Supposed proof!
By Heaven! I saw her in the fulsome twine
Of riotous dalliance with one she swore,
That very noon, (a budding perjury)
Excited but her loathing.

ALINDA.
At her window
I know you think you saw her.

PALADORE.
Think I saw her!
Is there for visible objects better sense
Than sight to hold by?

ALINDA.
Oh, most injur'd lady!
My sullied lips wou'd but profane thy virtue
To say I know it spotless.

PALADORE.
Do not mock me
With hopes impossible. I see her still—
Her snowy veil and sparkling coronet,
Peculiar in their form—

ALINDA.
By me were worn,
While she and harmless thoughts slept sound together:
Bireno's was the fraud; my boundless love
Made me his instrument.

PALADORE.
Oh, hold my brain!—
But one thing more—How came he by that letter?
Her picture, mine?

ALINDA.
These too I found, and gave him,
By her for you intended. 'Midst her notes
I found his title writ, and trac'd the address
Stroke after stroke agreeing.

PALADORE.
Wretch! fond wretch!
Have I for this with viperous calumny
Traduc'd her virgin fame? With desperate hand
Rais'd this sharp sword against my tortur'd breast?
But I will turn an usurer in revenge,
And take such bloody interest for my wrongs—

ALINDA.
Let Heaven be my avenger—How I lov'd him!
Oh, savage! merciless! To snare my life,
From mere suspicion my unwary tongue
Might publish his contrivance—

PALADORE.
How! thy life!
Inhuman dog! Were these his ruffians then,
I found thee struggling with?

ALINDA.
I thought they led me,
By his especial care, far from the city,
Where he ordain'd I shou'd remain secure
To hide this swelling witness of my shame
My fatal passion bears him.

PALADORE.
Heaven defend me!

ALINDA.
There lies the bloody contract. Oh, forgive me!
I have struggled hard to make this last confession:
The icy grasp of death chills my shrunk heart.

PALADORE.
Wou'd I cou'd save thee!

ALINDA.
Say but you forgive me.

PALADORE.
As I wou'd be forgiven.

ALINDA.
And will you plead
My pardon with my ever gracious mistress,
When she shall know?—'Tis dark—Let this attone.

[Dies.
PALADORE.
Peace to thy hapless shade! Thou hast wash'd out
Thy offences in thy blood.—Unnatural slave!
Hell shou'd invent new torments for thy crimes,
And howling fiends avoid thee. I have heard,
Have read, bold fables of enormity,
Devis'd to make men wonder, and confirm
The abhorrence of our nature, but this hardness
Transcends all fiction. Mover of the world!
Send not thy sulphurous lightning forth to strike,
Nor cleave the ground to gape and swallow him;
But, Oh! reserve him for the sharper pangs
My vengeance meditates. Poor blasted flower!
Which way shall I bestow thee? It were cruel
To leave thee thus to insult.—Hold, yon peasant
May help to bear her hence. Shepherd, approach.

SCENE V.

To PALADORE a SHEPHERD.
Hast thou a habitation near this place?

SHEPHERD.
Fair Sir, I have. There eastward turn your eyes;
The curling smoke above yon tufted trees
Mounts from my cottage fire.

PALADORE.
Then call for aid,
And bear this body thither.

SHEPHERD.
Mercy guard us!
This is a piteous sight. What cou'd provoke
A youth of such a sweet and comely outside,
To act so sad a deed?

PALADORE.
You wrong me, shepherd;
She fell by ruffians. Pr'ythee call thy hinds,
And for thy soul's sake do this courtesy.

SHEPHERD.
Good Sir, detain me not. I haste to the city,
Where all our villagers flock to behold
A most strange sight, and sad as it is strange;
With their best speed, my old limbs will be late;
The sun goes down apace.

PALADORE.
Whate'er the sight,
Respite thy curiosity for gold.
Take this, and give a covering to that corse.
[Gives a purse.
I must away; you shall hear further from me.

[Exit.

SCENE VI.

To the SHEPHERD, at an opposite Entrance, RINALDO.
SHEPHERD.
He had a hard heart, lady, struck thee down.
I wou'd not for the herds that graze these hills
Beyond my eyes, not, no, nor for the wealth
Of all who throng the city, I or mine
Shou'd answer for a sin like this at doom's-day.
Oh, if thy father lives, what bitter tears
Will this misdeed wring from his watery eyes!
Thou shalt not want what I can do for thee.
I'll make thy bed with leaves, and strew thee o'er
With herbs and flowers, wild thyme and lavender,
White lilies, and the prime of all our fields:
And for thy soul's peace, till thy knell is toll'd,
I'll number many an ave.—Come, for help.

RINALDO.
Oh, cursed chance! Vain is my search to find him;
Yet all his life to come, from one lost moment
May take its mournful colour. Doom'd to die;
And he alike accus'd, leave her to perish!
Most horrible!—Kind shepherd! answer quickly;
Saw'st thou a youth clad in a shining robe,
Of noble port, wandering these tangled woods?

SHEPHERD.
Even such a one as you describe, but now,
(Him of your question doubtless) went from hence,
And left with me in charge—

RINALDO.
No matter what.
Know you the path he took, which way his course?

SHEPHERD.
I follow'd him a little with my eye,
And saw him wind round yonder shrubby hill,
Then pass the row of olives.

RINALDO.
Leads it not
Strait to the city?

SHEPHERD.
As the falcon flies.

RINALDO.
Oh, Fortune! Guide his steps once more to Pavia,
Else, never ending misery awaits him.

[Exeunt severally.