University of Virginia Library

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.