 | Lorenzo, A Tragedy In Five Acts |  |
21
ACT II.
SCENE, An Apartment in Fabio's House.SERAPHINA and FABIO.
SERAPHINA.
Assure him also,
That this his most indulgent tenderness
Has charm'd me much, and in my true regard,
Gives him most potently pre-eminence.
FABIO.
Then for your thought use such appliances
As may engender strong affection tow'rds him:
What boots it that a tenant of the tomb
Should occupy your heart?—
SERAPHINA.
Speak not, my father! with this levity,
Of such as moulder in the grave! there are,
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May yet adore the dead.—
FABIO.
The fleetest mules await to bear you hence,
And lend your chariot speed to match your wishes.
Soon will I visit your lone habitation,
In trust to find these wrong designs subdu'd.
SERAPHINA.
Most willingly I leave the splendid nothings
Of life's exaltment: what is busy greatness,
The pageantry of pride, or wild ambition?
They are the airy offspring of deceit!
But 'tis the faithful interest of the bosom,
The dear attachment, the transcendent fondness,
Which raise us far above each selfish meaning,
And make existence rapture.—Oh! from me
All prospect of delight is gone for ever—
In the abode I seek, my mind shall settle
To the composure of consistent grief;
And when, each day, with duteous reverence,
I shall have paid my vows to heav'n for Alba,
I'll steal one secret moment, to deplore
The youth I've lost, and weep for my Lorenzo.
Farewel, commend me to the Duke, Farewel.
FABIO.
My proper wishes bless you!—
[Exit Seraphina.
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The haughty Guzman, and induce his hate
Of me, and of herself, but this division
Will, by an efficacious prudence, lead
To more content hereafter.—
Enter Servant.
SERVANT.
My lord! there is a stranger asks admission.
FABIO.
Bid him enter—
[Exit Servant.
Enter Garcias.
GARCIAS.
The nobleman I seek is called Don Fabio.
FABIO.
You see him here, Sir!—
GARCIAS.
My lord! I proffer tidings, which shall yield you
A lasting joy (or much my mind deludes me);
And which, perhaps, will render him who speaks them
Welcome, however otherwise unworthy.
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This introduction truly seems to flatter
My list'ning sense, I pray you then proceed.
GARCIAS.
From fierce assailments in the proof of honor,
And num'rous perils of the grappling galley,
From sea disasters, the imperious taunts
Of petty despots, and abhorred chanis,
Return'd in safety, Count Lorenzo greets you,
By me his messenger.—
FABIO.
Ha! The Count Lorenzo! said you, return'd?
Here to Madrid? it cannot be, how has he
Escap'd from slavery?—
GARCIAS.
Were you inform'd then of his wretched fate?
FABIO.
O no! I varied many pow'rful means
To gain intelligence, convers'd with travellers,
Promoted wide enquiry, saw such merchants
As had an intercourse with distant states,
But all in vain.—Yet once I heard it mention'd
That he was dead, which sunk me deep in sorrow.
And now with unfeign'd grief I execrate
(Aside.
His too assur'd existence.—
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Methinks you seem to be much agitated
By my disclosure, as tho' th' event had brought
No exquisite delight.—
FABIO.
You do my nature wrong; but the first news
With so precipitate a pleasure met me,
That it overcame my reason, and my tongue
Wander'd without its guide. O blissful hearing!
O joy unparallel'd! I shall behold
Again the valued youth, the Lord Lorenzo!
GARCIAS.
If I possess discernment, this Don Fabio
Is but a hollow, and a base dissembler.
(Aside.
FABIO.
Where may I find him soonest, for my soul
With true affection longs to welcome him?
And I have many stories of import
To vent upon his ear. O wond'rous rapture!
That he should still be living!—
GARCIAS.
To the much honour'd lady, Zoriana,
He now pours forth his thanks, for she it was
Who trac'd his destiny, and then releas'd him
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In all Madrid she was his truest friend.
If you shou'd wish to hold discourse with him,
Present occasion offers at her palace;
But having claimed too much of your attention,
I take my leave:—Detested hypocrite!
(Aside.)
Exit Garcias.
FABIO.
May pestilence assail him, and despair
For ever be his miserable portion!—
Yet words are the fit solace of an ideot;
Wise men should plan and execute.—I'll seek him,
And by impressions apposite, controul
His mind's misgivings should they work against me
Yes, I'll exhibit some well colour'd tale
That shall deceive his vision, for too far
Am I advanc'd in action to retreat;
Then shall assiduous cunning and exploit,
Allure him to my toils, and there confound.
Exit Fabio.
SCENE, In Zoriana's Palace.
Enter Zoriana and Lorenzo.
ZORIANA.
Dwell then on ev'ry circumstance of sorrow,
Be eloquent in description of your suff'rings;
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Resulting from the past, my eager thought
Turn to the present with unbounded joy.
Lorenzo! to behold you here, restor'd
From horrible captivity, and from
The doubtful consequence of daily war,
Sheds such dear consolation o'er my bosom,
That all its wounds are heal'd.—
LORENZO.
You may remember, 'twas the king's good pleasure,
I should approve myself an active warrior,
Worthy of this distinguish'd badge he gave me,
And which before had grac'd my father's breast.
For this I join'd me to the royal gallies,
Sent forth to clear the neighb'ring Spanish seas
Of lawless pirates and insulting Turks.
But 'twere a tedious hist'ry to recount—
Suffice it, that our purpose was obtain'd.—
It chanc'd, however, as homeward we return'd,
One summer's eve, our careless vessel slept
On the blue surface of a tranquil main,
While mariners and slaves, alike repos'd
In the mild radiance of the setting sun.
As thus in false security we lay,
Three Moorish boats stole from a treach'rous creek,
And wrap'd our bark in flames.
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O wretched moment!
How my heart labours at the dread recital!
LORENZO.
In vain we strove, the furious blazings reach'd
Our mast's high head, and all was sure destruction.
When Garcias, a brave Spaniard, for whose friendship
I long had born esteem, plung'd in the deep,
And cry'd, “Lorenzo, follow”—I obey'd;
But we were seiz'd while struggling with the waves,
And carried off to slavery.—
ZORIANA.
My fancy ever would conceive your station,
And add to distance cruellest dismay;
But if reluctant slumber seal'd my lids,
Then absence was no more, my soul embrac'd you.
How have I thought to fold you in my arms,
And shelter you from death, how have subdu'd
Th' imagin'd tempest that portended ruin!
Throughout the night I was your guardian spirit,
And all the day implor'd protection for you.
LORENZO.
Kind, generous Zoriana! let me thus
Upon my knees offer acknowledgment;
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In hopeless chains;—may every bliss be thine!
ZORIANA.
Too long I vainly search'd for the report
Of thy endurings, till, by chance a youth
Who came from Tunis, being question'd by me,
Spoke of thy injuries which he oft had witness'd;
And shew'd my mind the picture of thy state.
But if my wafted aid obtain'd thy freedom,
O do not deem it was to thee a kindness,
'Twas to procure my own felicity.
LORENZO.
Ages of gratitude could not requite
Such true beneficence;—yet let me prove
This heart's devotion by some loyal service.
ZORIANA.
The fost'ring breeze that on its pinion bears
Salubrious dew to cheer the fainting rose,
Has, for its recompence, the flow'r's revival:
So I receive from thy content, Lorenzo!
A most divine reward.—But dost thou know,
That, on the supposition of thy death,
Thy chief inheritance has been dispers'd
'Mongst various claimants?
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Why, then, be it so;
Tho' I were left in penury, and consign'd
To struggle with the world's worst contumely;
Yet could I ne'er account myself as poor
While I had love, and honour, and my sword.
ZORIANA.
Exalted youth!
LORENZO.
How shall I now restore thee
My ransom's price?
ZORIANA.
Have I not wealth sufficient?
And speak'st thou thus to me? yet if thou feel'st
Proud irritation to discharge the debt,—
Are there not means more delicate and dear,
More flatt'ring to repay a female fondness,
Than retribution of vile ore?
LORENZO.
There are!
ZORIANA.
Thy look of fond complacency, thy smile
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Beyond the richest treasures of the world.
LORENZO.
Nay speak not of it, gentle Zoriana!
For ere these eyes first view'd thy radiant charms,
Or my mind mus'd on thy extensive virtues,
I was a zealous and true worshipper
Of Seraphina's bright divinity.
ZORIANA.
And art thou still so faithful, can'st thou triumph,
With persevering love, over neglect
And frail forgetfulness: say can'st thou still
Adore inconstancy, and heave deep sighs
To gratify a rival?
LORENZO.
Pitying lady!
Wound me not thus with dark insinuation,
Nor wrong my Seraphina;—worlds may vanish,
And planets quit their courses, but her faith,
Shall, like the sun with pure unwearied lustre,
For ever glow the same.
ZORIANA.
Know then, she's false!
And that, seduc'd by amorous ambition,
She has espous'd another.
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May this be?
O wherefore did I quit my galling chains?
More blest were it to bear opprobrious stripes,
And linger out my years in loathsome dungeons,
With the dear solace to suppose her true,
Than loaded with this earth's prosperity,
To meet the demonstration of her guilt.
ZORIANA.
And is it thus you can reward her baseness,
With such emotions of distracted fondness,
As, to excite, would yield me richer rapture
Than heav'n might ever promise?—
LORENZO.
If in thy utterance have been deceit,
Or even sportiveness, I will abhor thee.
Not all thy mercies shall henceforth avail
To counteract my hate, O Zoriana!
Enter Fabio.
FABIO.
Pardon this strange intrusion, noble lady!
But Count Lorenzo's presence shall excuse
The negligence of forms, for my desire
Is with an early and appropriate zeal,
To offer him my joyful gratulation.
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My Lord! your coming with so fair a purpose,
Needs no apology.
LORENZO.
to Fabio.
Is she then wedded?
For ever lost to me, for whom I bore,
With patience (which I thought she might approve)
Each trying injury and fierce affliction;
'Twixt whom and me the holiest vows had pass'd;
Is she perfidious?
FABIO.
Women oft are frail,
And few may boast consistency.
LORENZO.
'Tis wrong,
My Lord! my Lord! she was above all failure,
The countless virtues which adorn'd her mind,
Added such power to perfect loveliness,
That none could deem her capable of error.
ZORIANA.
Compose thy troubled spirit, chase away
From recollection, that afflictive worth,
Which, tho' so splendid, was but transitory.—
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The mem'ry of another's want of truth.
FABIO.
In vain I urg'd your suit, in vain I pleaded
That you might yet return, mention'd your merits,
Your noble birth, your youth's advantages,
And all the promising prospects of your state;
But she had torn your image from her thought,
And was so vilely disinclin'd to hear me,
That I at length was mute.—
LORENZO.
Be not so sparing of the horrid story,
Speak out, for I can bear it, can enjoy it.
FABIO.
Her wayward heart was suddenly enslav'd
By the gay glories of exalted station,
And more, perhaps, from vanity than love,
She gave her hand to—
LORENZO.
Pray you, do not name him!
To think that he exists, absorbs my reason;
To know him, it were Hell.
ZORIANA.
Transcendent youth!
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From the wild beach, where ocean and the storm,
Shake nature with contention; turn and view
A tranquil season, milder scenes display:
Yes, shun the dangerous tempest of thy thoughts,
To cast one look on tenderest affection,
On her, who will, to thy more certain joy,
Supply the place of evanescent fondness,
With an invincible, immortal love.
FABIO.
The wisdom of this council claims respect.
And if thou doubt of Seraphina's falsehood,
Altho' with anguish and remorse I speak it,
Know, that thy letter was, by fatal hazard,
Consign'd to her—then buried in concealment—
Till, late in hour of pleasure, she disclos'd
To me its sad contents—but much she smil'd
At thy distresses, and profess'd she ne'er
Could, to her arms, have ta'en a wretched slave,
By fetters wrung, and smarting with his blows.
For verity of this, I've proof substantial.
LORENZO
to Zoriana.
The conflict's o'er;—then, if thou wilt receive
My proffer'd hand, and a too shatter'd heart,
Be this our hour of union.
ZORIANA.
O Lorenzo!
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The deep impression of a former passion,
From the retentive tablet of thy mind,
And grant me all thy love?
LORENZO.
In truth I can.
When next, my Lord! you chance to see your daughter,
(To Fabio.
I do entreat you, tell her I am happy;
That hearing of her baseness nothing mov'd me;
That, when she yields her beauties to the grasp
Of her damn'd husband, when her eager kisses
Fire his cold blood, she may not be so blest,
As to suppose the hellish certainty
Of such abhorr'd embraces, gives a pang
To the disdainful and compos'd Lorenzo.
Tell her you saw me rapt'rously enfold
(Embracing Zoriana.
The matchless Zoriana;—and then say,
(Speaking low to Fabio.
That on the surface of this hated globe,
Of all who agonize, and curse existence,
I am the most complete and hopeless wretch.
(Exeunt.
End of the Second Act.
| Lorenzo, A Tragedy In Five Acts | |