University of Virginia Library

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;
Till from the sad extent of sympathy,
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.

ZORIANA.
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;
Since but for thee my future life had pass'd
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?

LORENZO.
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
Of tender greeting, would by me be valued
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.

LORENZO.
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.

ZORIANA.
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.—
And let one woman's constancy subdue
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!
Controul this bitter rage! O turn thine eyes
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!
I scarcely dare—but can'st thou then erase
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.