 | The Spanish Fryar or, The Double Discovery |  |
ACT III.
SCENE, The Street.Lorenzo, in Fryars habit, meeting Dominic.
Lor.
Father
Dominic, Father Dominic; Why in such hast man?
Dom.
It shou'd seem a brother of our Order.
Lor.
No, Faith, I am onely your brother in Iniquity: my holiness,
like yours, is meer out-side.
Dom.
What! my noble Colonel in Metamorphosis! On what
occasion are you transform'd?
Lor.
Love; Almighty Love; that which turn'd Jupiter into a
Town-bull, has transform'd me into a Fryar: I have had a Letter
from Elvira, in answer to that I sent by you.
Dom.
You see I have deliver'd my Message faithfully: I am a
Fryar of Honour where I am engag'd.
Lor.
O, I understand your Hint: the other Fifty pieces are
ready to be condemn'd to Charity.
Dom.
But this Habit, Son, this Habit!
Lor.
'Tis a Habit that in all Ages has been friendly to Fornication:
You have begun the Design in this Cloathing, and I'll try to
accomplish it. The Husband is absent; that evil Counsellour is
remov'd; and the Sovereign is graciously dispos'd to hear my grievances.
Dom.
Go to; go to; I find good Counsel is but thrown away
upon you: Fare you well, fare you well, Son! ah—
Lor.
How! Will you turn Recreant at the last cast? You must
along to countenance my undertaking: We are at the door man.
Dom.
Well, I have thought on't; and I will not go.
Lor.
You may stay, Father, but no Fifty pounds without it:
that was onely promis'd in the Bond: but the Condition of this
Obligation is such, That if the above named Father, Father Dominic,
do not well and faithfully perform—
Dom.
Now I better think on't, I will bear you company; for the
Reverence of my Presence may be a curb to your Exorbitancies.
Lor.
Lead up your Myrmidon, and enter.
[Exeunt.
Elvi.
He'll come, that's certain: young Appetites are sharp;
and seldom need twice bidding to such a Banquet:—well;
if I prove frail, as I hope I shall not, till I have compass'd my
Design; never Woman had such a Husband to provoke her, such
a Lover to allure her, or such a Confessor to absolve her. Of
what am I afraid then? not my Conscience, that's safe enough;
my Ghostly Father has given it a Dose of Church Opium, to lull
it: well, for soothing Sin, I'll say that for him, he's a Chaplain
for any Court in Christendom.
O, Father Dominic, what News? How, a Companion with
you! What Game have you in hand, that you hunt in Couples?
Lor.
(lifting up his hood.)
I'll shew you that immediately.
Elvi.
O, my Love!
Lor.
My Life!
Elvi.
My Soul!
(They embrace.)
Dom.
I am taken on the sudden with a grievous swimming in my
Head, and such a mist before my Eyes, that I can neither hear nor see.
Elvi.
Stay, and I'll fetch you some comfortable Water.
Dom.
No, no; nothing but the open Air will doe me good. I'll
take a turn in your Garden: but remember that I trust you both,
and do not wrong my good opinion of you.
Elvi.
This is certainly the dust of Gold which you have thrown
in the good man's eyes, that on the sudden he cannot see: for my
mind misgives me, this Sickness of his is but Apocryphal!
Lor.
'Tis no Qualm of Conscience I'll be sworn: you see,
Madam, 'tis Interest governs all the World: he preaches against
Sin; why? because he gets by't: he holds his tongue; why? because
so much more is bidden for his silence.
Elvi.
And so much for the Fryar.
Lor.
Oh, those Eyes of yours reproch me justly: that I neglect
the Subject which brought me hither.
Elvi.
Do you consider the hazard I have run to see you here?
if you do, methinks it shou'd inform you, that I love not at a
common rate.
Lor.
Nay, if you talk of considering, let us consider why we
are alone. Do you think the Fryar left us together to tell Beads?
he must be watch'd like a hard-hearted Treasurer, for he
bolts out on the sudden, and, if you take him not in the nick, he
vanishes in a twinkling.
Elvi.
Why do you make such haste to have done loving me?
You Men are all like Watches, wound up for striking twelve immediately;
but, after you are satisfied, the very next that follows
is the solitary sound of single one.
Lor.
How, Madam! Do you invite me to a Feast, and then
preach Abstinence?
Elvi.
No, I invite you to a Feast where the Dishes are serv'd
up in order: you are for making a hasty meal, and for chopping
up your entertainment, like an hungry Clown: trust my management,
good Colonel; and call not for your Dessert too soon:
believe me, that which comes last, as it is the sweetest, so it cloies
the soonest.
Lor.
I perceive, Madam, by your holding me at this distance,
that there is somewhat you expect from me: what am I to undertake
or suffer e'er I can be happy?
Elvi.
I must first be satisfied that you love me.
Lor.
By all that's Holy: By these dear Eyes.
Elvi.
Spare your Oaths and Protestations; I know you Gallants
of the time have a mint at your tongues end to coin them.
Lor.
You know you cannot marry me: but, By heavens, if
you were in a condition—
Elvi.
Then you would not be so prodigal of your Promises, but
have the Fear of Matrimony before your eyes: in few words, if
you love me, as you profess, deliver me from this Bondage, take
me out of Egypt, and I'll wander with you as far as Earth, and
Seas, and Love can carry us.
Lor.
I never was out at a mad Frolick, though this is the maddest
I ever undertook; have with you, Lady mine; I take you at
your word; and, if you are for a merry Jaunt, I'll try for once
who can foot it farthest: there are Hedges in Summer, and Barns
in Winter to be found: I, with my Knapsack, and you, with your
Bottle at your back: we'll leave Honour to Madmen, and Riches
to Knaves; and travel till we come to the Ridge of the World, and
then drop together into the next.
Elvi.
Give me your Hand, and strike a Bargain.
[He takes her Hand, and kisses it.
In sign and token whereof the Parties interchangeably,
and so forth—when should I be weary of Sealing upon this Softwax?
Elvi.
O, Heavens! I hear my Husband's voice.
Enter Gomez.
Gom.
Where are you; Gentlewoman? there's something in the
wind I'm sure, because your Woman would have run up Stairs before
me: but I have secur'd her below with a Gag in her Chaps—
now, in the Devil's name, what makes this Fryar here again? I
do not like these frequent Conjunctions of the Flesh and Spirit;
they are boding.
Elvi.
Go hence, good Father; my Husband you see is in an ill
humour; and I would not have you witness of his folly.
[Lorenzo going.
Gomez
, (running to the door,)
By your Reverence's favour,
hold a little, I must examin you something better before you go:
Hi-day! who have we here? Father Dominic is shrunk in the wetting
two yards and a half about the Belly: what are become of
those two Timber-loggs that he us'd to wear for Leggs, that stood
strutting like the two black Posts before a door? I am afraid some
bad body has been setting him over a Fire in a great Cauldron,
and boil'd him down half the quantity for a Receipt: this is no
Father Dominic, no huge, over-grown Abbey-lubber; this is but a
diminutive sucking Fryar: as sure as a Gun now, Father Dominic
has been spawning this young, slender Anti-christ.
Elvi.
(aside,)
He will be found; there's no prevention.
Gomez,
Why does he not speak? What! Is the Fryar possess'd
with a dumb Devil? If he be, I shall make bold to conjure him.
Elvi.
He's but a Novice in his Order, and is injoin'd Silence
for a Penance.
Gomez,
A Novice, quotha; You would make a Novice of me
too, if you could: but, What was his business here? Answer me
that, Gentlewoman, answer me that.
Elvi.
What shou'd it be, but to give me some Spiritual Instructions?
Gom.
Very good; and you are like to edifie much from a dumb
Preacher; this will not pass; I must examin the Contents of him
a little closer; O thou Confessor! confess who thou art, or thou
art no Fryar of this World:
As I live, this is a manifest member of the Church militant.
Lor.
(Aside.)
I am discover'd; now Impudence be my Refuge
—Yes, Faith 'tis I, honest Gomez; thou seest I use thee like
a Friend; this is a familiar Visit.
Gom.
What! Colonel Hernando turn'd a Fryar! who could have
suspected you for so much Godliness?
Lor.
E'en as thou seest, I make bold here.
Gom.
A very frank manner of proceeding; but I do not wonder
at your Visit, after so friendly an Invitation as I made you;
marry, I hope you will excuse the Blunderbusses for not being in
readiness to salute you; but let me know your hour, and all shall
be mended another time.
Lor.
Hang it; I hate such ripping up of old unkindness;
was upon the Frolick this evening, and came to visit thee in
Masquerade.
Gom.
Very likely; and not finding me at home, you were
forc'd to toy away an hour with my Wise, or so.
Lor.
Right: Thou speakest my very Soul.
Gom.
Why, am not I a Friend then, to help you out? you
wou'd have been fumbling half an hour for this Excuse—but,
as I remember, you promis'd to storm my Citadel, and bring
your Regiment of Red Locusts upon me for Free quarter: I find,
Colonel, by your Habit, there are Black Locusts in the World as
well as Red.
Elvi.
(Aside.)
When comes my share of the reckoning to be
call'd for?
Lor.
Give me thy Hand; Thou art the honestest, kind man;
I was resolv'd I wou'd not out of thy house till I had seen thee.
Gom.
No, in my Conscience, if I had staid abroad till midnight.
But, Colonel, you and I shall talk in another tone hereafter;
I mean, in cold friendship, at a Bar, before a Judge, by the way of
Plaintiff and Defendant: your Excuses want some grains to make
'em currant: hum and ha will not do the business—there's a
modest Lady of your acquaintance, she has so much Grace to
make none at all, but silently to confess the Power of Dame Nature
working in her Body to Youthfull Appetite.
Elvi.
How he got in I know not, unless it were by virtue of
his Habit.
Ai, ai, the Vertues of that Habit are known abundantly.
Elvi.
I cou'd not hinder his entrance, for he took me unprovided.
Gom.
To resist him.
Elvi.
I'm sure he has not been here above a quarter of an
hour.
Gom.
And a quarter of that time wou'd have serv'd the turn:
O thou epitome of thy vertuous Sex! Madam Messalina the Second
retire to thy Appartment: I have an Assignation there to
make with thee.
Elvi.
I am all Obedience—
Lor.
I find, Gomez, you are not the man I thought you: we may
meet before we come to the Bar, we may, and our Differences
may be decided by other Weapons then by Lawyers tongues; in
the mean time, no ill treatment of your Wife, as you hope to dye
a natural death, and go to Hell in your Bed: Bilbo is the word,
remember that, and tremble—
[He's going out.
Enter Dominic.
Dom.
Where is this naughty Couple? where are you, in the name
of Goodness? my mind misgave me; and I durst trust you no
longer with your selves; here will be fine work, I'm afraid, at
your next Confession.
Lor.
(Aside.)
The Devil is punctual, I see, he has paid me the
shame he ow'd me; and now the Fryar is coming in for his part
too.
Dom.
(Seeing Gom.)
Bless my Eyes! what do I see?
Gom.
Why; you see a Cuckold of this honest Gentleman's
making: I thank him for his pains.
Dom.
I confess I am astonish'd!
Gom.
What, at a Cuckoldom of your own contrivance! your
Head-piece and his Limbs have done my business.—Nay, do
not look so strangely, remember your own words, Here will be
fine work at your next Confession: What naughty Couple were
they whom you durst not trust together any longer? when the
hypocritical Rogue had trusted 'em a full quarter of an hour; and,
by the way, horns will sprout in less time then Mushrooms.
Dom.
Beware how you accuse one of my Order upon light suspicions:
the naughty Couple that I meant, were your Wife and
you, whom I left together with great Animosities on both sides:
convenient to return again, and not to trust your enraged Spirits
too long together: you might have broken out into Revilings
and matrimonial Warfare, which are Sins; and new Sins make
work for new Confessions.
Lor.
(Aside.)
Well said, I saith, Fryar; thou art come off thy
self, but poor I am left in Limbo.
Gom.
Angle in some other Foord, good Father, you shall catch
no Gudgeons here: look upon the Prisoner at the Bar Fryar, and
inform the Court what you know concerning him; he is arraign'd
here by the name of Colonel Hernando.
Dom.
What Colonel do you mean, Gomez? I see no man, but
a Reverend Brother of our Order, whose Profession I honour, but
whose person I know not, as I hope for Paradise.
Gom.
No, you are not acquainted with him, the more's the pity;
you do not know him, under this Disguise, for the greatest
Cuckold-maker in all Spain.
Dom.
O Impudence! O Rogue! O Vilain! Nay, if he be such
a man, my Righteous Spirit rises at him! Does he put on Holy
Garments for a cover-shame of Lewdness?
Gom.
Yes, and he's in the right on't, Father; when a swindging
Sin is to be committed, nothing will cover it so close as a Fryar's
Hood: for there the Devil plays at Bo-peep, puts out his Horns
to doe a mischief, and then shrinks 'em back for safety, like a
Snail into her shell.
Lor.
(Aside.)
It's best marching off while I can retreat with
Honour; there's no trusting this Fryar's Conscience; he has renounc'd
me already more heartily then e'er he did the Devil, and
is in a fair way to prosecute me for putting on these Holy Robes:
this is the old Church-trick, the Clergy is ever at the bottom of
the Plot, but they are wise enough to slip their own Necks out
of the Coller, and leave the Laity to be fairly hang'd for it—
Gom.
Follow your Leader, Fryar; your Colonel is troop'd off,
but he had not gone so easily, if I durst have trusted you in the
house behind me; gather up your gouty Legs, I say, and rid my
house of that huge Body of divinity.
Dom.
I expect some Judgment shou'd fall upon you for your
want of Reverence to your Spiritual Director: Slander, Covetousness,
and Jealousie, will weigh thee down.
Put Pride, Hypocrisie, and Gluttony, into your Scale, Father,
and you shall weigh against me: nay, and Sins come to
be divided once, the Clergy puts in for nine parts, and scarce
leaves the Laity a tythe.
Dom.
How darest thou reproch the Tribe of Levi?
Gom.
Marry, because you make us Lay-men of the Tribe of
Issachar: you make Asses of us, to bear your burthens: when
we are young, you put Paniers upon us, with your Church discipline;
and, when we are grown up, you load us with a Wife:
after that, you procure for other men, and then you load our
Wives too; a fine phrase you have amongst you to draw us into
Marriage, you call it Settling of a man; just as when a fellow has
got a sound Knock upon the head, they say he's settled: Marriage
is a Settling blow indeed. They say every thing in the World
is good for something, as a Toad, to suck up the Venom of the
Earth; but I never knew what a Fryar was good for till your
Pimping show'd me.
Dom.
Thou shalt answer for this, thou Slanderer, thy Offences
be upon thy head.
Gom.
I believe there are some Offences there of your planting.
[Exit Dominic.
Lord, Lord, that men should have sense enough to set Snares in
their Warrens to catch Pol-cats, and Foxes, and yet—
For holy Vermin that in houses prey.
[Exit Gomez.
SCENE, A Bed-chamber.
Queen, Teresa.
Ter.
You are not what you were since yesterday:
Your food forsakes you and your needfull rest:
You pine, you languish, love to be alone;
Think much, speak little; and, in speaking, sigh.
When you see Torrismond, you are unquiet;
But when you see him not, you are in pain.
Queen.
O, let 'em never love, who never try'd!
They brought a Paper to me to be sign'd;
Thinking on him, I quite forgot my name;
And writ, for Leonora, Torrismond.
I went to bed, and to my self I thought,
That I wou'd think on Torrismond no more:
I turn'd; and try'd each corner of my Bed,
To find if Sleep were there, but Sleep was lost.
Fev'rish, for want of Rest, I rise, and walk'd;
And, by the Moon-shine, to the Windows went;
There, thinking to exclude him from my thoughts,
I cast my eyes upon the neighbouring fields,
And, e'er I was aware, sigh'd to my self,
There fought my Torrismond.
Ter.
What hinders you to take the Man you love?
The People will be glad, the Souldier shout;
And Bertran, though repining, will be aw'd.
Qu.
I fear to try new Love,
As boys to venture on the unknown Ice,
That crackles underneath 'em, while they slide.
Oh, how shall I describe this growing ill!
Betwixt my Doubt and Love, methinks, I stand
Alt'ring, like one that waits an Ague fit;
And yet, wou'd this were all!
Ter.
What fear you more.
Qu.
I am asham'd to say, 'tis but a fancy.
At break of day, when Dreams, they say, are true
A drowzie slumber, rather then a sleep,
Seiz'd on my Senses, with long Watching worn.
Methought I stood on a wide River's Bank,
Which I must needs o'erpass, but knew not how:
When, on a sudden Torrismond appear'd,
Gave me his hand, and led me lightly o'er;
Leaping and bounding on the Billows heads,
Till safely we had reach'd the farther shore.
Ter.
This Dream portends some ill which you shall scape:
Wou'd you see fairer Visions? Take this night
Your Torrismond within your Arms to sleep:
And, to that end, invent some apt pretence.
To break with Bertran: 'twould be better yet,
Cou'd you provoke him to give you th'occasion,
And then to throw him off.
Enter Bertran at a distance.
Qu.
My Stars have sent him
For, see, he comes: how gloomily he looks!
His Jealousie will furnish him with Fury,
And me with means to part.
Bertr.
(Aside.)
Shall I upbraid her? Shall I call her false?
If she be false, 'tis what she most desires.
My Genius whispers me, Be cautious, Bertran!
Thou walk'st as on a narrow Mountain's neck,
A dreadfull height, with scanty room to tread.
Qu.
What Bus'ness have you at the Court, my Lord?
Bert.
What Bus'ness, Madam?
Qu.
Yes, my Lord, What Bus'ness?
'Tis somewhat sure of weighty consequence
That brings you here so often, and unsent for.
Bert.
(Aside.)
'Tis what I fear'd, her words are cold enough
To freeze a man to death.—May I presume
To speak, and to complain?
Qu.
They who complain to Princes think 'em tame:
What Bull dare bellow, or, what Sheep dares bleat,
Within the Lion's den?
Bert.
Yet men are suffer'd to put Heav'n in mind
Of promis'd Blessings, for they then are Debts.
Qu.
My Lord, Heav'n knows its own time when to give;
But you, it seems, charge me with Breach of Faith.
Bert.
I hope I need not, Madam:
But as when men in Sickness lingring lye,
They count the tedious hours by months and years;
So every day deferr'd to Dying Lovers
Is a whole Age of pain.
Qu.
What if I ne'er consent to make you mine?
My Father's Promise ties me not to time;
And Bonds, without a Date, they say, are void.
Bert.
Far be it from me to believe you bound:
Love is the freest motion of our minds:
O, cou'd you see into my secret Soul,
There you might read your own Dominion doubled,
Both as a Queen and Mistress: if you leave me,
Know I can dye, but dare not be displeas'd.
Qu.
Sure you affect Stupidity, my Lord,
Or give me cause to think that when you lost
Three Battels to the Moors, you coldly stood
Bert.
I did my best;
Fate was not in my power.
Qu.
And with the like tame Gravity you saw
A raw young Warrier take your bafled work
And end it at a blow.
Bert.
I humbly take my leave; but they who blast
Your good opinion of me, may have cause
To know I am no Coward.
[He is going.
Qu.
Bertran, stay;
(Aside.)
This may produce some dismal consequence
To him whom dearer then my Life I love.
To him.
Have I not manag'd my contrivance well,
To try your Love, and make you doubt of mine?
Bert.
Then was it but a Tryal?
Methinks I start as from some dreadfull Dream;
And often ask my self, if yet I wake.
(Aside.)
This turns too quick to be without Design;
I'll sound the bottom of't e'er I believe.
Qu.
I find your Love; and wou'd reward it too,
But anxious Fears solicit my weak breast:
I fear my People's Faith:
That hot mouth'd Beast that bears against the Curb,
Hard to be broken even by lawfull Kings;
But harder by Usurpers:
Judge then, my Lord, with all these Cares opprest,
If I can think of Love.
Bert.
Believe me, Madam,
These Jealousies, how ever large they spread,
Have but one Root, the old, imprison'd King;
Whose Lenity first pleas'd the gaping Crowd:
But when long tried, and found supinely good,
Like Æsop's Logg, they leapt upon his Back:
Your Father knew 'em well; and when he mounted,
He rein'd 'em strongly and he spurr'd them hard;
And, but he durst not doe it all at once,
He had not left alive this patient Saint,
This Anvil of Affronts, but sent him hence,
To hold a peacefull Branch of Palm above,
And hymn it in the Quire.
You've hit upon the very String, which touch'd,
Echoes the Sound and Jars within my Soul;
There lies my Grief.
Bert.
So long as there's a Head,
Thither will all the mounting Spirits fly;
Lop that but off; and then—
Qu.
My Vertue shrinks from such an horrid Act.
Bert.
This 'tis to have a Vertue out of season.
Mercy is good; a very good dull Vertue;
But Kings mistake its timeing; and are mild,
When manly Courage bids 'em be severe:
Better be cruel once then anxious ever:
Remove this threatning Danger from your Crown;
And then securely take the man you love.
Qu.
(walking aside.)
Ha! let me think of that: the Man I love?
'Tis true, this Murther is the onely means
That can secure my Throne to Torrismond.
Nay more, this Execution done by Bertran,
Makes him the Object of the People's Hate.
Bert.
(Aside.)
The more she thinks, 'twill work the stronger in her.
Qu.
(Aside.)
How eloquent is Mischief to persuade!
Few are so wicked as to take delight
In Crimes unprofitable, nor do I:
If then I break divine and humane Laws,
No Bribe but Love cou'd gain so bad a Cause.
Bert.
You answer nothing!
Qu.
'Tis of deep Concernment,
And I a Woman ignorant and weak:
I leave it all to you, think what you doe,
You doe for him I love.
Bert.
(Aside.)
For him she loves?
She nam'd not me; that may be Torrismond,
Whom she has thrice in private seen this day:
Then I am fairly caught in my own Snare.
I'll think again—Madam, it shall be done;
And mine be all the blame.
[Exit Bertr.
Qu.
O, that it were! I wou'd not doe this Crime,
And yet like Heaven, permit it to be done.
The Priesthood grosly cheat us with Free-will:
Will to doe what, but what Heaven first decreed?
Since from eternal Causes they proceed:
Our Passions, Fear and Anger, Love and Hate,
Meer sensless Engines that are mov'd by Fate;
Like Ships on stormy Seas, without a Guide,
Tost by the Winds, and driven by the Tyde.
Enter Torrismond.
Tor.
Am I not rudely bold, and press too often
Into your presence, Madam? If I am—
Qu.
No more; lest I shou'd chide you for your stay:
Where have you been? and, How cou'd you suppose
That I cou'd live these two long hours without you?
Tor.
O, words to charm an Angel from his orb?
Welcome, as kindly Showers to long parch'd Earth!
But I have been in such a dismal place
Where Joy ne'er enters, which the Sun ne'er cheers:
Bound in with Darkness, over-spread with Damps:
Where I have seen (if I cou'd say, I saw)
The good old King majestick in his Bonds,
And 'midst his Griefs most venerably great:
By a dim winking Lamp, which feebly broke
The gloomy Vapors, he lay stretch'd along
Upon the unwholesom Earth; his Eyes fix'd upward:
And ever and anon a silent Tear
Stole down and trickl'd from his hoary Beard.
Qu.
O Heaven, what have I done! my gentle Love,
Here end thy sad discourse, and, for my sake,
Cast off these fearfull melancholy thoughts.
Tor.
My Heart is wither'd at that piteous Sight,
As early Blossoms are with Eastern blasts:
He sent for me, and, while I rais'd his Head,
He threw his aged Arms about my Neck;
And, seeing that I wept, he press'd me close:
So, leaning Cheek to Cheek and Eyes to Eyes,
We mingled Tears in a dumb Scene of Sorrow.
Qu.
Forbear: you know not how you wound my Soul.
Tor.
Can you have Grief, and not have Pity too?
He told me, when my Father did return,
He had a wondrous Secret to disclose:
He prais'd my Courage, pray'd for my Success:
He was so true a Father of his Countrey,
To thank me for defending ev'n his Foes,
Because they were his Subjects.
Qu.
If they be; then what am I?
Tor.
The Sovereign of my Soul, my Earthly Heaven.
Qu.
And not your Queen?
Tor.
You are so beautifull,
So wondrous fair, you justifie Rebellion:
As if that faultless Face could make no Sin,
But Heaven, with looking on it, must forgive.
Qu.
The King must dye, he must, my Torrismond;
Though Pity softly plead within my Soul,
Yet he must dye, that I may make you great,
And give a Crown in dowry with my Love.
Tor.
Perish that Crown—on any Head but yours;—
O, recollect your Thoughts!
Shake not his Hour glass, when his hasty Sand
Is ebbing to the last:
A little longer, yet a little longer,
And Nature drops him down, without your Sin,
Like mellow Fruit, without a Winter Storm.
Qu.
Let me but doe this one Injustice more:
His Doom is past; and, for your sake, he dyes.
Tor.
Wou'd you, for me, have done so ill an Act,
And will not doe a good one?
Now, By your Joys on Earth, your Hopes in Heaven,
O spare this Great, this Good, this Aged King;
And spare your Soul the Crime!
Qu.
The Crime's not mine;
'Twas first propos'd, and must be done, by Bertran,
Fed with false hopes to gain my Crown and Me:
I, to inhance his Ruin, gave no leave;
But barely bad him think, and then resolve.
Tor.
In not forbidding, you command the Crime;
Think, timely think, on the last dreadfull day;
How will you tremble there to stand expos'd,
And formost in the rank of guilty Ghosts
That must be doom'd for Murther; think on Murther:
The damn'd themselves start wide, and shun that Band,
As far more black and more forlorn then they.
Qu.
'Tis terrible, it shakes, it staggers me;
I knew this Truth, but I repell'd that Thought;
Sure there is none but fears a future state;
And, when the most obdurate swear they do not,
Their trembling Hearts bely their boasting Tongues.
Enter Teresa.
Send speedily to Bertran; charge him strictly
Not to proceed, but wait my farther Pleasure.
Ter.
Madam, he sends to tell you, 'Tis perform'd.
[Exit Teresa.
Tor.
Ten thousand Plagues consume him, Furies drag him,
Fiends tear him; Blasted be the Arm that strook,
The Tongue that order'd;—Onely She be spar'd
That hindred not the Deed. O, where was then
The Power that guards the Sacred Lives of Kings?
Why slept the Lightning and the Thunder-bolts,
Or bent their idle rage on Fields and Trees,
When Vengeance call'd 'em here?
Qu.
Sleep that Thought too,
'Tis done, and since 'tis done, 'tis past recall:
And since 'tis past recall, must be forgotten.
Tor.
O, never, never, shall it be forgotten;
High Heaven will not forget it, after Ages
Shall with a fearfull Curse remember ours;
And Bloud shall never leave the Nation more!
Qu.
His Body shall be Royally interr'd,
And the last Funeral Pomps adorn his Hearse;
I will my self (as I have Cause too just)
Be the chief Mourner at his Obsequies:
And yearly fix on the revolving day
The solemn marks of Mourning, to attone
And expiate my Offences.
Tor.
Nothing can,
But Bloudy Vengeance on that Traitor's Head,
Which, dear departed Spirit, here I vow.
Qu.
Here end our Sorrows, and begin our Joys:
And rul'd the day, yet Love will rule the night.
The spitefull Stars have shed their Venom down,
And now the peacefull Planets take their turn.
This Deed of Bertran's has remov'd all Fears,
And giv'n me just occasion to refuse him.
What hinders now, but that the holy Priest
In secret join our mutual Vows? and then
This night, this happy night, is yours and mine.
Tor.
Be still my Sorrows; and, be loud my Joys.
Fly to the utmost Circles of the Sea
Thou furious Tempest that hast tost my mind,
And leave no thought, but Leonora, there.—
What's this I feel aboding in my Soul?
As if this day were fatal; be it so;
Fate shall but have the Leavings of my love:
My Joys are gloomy, but withall are great;
The Lion, though he see the Toils are set,
Yet, pinch'd with raging Hunger, scowrs away,
Hunts in the Face of Danger all the day;
At night, with sullen pleasure, grumbles o'er his Prey.
[Exeunt ambo.
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