 | Almida |  |
50
SCENE VI.
Almida, Arnolph. Attendants.ARNOLPH.
[supported by his Squires.
Lead on, my friends: support my sinking years;
The battle sounds. Ah let me let me clasp
Within these aged arms that gen'rous youth:
Is he already fled? tell me, Almida,
To whom I owe thy life?
ALMIDA.
'Tis to a hero,
Whose name I dar'd not breathe; you had proscrib'd him.
To whom was meant that intercepted letter,
Source of mistakes, and misery exhaustless!
The first of mortals, tho' to me unjust,
To Tancred—
ARNOLPH.
Heavens! did I hear thee right?
ALMIDA.
Alas! the sad disorder of my soul
Has urg'd this secret from me. Ah! I tremble
Lest my imprudence should once more be fatal.
ARNOLPH.
He Tancred!
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Lives there on earth another,
Noble and brave as he is?
ARNOLPH.
On whose head,
Our barbarous senate pour'd its deadly vengeance!
He rescues thee from death; he risks his life,
For this ungrateful state, whilst we tear from him,
His honour, fortunes, all a hero values.
How short, alas! is human comprehension!
Presumptuous judges! in our erring balance,
Blindly we weigh the life, the fate of mortals,
By the weak guidance of fallacious prudence
Bewilder'd into cruelty!
ALMIDA.
My father!
Ah! let me open all my griefs before you!
Tancred has saved my life; yet I am wretch'd,
Doubly undone! for what, great gods! is life
Debas'd by scorn? 'tis but a lengthen'd curse!
You must repair my wrongs; restore my fame;
Does Tancred think I'll wear a paltry life,
Made worthless by his cold suspicious treatment?
You must dispel his doubts.
ARNOLPH.
I will with joy;
But calm awhile thy troubled breast and tell me.
ALMIDA.
Ah! let us fly, each moment is an age.
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But stop—
ALMIDA.
How stop! by heavens I will not;
I'll to the field: am I not grown familiar
With death and horror: think you that in battle
They wear a look terrific to the soul!
Like that vile scaffold you could lead me to?
I will not be refus'd: indeed I will not,
Grief will have way, you owe me surely this:
Must I be twice abandon'd by a father?
ARNOLPH.
Has reason lost all empire o'er thy mind?
Speak thy design; it freezes me with terror;
Some strange emotion works thro' all thy frame.
Ah! yield not to the transports of thy breast!
'Tis not with us, as in some distant climes,
Where women less confin'd by rigid custom,
March to the field, and tread the hero's path.
Our manners and our laws forbid it.
ALMIDA.
Gods!
What laws? what manners? cruel and unjust!
The iron dictates of unfeeling minds!
Full of its woes, my rising soul disdains them.
If I must listen, talk to me of grief,
Of Tancred lost; of my unheard of misery!
Hence with your laws, inhuman as they are.
They could have torne me from a father's arms,
Dragg'd me to death; expos'd me bound in chains,
To the bold gaze of each insulting eye!
Heav'n give me patience! shall I hear them pleaded,
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Led by a father to defend my honour?
Must we sad victims to your savage notions,
Your arbitrary rules, phantastic, cruel!
Appear in public only for dishonour,
To grace a scaffold, or to glut your fury!
I'll bear no more, I'm weary of oppression!
You tremble, Sir! Ah know you should have trembled,
When poorly stooping to your haughty foes,
You could with that curst Orbassan unite,
Against the innocent—against the hero,
Who sav'd your wretched daughter from destruction!
ARNOLPH.
Heap not more miseries on thy sinking father,
Nor stretch too far thy right to say I'm guilty—
I am—I feel it—and I am self-condemn'd!—
I'll seek out Tancred, conduct him to thee—
Do thou detain her here, I'll instantly return;
Observe her steps, Sophia—
Respect my sorrows—and if yet thy heart
Is not grown senseless to a parent's voice,
O! let me perish by the Moorish darts,
And not by thy upbraidings.
[Exit Arnolph.
| Almida | |