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Rosmunda, Almachilde.
Ros.
Perfidious, infamous, disloyal, perjured!—
At last without constraint, I may pour out
On thee my curses. Dost thou love another? ...
But heaven hath well ordain'd; and such return
Awaits thy passion as that passion merits.
Oh joy ineffable! For who could bear,
Who, save myself, the love of such a miscreant?
Almost Romilda hath my fondness won
Since I have heard her speak to thee. Oh why,
As much as she does, cannot I detest thee?
To me dost thou return such recompense,
To whom thou ow'st so much?—To me, oh vile!
Who even from the throne to thee have stoop'd?
Now answer me ... but what canst thou adduce
That may extenuate thy turpitude?

Al.
Extenuate! Delinquents always seek,
And seldom find, a plausible excuse.
But to love virtue such as never heaven
Lodged in a lady's bosom, I account
A glory, and no crime.

Ros.
Dost thou then add
Insult to perfidy?

Al.
Thou dost esteem
All homage that to virtue is awarded
An insult to thyself; I know it well;
But what of that? Where I discover worth,
Should I, on this account, admire it less?

Romilda hates me; this I've heard too clearly;
And with a fresh wound hath she pierced my heart.
Hence in myself a sorrow do I feel
Surpassing every sorrow. To the winds
I know my sighs are scatter'd; all my hopes
Are baffled and betray'd: yet not for this
Can I e'er cease to love her!—Thou canst not
Reproach my want of faith, who knowest well
Where, how, and wherefore I on thee bestow'd it.
Thou, who know'st well that thou didst there constrain me
Death to receive or give; that thou didst arm
My wavering right-hand with the murderous sword:
Dost recollect? and there, 'mid tears and treason,
Darkness and blood, didst thou, exacting love,
Swear love to me; but say, does love permit
Her oaths to be exchanged where foul revenge
Her altars has erected? That I there
Was criminal I cannot contradict.
But couldst thou, lady, e'er esteem the faith
Required, and given, at such a horrible time,
The genuine offspring of a lasting love?

Ros.
Yes; I deceived myself: I should have known
That never is the bosom of a traitor
With one perfidious action satisfied.
'Twould have been wiser to have avail'd myself
For my revenge, of thy imperfect courage,
And afterwards, by immolating him
That slew his circumvented king, have sought
To appease that murdered king's vindictive shade.
This was the recompense befitting thee;
Not my right-hand; not my imperial bed;
Not a participation of my throne;

Not of my heart.

Al.
Illustrious penitence!
Thou art indeed Rosmunda.—Why not now
That which thou didst not perfectly perform,
Accomplish utterly? Send forth thy spies;
Another Almachilde fix upon
(There will not such be wanting;) let him quickly
Make me the counterpart of thy first lord:
And in the blood of me, thy second spouse,
Tell him to cleanse thy matrimonial sword,
Still reeking with my predecessor's gore.
Not for betraying thee, that were no crime,
For having served thee, a far greater fault,
I merit, and expect such recompense.
But while the heavens still keep it dubious
Which of us two shall first the other punish,
I, by the shade of murdered Alboino,
Swear, that Romilda of thy violence
Shall not be victim. Meanwhile let us try,
Myself, and Ildovaldo, which of her
Can prove ourselves most worthy; which most burns
With ardent fondness; which in enterprise
Is most intrepid; to obtain her, which,
To danger and to death, most dauntlessly
Will bid defiance.