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What, Leonora! the divine, by whom We guess'd at angels! Oh! I'm all confusion.
_Zan._ You now are too much ruffled to think clearly.
Since bliss and horror, life and death, hang on it, Go to your chamber, there maturely weigh Each circ.u.mstance; consider, above all, That it is jealousy's peculiar nature To swell small things to great; nay, out of nought To conjure much, and then to lose its reason Amid the hideous phantoms it has form'd.
_Alon._ Had I ten thousand lives, I'd give them all To be deceiv'd.
And yet she seem'd so pure, that I thought heav'n Borrow'd her form for virtue's self to wear, To gain her lovers with the sons of men.
O, Leonora! Leonora! [_exit._
_Re-enter Isabella._
_Zan._ Thus far it works auspiciously. My patient Thrives, underneath my hand, in misery.
He's gone to think; that is, to be distracted.
_Isa._ I overheard your conference, and saw you, To my amazement, tear the letter.
_Zan._ There, There, Isabella, I out-did myself.
For, tearing it, I not secure it only In its first force, but superadd a new.
For who can now the character examine To cause a doubt, much less detect the fraud?
And after tearing it, as loth to show The foul contents, if I should swear it now A forgery, my lord would disbelieve me, Nay, more, would disbelieve the more I swore.
But is the picture happily dispos'd of?
_Isa._ It is.
_Zan._ That's well--Ah! what is well? O pang to think!
O dire necessity! is this my province?
Whither, my soul! ah! whither art thou sunk?
Does this become a soldier? this become Whom armies follow'd, and a people lov'd?
My martial glory withers at the thought.
But great my end; and since there are no other, These means are just, they s.h.i.+ne with borrow'd light, Ill.u.s.trious from the purpose they pursue.
And greater sure my merit, who, to gain A point sublime, can such a task sustain; To wade through ways obscene, my honour bend, And shock my nature, to attain my end.
Late time shall wonder; that my joys will raise: For wonder is involuntary praise. [_exeunt._
ACT THE FOURTH.
SCENE I.
_Enter Don Alonzo and Zanga._
_Alon._ Oh, what a pain to think! when ev'ry thought, Perplexing thought, in intricacies runs, And reason knits th' inextricable toil, In which herself is taken!
No more I'll bear this battle of the mind, This inward anarchy; but find my wife And, to her trembling heart presenting death, Force all the secret from her.
_Zan._ O, forbear!
You totter on the very brink of ruin.
_Alon._ What dost thou mean?
_Zan._ That will discover all, And kill my hopes. What can I think or do? [_aside._
_Alon._ What, dost thou murmur?
_Zan._ Force the secret from her!
What's perjury to such a crime as this?
Will she confess it then? O, groundless hope!
But rest a.s.sur'd, she'll make this accusation, Or false or true, your ruin with the king; Such is her father's pow'r.
_Alon._ No more, I care not; Rather than groan beneath this load, I'll die.
_Zan._ But for what better will you change this load?
Grant you should know it, would not that be worse?
_Alon._ No; it would cure me of my mortal pangs By hatred and contempt: I should despise her, And all my love-bred agonies would vanish.
_Zan._ Ah! were I sure of that, my lord--
_Alon._ What then?
_Zan._ You should not hazard life to gain the secret.
_Alon._ What dost thou mean? thou know'st I'm on the rack.
I'll not be play'd with; speak, if thou hast aught, Or I this instant fly to Leonora.
_Zan._ That is, to death. My lord, I am not yet Quite so far gone in guilt to suffer it; Though gone too far, heav'n knows--'Tis I am guilty; I have took pains, as you, I know, observ'd, To hinder you from diving in the secret, And turn'd aside your thoughts from the detection.
_Alon._ Thou dost confound me.
_Zan._ I confound myself; And frankly own, though to my shame I own it, Nought but your life in danger could have torn The secret out, and made me own my crime.
_Alon._ Speak quickly, Zanga, speak.
_Zan._ Not yet, dread sir: First, I must be a.s.sur'd, that if you find The fair one guilty, scorn, as you a.s.sur'd me, Shall conquer love and rage, and heal your soul.
_Alon._ Oh! 't will, by heav'n.
_Zan._ Alas! I fear it much, And scarce can hope so far; but I of this Exact your solemn oath, that you'll abstain From all self-violence, and save my lord.
_Alon._ I trebly swear.
_Zan._ You'll bear it like a man?
_Alon._ A G.o.d.
_Zan._ Such have you been to me, these tears confess it; And pour'd forth miracles of kindness on me: And what amends is now within my pow'r, But to confess, expose myself to justice, And as a blessing claim my punishment?
Know then, don Carlos--
