Count Alarcos; a Tragedy - LightNovelsOnl.com
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The moon's a sluggard, I think, to-night. How now, the Moor that dodged My steps at vespers. Hem! I like not this.
Friends beneath cloaks; they're wanted. Save you, sir?
III:3:24 ORAN.
And you, sir?
III:3:25 ALAR.
Not the first time we have met, Or I've no eye for lurkers.
III:3:26 ORAN.
I have tasted Our common heritage, the air, to-day; And if the selfsame beam warmed both our bloods, What then?
III:3:27 ALAR.
Why nothing; but the sun has set, And honest men should seek their hearths.
III:3:28 ORAN.
I wait My friends.
[The BRAVOs rush in, and a.s.sault COUNT ALARCOS, who, dropping his Cloak, shows his Sword already drawn, and keeps them at bay.]
So, so! who plays with princes' blood?
No sport for varlets. Thus and thus, I'll teach ye To know your station.
III:3:29 1ST BRAVO.
Ah!
III:3:30 2ND BRAVO.
Away!
III:3:31 3RD BRAVO.
Fly, fly!
III:3:32 4TH BRAVO.
No place for quiet men.
[The BRAVOs run off.]
III:3:33 ALAR.
A little breath Is all they have cost me, tho' their blood has stained My damask blade. And still the Moor! What ho!
Why fliest not like thy mates?
III:3:34 ORAN.
Because I wait To fight.
III:3:35 ALAR.
Rash caitiff! knowest thou who I am?
III:3:36 ORAN.
One who I heard was brave, and now has proved it.
III:3:37 ALAR.
Am I thy foe?
III:3:38 ORAN.
No more than all thy race.
III:3:39 ALAR.
Go, save thy life.
III:3:40 ORAN.
Look to thine own, proud lord.
III:3:41 ALAR.
Perdition catch thy base-born insolence.
[They fight: after a long and severe encounter, ALARCOS disarms ORAN, who falls wounded.]
III:3:42 ORAN.
Be brief, dispatch me.
III:3:43 ALAR.
Not a word for mercy?
III:3:44 ORAN.
Why should'st thou give it?
III:3:45 ALAR.
'Tis not merited, Yet might be gained. Who set thee on to this?
My sword is at thy throat. Give me his name, And thine shall live.
III:3:46 ORAN.
I cannot.
III:3:47 ALAR.
What, is life So light a boon? It hangs upon this point.
Bold Moor, is't then thy love to him who fees thee Makes thee so faithful?
III:3:48 ORAN.
No; I hate him.
III:3:49 ALAR.
What Restrains thee, then?
III:3:50 ORAN.
The feeling that restrained My arm from joining stabbers--Honour.
III:3:51 ALAR.
Humph!
An overseer of stabbers for some ducats.
And is that honour?
