Away, you can find none. Resume your spirit;
All's well again.
For who could credit that, which credited,
Makes hell superfluous by superior pains,
Without such proofs as cannot be withstood;
Has she not ever been to virtue train'd?
Is not her fame as spotless as the sun,
Her sex's envy, and the boast of Spain?
Alon. O, Zanga! it is that confounds the most,
That full in opposition to appearance
Zan. No more, my lord, for you condemn yourself.
What is absurdity, but to believe
Against appearance! - You can't yet, I find,
Subdue your passion to your better sense;
And, truth to tell, it does not much displease me.
"Tis fit our indiscretions should be check'd
With some degree of pain.
Alon. What indiscretion?
Zan. Come, you must bear to hear your faults from me.
Had you not sent don Carlos to the court
The night before the battle, that foul slave,
Who forg'd the senseless scroll which gives you pain, Had wanted footing for his villany.
Zan. Not send him! Ha!-That strikes me.
I thought he came on message to the king.
Is there another cause could justify
His shunning danger, and the promis'd fight?
But I perhaps may think too rigidly;
So long an absence, and impatient love-
Alon. In my confusion that had quite escap'd me.
By heaven, my wounded soul does bleed afresh;
"Tis clear as day-for Carlos is so brave,
He lives not but on fame, he hunts for danger,
And is enamour'd of the face of death.
How then could he decline the next day's battle,
But for the transports? Oh, it must be so
Inhuman! by the loss of his own honour,
To buy the ruin of his friend!
Zan. You wrong him;
He knew not of your love.
Alon. Ha!
Alon. Indeed, he knew not of my treacherous love
Proofs rise on proofs, and still the last the strongest.
Love is my torture, love was first my crime;
For she was his, my friend's, and he (O horror!)
Confided all in me. O, sacred faith!
How dearly I abide thy violation!
Zan. Were then their loves far gone?
Alon. The father's will
There bore a total sway; and he, as soon
As news arriv'd that Carlos' fleet was seen
From off our coast, fir'd with the love of gold,
Determin'd that the very sun which saw
Carlos' return, should see his daughter wed.
Zan. Indeed, my lord; then you must pardon me,
If I presume to mitigate the crime.
Consider, strong allurements soften guilt;
Long was his absence, ardent was his love,
At midnight his return, the next day destin'd
For his espousals-'twas a strong temptation.
Alon. Temptation!
Zan. 'Twas but gaining of one night.
Zan. That crime could ne'er return again. Alon. Again! By heaven, thou dost insult thy lord. Temptation! One night gain'd! O stings and death! And am I then undone? Alas, my Zanga! And dost thou own it too? Deny it still, And rescue me one moment from distraction. Zan. My lord, I hope the best.
Alon. False, foolish hope, thou know'st it false;
It is as glaring as the noon-tide sun.
Devil! This morning, after three years coldness,
To rush at once into a passion for me!
"Twas time to feign, 'twas time to get another,
When her first fool was sated with her beauties.
Zan. What says my lord? Did Leonora then
Never before disclose her passion for you?
Zan. Throughout the whole three years?
Alon. O never! never!
Why, Zanga, shouldst thou strive? "Tis all in vain:
Though thy soul labours, it can find no reed
For hope to catch at. Ah! I'm plunging down
Ten thousand thousand fathoms in despair.
Zan. Hold, sir, I'll break your fall-Wave ev'ry fear, And be a man again-Had he enjoy'd her, Be most assur'd, he had resign'd her to you With less reluctance.
Alon. Ha! Resign'd her to me!-
Resign her!-Who resign'd her?-Double death!
How could I doubt so long? My heart is broke.
First love her to distraction! then resign her!
Zan. But was it not with utmost agony?
Alon. Grant that, he still resign'd her; that's enough.
Would he pluck out his eye to give it me?
Tear out his heart? - She was his heart no more-
Nor was it with reluctance he resign'd her;
By heav'n, he ask'd, he courted me to wed.
I thought it strange; 'tis now no longer so.
Zan. Was't his request? Are you right sure of that? I fear the letter was not all a tale.
Alon. A tale! There's proof equivalent to sight.
Zan. I should distrust my sight on this occasion.
Alon. And so should I; by heav'n I think I should.
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 circumstance; 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 forın'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!
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.
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?
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 shine with borrow'd light,
Illustrious 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.
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.
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 assur'd, she'll make this accusation,
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