Count Alarcos; a Tragedy Part 19

Ah! why not say thy woe?

Who stands between thee and thy rights but me?

Who stands between thee and thine ease but me?

Who bars thy progress, brings thee cares, but me?

Lures thee to impossible contracts, goads thy faith To mad performance, welcomes thee with sighs, And parts from them with tears? Is this joy? No!

I am thine evil genius.

III:2:51 ALAR.

Say my star Of inspiration. This reality Baffles their mystic threats. Who talks of cares?

Why, what's a Prince, if his imperial will Be bitted by a priest! There's nought impossible.

Thy sighs are sighs of love, and all thy tears But affluent tenderness.

III:2:52 SOL.

You sing as sweet As did the syrens; is it from the heart, Or from the lips, that voice?

III:2:53 ALAR.

Solisa!

III:2:54 SOL.

Ay!

My ear can catch a treacherous tone; 'tis trained To perfidy. My Lord Alarcos, look me Straight in the face. He quails not.

III:2:55 ALAR.

O my soul, Is this the being for whose love I've pledged Even thy forfeit!

III:2:56 SOL.

Alarcos, dear Alarcos, Look not so stern! I'm mad; yes, yes, my life Upon thy truth; I know thou'rt true: he said It rested but with thee; I said it not, Nor thought it.

III:2:57 ALAR.

Lady!

III:2:58 SOL.

Not that voice!

III:2:59 ALAR.

I'll know Thy thought; the King hath spoken?

III:2:60 SOL.

Words of joy And madness. With thyself alone he says It rests.

III:2:61 ALAR.

Nor said he more?

III:2:62 SOL.

It had found me deaf, For he touched hearings quick.

III:2:63 ALAR.

Thy faith in me Hath gone.

III:2:64 SOL.

I'll doubt our shrined miracles Before I doubt Alarcos.

III:2:65 ALAR.

He'll believe thee, For at this moment he has much to endure, And that he could not.

III:2:66 SOL.

And yet I must choose This time to vex thee. O, I am the curse And blight of the existence, which to bless Is all my thought! Alarcos, dear Alarcos, I pray thee pardon me. I am so wretched: This fell suspense is like a frightful dream Wherein we fall from heights, yet never reach The bottomless abyss. It wastes my spirit, Wears down my life, gnaws ever at my heart, Makes my brain quick when others are asleep, And dull when theirs is active. O, Alarcos, I could lie down and die.

III:2:67 ALAR.

[Advancing in soliloquy.]

Asleep, awake, In dreams, and in the musing moods that wait On unfulfilled purposes, I've done it; And thought upon it afterwards, nor shrunk From the fell retrospect.

III:2:68 SOL.

He's wrapped in thought; Indeed his glance was wild when first he entered, And his speech lacked completeness.

III:2:69 ALAR.

How is it then, The body that should be the viler part, And made for servile uses, should rebel 'Gainst the mind's mandate, and should hold its aid Aloof from our adventure? Why the sin Is in the thought, not in the deed; 'tis not The body pays the penalty, the soul Must clear that awful scot. What palls my arm?

It is not pity; trumpet-tongued ambition Stifles her plaintive voice; it is not love, For that inspires the blow! Art thou Solisa?

III:2:70 SOL.

I am that luckless maiden whom you love.

III:2:71 ALAR.

You could lie down and die. Who speaks of death?

There is no absolution for self-murder.

Why 'tis the greater sin of the two. There is More peril in't. What, sleep upon your post Because you are wearied? No, we must spy on And watch occasions. Even now they are ripe.

I feel a turbulent throbbing at my heart Will end in action: for there spiritual tumults Herald great deeds.

III:2:72 SOL.

It is the church's scheme Ever to lengthen suits.

III:2:73 ALAR.

The church?

III:2:74 SOL.

Ossana Leans much to Rome.

III:2:75 ALAR.

And how concerns us that?

III:2:76 SOL.

His Grace spoke to the Bishop, you must know?

III:2:77 ALAR.

Ah, yes! his Grace, the church, it is our friend.

And truly should be so. It gave our griefs, And it should bear their balm.

III:2:78 SOL.