The Revenge Part 10

Why, when I woo your hand, is it deny'd me?

Your very eyes, why are they taught to shun me?-- Nay, my good lord, I have a t.i.tle here, [_takes his hand._ And I will have it. Am I not your wife?

Have I not just authority to know That heart which I have purchas'd with my own?

Tell me the secret; I conjure you, tell me.

Speak then, I charge you speak, or I expire, And load you with my death. My lord, my lord!

_Alon._ Ha, ha, ha!

[_he breaks from her, and she sinks upon the floor._

_Leon._ Are these the joys which fondly I conceiv'd?

And is it thus a wedded life begins?

What did I part with, when I gave my heart?

I knew not that all happiness went with it.

Why did I leave my tender father's wing, And venture into love? The maid that loves, Goes out to sea upon a shatter'd plank, And puts her trust in miracles for safety.

Where shall I sigh?--where pour out my complaint?

He that should hear, should succour, should redress, He is the source of all.

_Alon._ Go to thy chamber; I soon will follow; that which now disturbs thee Shall be clear'd up, and thou shalt not condemn me. [_exit Leonora._ Oh, how like innocence she looks!--What, stab her!

And rush into her blood?

How then? why thus--no more; it is determin'd.

_Re-enter Zanga._

_Zan._ I fear, his heart has fail'd him. She must die.

Can I not rouse the snake that's in his bosom, To sting out human nature, and effect it? [_aside._

_Alon._ This vast and solid earth, that blazing sun, Those skies, through which it rolls, must all have end.

What then is man? the smallest part of nothing.

Day buries day; month, month; and year, the year.

Our life is but a chain of many deaths; Can then death's self be fear'd? our life much rather.

Life is the desert, life the solitude.

Death joins us to the great majority: 'Tis to be borne to Platos and to Caesars; 'Tis to be great for ever; 'Tis pleasure, 'tis ambition, then to die.

_Zan._ I think, my lord, you talk'd of death.

_Alon._ I did.

_Zan._ I give you joy, then Leonora's dead.

_Alon._ No, Zanga; to shed a woman's blood Would stain my sword, and make my wars inglorious; He who, superior to the checks of nature, Dares make his life the victim of his reason, Does in some sort that reason deify, And take a flight at heaven.

_Zan._ Alas, my lord, 'Tis not your reason, but her beauty, finds Those arguments, and throws you on your sword.

You cannot close an eye that is so bright, You cannot strike a breast that is so soft, That has ten thousand ecstasies in store-- For Carlos?--No, my lord, I mean for you.

_Alon._ Oh, through my heart and marrow! pr'ythee, spare me, Nor more upbraid the weakness of thy lord: I own, I try'd, I quarrell'd with my heart, And push'd it on, and bid it give her death; But, oh, her eyes struck first and murder'd me.

_Zan._ I know not what to answer to my lord.

Men are but men; we did not make ourselves.

Farewell then, my best lord, since you must die.

Oh, that I were to share your monument, And in eternal darkness close these eyes Against those scenes which I am doom'd to suffer!

_Alon._ What dost thou mean?

_Zan._ And is it then unknown?

Oh, grief of heart, to think that you should ask it!

Sure you distrust that ardent love I bear you, Else could you doubt when you are laid in dust-- But it will cut my poor heart through and through, To see those revel on your sacred tomb, Who brought you thither by their lawless loves.

For there they'll revel, and exult to find Him sleep so fast, who else might mar their joys.

_Alon._ Distraction! But don Carlos well thou know'st Is sheath'd in steel, and bent on other thoughts.

_Zan._ I'll work him to the murder of his friend. [_aside._ Yes, till the fever of his blood returns, While her last kiss still glows upon his cheek.

But when he finds Alonzo is no more, How will he rush, like lightning, to her arms!

There sigh, there languish, there pour out his soul; But not in grief--sad obsequies to thee!-- But thou wilt be at peace, nor see, nor hear, The burning kiss, the sigh of ecstasy, Their throbbing hearts that jostle one another: Thank heaven, these torments will be all my own.

_Alon._ I'll ease thee of that pain. Let Carlos die; O'ertake him on the road, and see it done.

'Tis my command. [_gives his signet._

_Zan._ I dare not disobey.

_Alon._ My Zanga, now I have thy leave to die.

_Zan._ Ah, sir! think, think again. Are all men buried In Carlos' grave? you know not womankind: When once the throbbing of the heart has broke The modest zone, with which it first was ty'd, Each man she meets will be a Carlos to her.

_Alon._ That thought has more of h.e.l.l than had the former.

Another, and another, and another!

And each shall cast a smile upon my tomb.

I am convinc'd; I must not, will not, die.

_Zan._ You cannot die; nor can you murder her.

What then remains? In nature no third way, But to forget, and so to love again.

_Alon._ Oh!

_Zan._ If you forgive, the world will call you good; If you forget, the world will call you wise; If you receive her to your grace again, The world will call you--very, very kind.

_Alon._ Zanga, I understand thee well. She dies; Though my arm tremble at the stroke, she dies.

_Zan._ That's truly great. What think you 'twas set up The Greek and Roman name in such a l.u.s.tre, But doing right in stern despite to nature; Shutting their ears to all her little cries, When great, august, and G.o.dlike justice call'd?

At Aulis, one pour'd out a daughter's life, And gain'd more glory than by all his wars; Another, slew a sister in just rage; A third, the theme of all succeeding times, Gave to the cruel axe a darling son: Nay more, for justice some devote themselves, As he at Carthage, an immortal name!

Yet there is one step left above them all, Above their history, above their fable: A wife, bride, mistress, unenjoy'd--do that, And tread upon the Greek and Roman glory.

_Alon._ 'Tis done!--Again new transports fire my brain: I had forgot it, 'tis my bridal night.

Friend, give me joy, we must be gay together; See that the festival be duly honour'd.

And when with garlands the full bowl is crown'd, And music gives her elevating sound, And golden carpets spread the sacred floor, And a new day the blazing tapers pour, Thou, Zanga, then my solemn friends invite, From the dark realms of everlasting night; Call Vengeance, call the furies, call Despair, And Death, our chief-invited guest, be there; He, with pale hand, shall lead the bride, and spread Eternal curtains round our nuptial bed. [_exeunt._