[][]
ALONZO.
A TRAGEDY. IN FIVE ACTS. As it is performed at the THEATRE-ROYAL, DRURY-LANE.
Et mentem ſtrinxit patriae pietatis imago. VIRGIL.
LONDON: Printed for T. BECKET, in the Strand. MDCCLXXIII.
(Prince One Shilling and Sixpence.)
ADVERTISEMENT.
[]THE author of the following Tragedy, has, in his former attempts of the ſame kind, avoided to trouble the reader with either dedication or preface. His chief reaſon for declining this common mode of appearing before the public, was the neceſſity, which it would lay him under, of ſpeaking concerning himſelf and his works. The ſucceſs of Alonzo calls upon him to depart from his former plan; and to break that ſilence, which might now be reckoned arrogant, and even ungrateful, to thoſe, from whom he in a great meaſure derives his ſucceſs.
He embraces with pleaſure, this occaſion, to acknowledge his obligations to THE MANAGERS of the theatre, whoſe friendly, anxious, and active zeal he hath ſo often experienced: TO THE PER⯑FORMERS, who have ſo ſtrenuouſly contended with each other, in their very generous endeavours to embelliſh the repreſentation of the piece: To MRS. BARRY—but the public voice has exalted HER above his praiſe: Yet he claims the merit of []having, before others, obſerved her now allowed and unrivalled excellency. From the colour of the dawn, he foretold the brightneſs of the day.
For MRS. BARRY he wrote the part of Ormi⯑ſinda, and the moſt flattering circumſtance to him, in the ſucceſs of his play, is the univerſal opinion, (vouched, not only by the loudeſt applauſe that ever ſhook the ſtage, but by the greateſt effuſion of tears) that the ACTRESS ſo much exalted THE CHARACTER, that ſhe exceeded all imagination, and reached the ſummit of perfection.
PROLOGUE.
[]WHILST ardent Zeal for India's Reformation,
Hath fired the Spirit of a generous Nation;
Whilſt Patriots of preſented Lacks complain,
And Courtiers Bribery to Exceſs arraign;
The Maxims of Bengal ſtill rule the Stage,
The Poets are your Slaves from Age to Age.
Like Eaſtern Princes in this Houſe you ſit,
The Soubahs, and Nabobs of ſuppliant Wit;
Each Bard his Preſent brings, when he draws near,
With Prologue firſt, he ſooths your gracious Ear;
We hope your Clemency will ſhine to Day,
For tho' deſpotic, gentle in your Sway.
Theſe conſcious Walls if they cou'd ſpeak wou'd tell,
How ſeldom by your Doom, a Poet fell:
Your Mercy oft ſuſpends the Critics Laws,
Your Hearts are partial, to an Author's Cauſe.
Pleas'd with ſuch Lords, content with our Condition,
Againſt your Charter we will ne'er petition.
If certain Folks, ſhould ſend us a Committee,
(Like that which lately viſited the City)
Who without ſpecial Leave of our Directors,
At the Stage Door ſhou'd enter as Inſpectors;
Altho' their Hearts were arm'd with triple Braſs,
Thro' our reſiſting Scenes, they could not paſs.
Lyons and Dragons too keep watch and ward,
Witches and Ghoſts the awful entrance guard;
Heroes who mock the pointed Sword are here,
And deſperate Heroines who know no Fear;
[] If as Rinaldo ſtout each Man ſhould prove,
To brave the Terrors of the inchanted Grove,
Here on this Spot, the Center of our State,
Here on this very Spot they'd meet their Fate.
The Prompter gives the Sign, and down they go;
Alive deſcending to the Shades below.
To you whoſe Empire ſtill may Heav'n maintain,
Who here by antient Right and Cuſtom reign,
Our Lions couch, our Dragons proſtrate fall,
Witches and Ghoſts obey your potent Call.
Our Heroines ſmile on you with all their Might,
Our boldeſt Heroes tremble in your Sight,
Even now with anxious Hearts they watch your Eyes,
Should you but ſrown, even brave ALONZO flies.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
[]MEN.
- KING, Mr. AICKIN.
- ALONZO, Mr. REDDISH.
- ALBERTO (his Son) Mr. CLINCH.
- COSTOLLO, Mr. J. AICKIN.
- SEBASTIAN, Mr. PALMER.
- HAMET, Mr. WRIGHT.
- VELASCO, Mr. JEFFERSON.
- MESSENGER, Mr. J. BANNISTER.
WOMEN.
- ORMISINDA, Mrs. BARRY.
- TERESA, Miſs MANSELL.
Officers and Attendants, &c.
ALONZO. A TRAGEDY.
[]ACT I.
SCENE I. A hall in the palace of the kings of Spain.
ORMISINDA. TERESA.
ORMISINDA.
THIS roll contains the ſecret of my life,
And of the ſtate: My marriage with Alonzo,
The ſtory of my ſon, my injured child,
Bred in a deſert, tho' the heir of Spain.
To thee, my faithful friend, my lov'd Tereſa!
This precious record I commit. Oh! keep it
From ſight of human eye, till better times:
[2]For ſtill I hope that better times may come,
Tho' not to me, to this afflicted land.
My hand hath ſigned it, and my act to day
Shall give it faith and credence with mankind.
This will explain the myſtery of my fate,
And tell the world why Ormiſinda died.
[Gives the writing.]
TERESA.
Do not too ſoon deſpair.
ORMISINDA.
I wait the laſt
Deciſive moment. But to guard my ſoul
Againſt the ſallies of a raſh deſpair,
Againſt the weakneſs which attends ſurpriſe,
I have forecaſt whatever may befall,
And fram'd to the event my firm reſolve.
This is the day appointed for the combat,
Between a Mooriſh and a Chriſtian knight,
To end the wars of Spain, and fix the fate
Of the contending nations.
TERESA.
Antient times,
If tales of antient times may be believ'd,
Have known ſuch combats. In her infant ſtate,
Againſt her rival Alba, Rome was pledg'd
As now Aſturia is: But later times
Afford no parallel.
ORMISINDA.
[3]There never was,
Nor will there ever, while the world endures,
Be found a parallel to my diſtreſs—
I am the victor's prize—whoe'er prevails
He gains the princeſs, and the crown of Spain.
Such is the ſolemn treaty, ſworn, confirm'd,
By every rite, which either nation owns.
Mean while I am Alonzo's wedded wife—
I am a mother—by the falſe Alonzo,
Who from his hate to me abandons Spain,
Which he alone can ſave. No other arm
Can match Mirmallon's force. Proud of his ſtrength
Already in the liſts the Moor exults,
Secure of victory. The ſetting ſun
Concludes the dreadful period of ſuſpence,
And death alone from infamy can ſave me.
TERESA.
He yet may come. Far in the Nubian wilds,
That guard the ſecret ſources of the Nile,
Velaſco found the chief. The wind of ſpring,
The conſtant Eaſt, this year forgot its ſeaſon,
And only ſince this moon her light renew'd,
Began to blow upon the weſtern ſhore.
On that I build a hope.
ORMISINDA.
I have no hope!
Review the ſtory of my life, Tereſa,
[4]And by the paſt conjecture of the future.
Firſt my lamented brother, blindly led
By proud Ramirez, quarrell'd with Alonzo,
Then by Alonzo's ſword Ramirez fell.
For that offence to baniſhment condemn'd,
Alonzo won me to accept his hand
Before he left this kingdom. Since that time,
What I have ſuffer'd, Heav'n, and you can tell.
It was the fifth, a memorable day,
After our marriage, when he fail'd to come,
At the appointed place to meet his bride.
Then' midſt my fear, anxiety, and ſorrow,
For only death I thought, or dangerous harm,
Could keep him from my arms, amaz'd I heard
That he was gone for Aſia. To this hour,
Ev'n to this preſent hour, no cauſe aſſign'd
But theſe diſtracted lines long after ſent:
"Thou never ſhalt behold Alonzo more;
"The foul, foul cauſe thy guilty conſcience knows."
My conſcience knows no cauſe, ſo help me Heav'n!
Now, in my utmoſt need, this dreadful day,
When I muſt ſtruggle with deſpair and Death,
To keep myſelf a chaſte, a blameleſs wife,
And to my ſilent grave the ſecret bear,
That my dear ſon and his may live to wield
The ſceptre of his fathers!
TERESA.
To this hour,
Thy huſband knows not that he is a father.
ORMISINDA.
[5]His ears, his eyes are ſhut. Oft' have I ſent
Letters, that would have piere'd an heart of ſtone;
Pleading for pity, begging but to know,
Wherein I had unwittingly offended;
But every letter, with unbroken ſeal,
To me return'd. He will not read one word
From my deteſted hand.
TERESA.
'Tis very ſtrange,
And much unlike the way of other men.
For tho' they are inconſtant in their love,
There is a courſe and proceſs in the change.
Ardent at firſt, their ardor laſts not long.
With eaſy, full, ſecure poſſeſſion cloy'd,
Their paſſion palls, and cold indifference comes,
As chilly autumn ſteals on ſummer's prime,
Making the green leaf yellow. Then it is
That ſome new beauty takes their roving eyes,
And fires their fancy with untaſted charms.
But in a moment, from exceſs of love,
To the extreme of hate Alonzo paſs'd
Without a cauſe. Nor did another come
Between thee and the current of his love.
'Tis moon-ſtruck madneſs, or the dire effect
Of incantation, charm, compulſive ſpell,
By magie faſten'd on his wretched ſoul.
It can be nothing elſe.
ORMISINDA.
[6]Whate'er it is,
He ſhuns all woman-kind. His life is ſpent
In war and in devotion. When the field
Is won, the warrior lays aſide his ſpear,
Takes up the pilgrim's ſtaff, and all alone,
Obſcur'd in homely weeds, he bends his courſe
To ſome remote, religious, holy place,
Where he exceeds the ſtricteſt penitent,
In penances ſevere and ſad auſterity.
Sometimes in deeper melancholy wrapt
He loaths the ſight of man, and to the cliffs
Of hoary Caucaſus or Atlas flies,
Where all the dreary winterhe remains,
And, deſolate, delights in deſolation.
My faithful fervant Juan ſaw him once
Upon the ledge of Atlas; on a rock
Beſide the empty channel of a brook,
He ſtood and gaz'd intent a cataract
Which, as it tumbled from a cliff, the blaſt
Had caught mid-way, and froze before it fell.
Juan drew near and call'd. He turn'd about,
Look'd at him for a ſpace, then wav'd him back,
And mounting ſwiftly ſunk behind the hill.
Wan was his face, and like a ſtatue pale!
His eye was wild and haggard! Oh! Tereſa,
Amidſt my woes, my miſeries, my wrongs!
My boſom bleeds for him!
TERESA.
[7]Something there is
Myſterious and unfathomable here,
Which paſſes human wiſdom to divine.
The hand of fate is on the curtain now.
Within my breaſt a firm perſuaſion dwells,
That in the liſts Alonzo will appear.
Behold in haſte the king your father comes,
And ſeems the meſſenger of welcome tidings.
Enter the KING.
KING.
I come in this alarming hour, my child,
To pour a ray of comfort on thy heart.
A valiant Moor, once captive of my ſword,
And ever ſince, my firm but ſecret friend,
Acquaints me that a champion is at hand,
Shunning thoſe honors which the Moors would pay:
Dark and reſerv'd he travels thro' their towns
Without a name. I judge it is Alonzo,
For the deſcription beſt accords with him.
Scorning his foes, offended with his friends,
Shrouded in anger and in deep diſdain,
Like ſome prime planet in eclipſe he moves,
Gaz'd at and fear'd.
ORMISINDA.
It is! It is Alonzo!
Welcome, moſt welcome, in whatever ſhape.
The hero comes to ſave his native land,
To ſave the honor of the Chriſtian name,
[8]And o'er the fading creſcent of the Moor
Exalt the holy croſs.
KING.
And, ev'n as thine
Is the conſenting voice of all the land.
The hope of Spain on brave Alonzo reſts.
In this I ſee the ruling hand of heav'n,
Which to its own eternal purpoſe leads,
By winding paths, the ſteps of erring man!
Painful it were to ſpeak of thoſe events
Sad and diſaſtrous which have laid us low.
Unjuſtly was Alonzo baniſh'd hence,
And happily the hero now returns.
For ſince my ſon, your valiant brother, fell,
With an impartial mind I have enquir'd
And trac'd the ſtory of Alonzo's birth.
He is the offspring of our antient kings,
The rightful heir of Riccaredo's line,
Called the Catholic, who reign'd in Spain
Before the firſt invaſion of the Moors.
Loſt in the gen'ral wreck, buried and hid
Beneath the ruins of a fallen ſtate,
Obſcure, unknown, the royal infant lay,
When I, indignant of a foreign yoke,
In wild Aſturia roſe againſt the Moors.
The righteous cauſe prevail'd; the baffled foe
Retir'd, and left us and our mountains free.
The grateful people choſe their leader king.
[9]I knew not then, nor did my people know,
Ought of Alonzo.
ORMISINDA.
I have heard him own
The juſtice of thy title to command
And rule the ſtate thy valor had reſtor'd.
Enough, he ſaid, remain'd for him to conquer?
The fertile provinces of ample Spain,
Which ſtill the Moor uſurps.
KING.
Of all mankind,
He is the champion whom my ſoul deſires
This day to fight for Spain and for my aughter;
Not only for his great renown in arms,
But for his birth, his lineage, and his blood.
If his unconquer'd arm in fight prevails,
The antient monarchy ſhall riſe again,
In all its ſplendor and extent of empire.
The ſtreams of royal blood divided now,
Shall roll a tide united thro' the land.
ORMISINDA.
Thy heart dilates with pleaſing hopes, my father!
And fond anticipates its own deſire.
But who can tell the purpoſe of Alonzo?
His ſtrange approach no friendly aſpect bears:
He comes the foe determin'd of the Moors,
But not to us a friend.
KING.
[10]Of that no fear.
I know him proud, impetuous, and fierce,
Haughty of heart, and high of hand: Too prompt
On all occaſions to appeal to arms.
But he was ever gentle to my daughter:
The proud Alonzo bow'd the knee to thee.
At his departure I obſerv'd thy grief,
And in my mind—
(A trumpet ſounds.)
ORMISINDA.
What means that ſhout of war?
KING.
The trumpet ſounds to arms.
(Enter a meſſenger.)
MESSENGER.
Thy preſence, Sir,
Is at the camp requir'd. Both nations arm,
And ruſh to battle: Loud the Moors complain
Of violated faith. A Spaniſh knight
They ſay has broke the treaty, and attack'd
Their bands, of peace ſecure.
KING.
'Tis baſely done!
Command my guards to meet me at the gate.
Farewel.
[Exit the King.
TERESA.
[11]Who can this headlong warrior be?
Too well Alonzo knows the laws of war,
Too much reveres the treaty feal'd and ſworn,
To make a raſh attempt upon the Moors.
ORMISINDA.
If it is he, 'tis no deliberate act,
No treacherous intention to aſſail
The Moors unguarded. Yet it may be he:
My mind miſgives me that it is Alonzo.
Ill would his ſwelling ſpirit brook the ſight
Of Mooriſh tents and arms on yonder plain.
If as he paſs'd, one ſlighting word was dropt,
With tenfold ſcorn to that he would reply,
Nor heſitate alone to draw his ſword
Amidſt an hoſt of Moors.
TERESA.
The clamor ſinks.
Whate'er it was, the tumult is appeas'd.
And now what does my Ormiſinda think
Of my predictions?
ORMISINDA.
Oh! my dear Tereſa!
Thy fond deſire to chear my hopeleſs heart
Makes thee forever to my mind preſent
The faireſt ſide of things.
TERESA.
[12]Ha! doſt thou doubt
Still of his coming?
ORMISINDA.
No, I think 'tis he;
But hope and fear alternate ſway my mind:
Like light and ſhade upon a waving field
Courſing each other, when the flying clouds
Now hide and now reveal the ſun of heav'n.
I tremble for the iſſue of the combat;
And if my Lord ſhould, as I hope, prevail,
I tremble for myſelf: Afraid to ſee,
Tho' ſick with ſtrong impatience to behold him,
And learn why he forſook his Ormiſinda.
He ſays I know the cauſe. Oh! moſt unjuſt!
Was it becauſe I lov'd him to exceſs,
Altho' his title ſhook my father's throne?
Was it becauſe I join'd my fate to his,
And fondly choſe to wed a baniſh'd man?
For ſuch are my demerits.
TERESA.
'Tis but vain
Thus to torment thyſelf, and rack thy mind
With ſad conjectures, at a time like this,
When the reality will ſoon be known.
ORMISINDA.
I know one thing that's real, 'tis a fault,
An imperfection which I cannot cure;
[13]Sixteen long years are paſt ſince I beheld him,
And grief and care, thoſe tenants that deface
The ſad and weary manſion they inhabit,
Have dwelt with me. Am I not alter'd much?
The ghoſt and ſhadow of what once I was?
TERESA.
No, Ormiſinda, I perceive no change,
That in the leaſt impairs thy lovely form.
The beam that gilds the early morn of youth
Yields to the ſplendor of a riper hour:
The roſe that was ſo fair in bud, is blown;
And grief and care, tho' they have dwelt with thee,
Have left no traces of their viſitation,
But an impreſſion ſweet of melancholy
Which captivates the ſoul. Unſkilful they
Who dreſs the queen of love in wanton ſmiles:
Brighteſt ſhe ſhines amidſt a ſhow'r of tears;
The graces that adorn her beauty moſt,
Are ſoſtneſs, ſenſibility, and pity.
ORMISINDA.
Oh! how ingenious thou art, Tereſa,
How ſubtle to elude my ſimple fears!
Still they advance and gather round my heart.
If nothing can recal Alonzo's love,
Let him but own his ſon, and I'll renounce
The title of his wife, and of a queen;
Then in a convent hide me and my ſorrows.
The ſaddeſt ſiſter of the holy train,
[14]Whoſe watchful zeal prevents the midnight bell,
Shall find me kneeling on the marble floor,
Oh! it will be the luxury of grief,
To weep inceſſant in the vaulted cell,
To lift my hands, and ſend my vows to heav'n,
Invoking ev'ry power that dwells above,
To guard and bleſs my huſband and my ſon!
Perhaps ſome friend, moſt likely my Tereſa,
When I am quite forſaken and forgot
By all the world, will ſtill remember me;
Will come and tell me of Alonzo's wars;
Tell how my boy in his firſt battle fought,
At once the rival of his father's fame.
END OF THE FIRST ACT.
ACT II.
[15]SCENE I.
Enter the KING and a Mooriſh officer, with Moors and Spaniards.
KING.
HAMET, impartial juſtice ſhall be done,
And thou I know as juſtly wilt report it:
Thou art the friend of peace.
HAMET.
Therefore I ſought
This office; for in yonder camp, O! King,
Some counſellors there are who urg'd the Caliph
To take advantage of this fair occaſion
And hold the treaty void.
KING.
That I believe,
But with your aid I hope to diſappoint them;
My guards are gone to bring th' offender hither.
HAMET.
Yonder they come, and thro' their files I ſee
A priſoner.
[Enter guards with a young man armed.]
KING.
[16]Ha! by Heaven, he's but a youth,
A beardleſs boy, and like a woman fair.
He moves my pity much. Unhappy youth!
[To the priſoner.]
Art thou the chief of that unruly band,
Who broke the treaty and aſſail'd the Moors?
YOUTH.
No chief, no leader of a band am I.
The leader of a band inſulted me,
And thoſe he led baſely aſſail'd my life
With bad ſucceſs indeed. If ſelf-defence
Be criminal, O King! I have offended.
KING. [To Hamet.]
With what a noble confidence he ſpeaks!
See what a ſpirit thro' his bluſhes breaks!
Obſerve him, Hamet.
HAMET.
I am fix'd upon him.
KING.
Didſt thou alone engage a band of Moors
And make ſuch havoc? Sure it cannot be.
Recall thy-ſcattered thoughts. Nothing advance
Which proof may overthrow.
YOUTH.
[17]What I have ſaid
No proof can overthrow. Where is the man,
Who ſpeaking from himſelf, not from reports
And rumors idle, will ſtand forth and ſay
I was not ſingle when the Moors attack'd me?
HAMET.
I will not be that man, tho' I confeſs,
That I came hither to accuſe thee, Youth!
And to demand thy puniſhment.—I brought
The tale our ſoldiers told.
YOUTH.
The tale was falſe.
HAMET.
I thought it true; but thou haſt ſhook my faith.
The ſeal of truth is on thy gallant form,
For none but cowards lie.
KING.
Thy ſtory tell,
With every circumſtance which may explain
The ſeeming wonder; how a ſingle man
In ſuch a ſtrife could ſtand?
YOUTH.
'Twill ceaſe to be
A wonder, when thou hear'ſt the ſtory told.
This morning on my road to Oviedo
[18]A while I halted near a Mooriſh poſt.
Of the commander I enquir'd my way,
And told my purpoſe, that I came to ſee
The famous combat. With a ſcornful ſmile,
With taunting words and geſtures he replied,
Mocking my youth. Advis'd me to return
Back to my father's houſe, and in the ring
To dance with boys and girls. He added too
That I ſhould ſee no combat. That no knight
Of Spain durſt meet the champion of the Moors.
Incens'd I did indeed retort his ſcorn.
The quarrel grew apace, and I defied him,
To a green hill, which roſe amidſt the plain,
An arrow's flight or farther from his poſt.
Alone we ſped: at once we drew, we fought.
The Mooriſh captain fell. Enrag'd his men
Flew to revenge his death. Secure they came
Each with his utmoſt ſpeed. Thoſe who came firſt
Single I met and ſlew. More wary grown
The reſt together join'd, and all at once
Aſſail'd me. Then I had no hopes of life.
But ſuddenly a troop of Spaniards came
And charg'd my foes, who did not long ſuſtain
The ſhock, but fled, and carried to their camp
That falſe report which thou, O King! haſt heard.
KING.
Now by my ſceptre, and my ſword, I ſwear,
Thou art a noble youth. An angel's voice
[19]Could not command a more implicit faith
Than thou from me haſt gain'd. What think'ſt thou, Hamet?
Is he not greatly wrong'd?
HAMET.
By Allah! yes.
The voice of truth and innocence is bold,
And never yet could guilt that tone aſſume.
I take my leave impatient to return,
And ſatisfy my friends that this brave youth
Was not th' aggreſſor.
KING.
I expect no leſs
From gen'rous Hamet.
[Exit Hamet and Moors.]
KING.
Tell me, wondrous Youth!
For much I long to know; what is thy name?
Who are thy parents? Since the Moor prevail'd.
Thecottage and the cave have oft' conceal'd
From hoſtile hate the nobleſt blood of Spain:
Thy ſpirit ſpeaks for thee. Thou art a ſhoot
Of ſome illuſtrious ſtock, ſome noble houſe
Whoſe fortunes with their falling country fell.
YOUTH.
Alberto is my name. I draw my birth
From Catalonia; in the mountains there
[20]My father dwells, and for his own domains
Pays tribute to the Moor. He was a ſoldier:
Oft' I have heard him of your battles ſpeak,
Of Cavadonga's and Olalles' field.
But ever ſince I can remember ought,
His chief employment and delight have been
To train me to the uſe and love of arms;
In martial exerciſe we paſt the day;
Morning and evening, ſtill the theme was war.
He bred me to endure the ſummer's heat,
And brave the winter's cold: To ſwim acroſs
The headlong torrent, when the ſhoals of ice
Drove down the ſtream. To rule the fierceſt ſteed
That on our mountains run. No ſavage beaſt
The foreſt yields that I have not encounter'd.
Meanwhile my boſom beat for nobler game;
I long'd in arms to meet the foes of Spain,
Oft I implor'd my father to permit me,
Before the truce was made, to join the hoſt.
He ſaid it muſt not be, I was too young
For the rude fervice of theſe trying times.
KING.
Did he permit you now?
ALBERTO.
A ſtrange adventure
Forc'd me from home. Not many days ago,
When hunting in the woods, I heard a voice,
[21]A woman's voice, calling aloud for help.
I ruſh'd into the thicket; there I ſaw
A mooriſh Lord, for brutal licence fam'd,
Who ſhamefully abus'd a rural maid
Of Spaniſh race. I free'd her from his arms.
The moor ſpake not a word, but mad with rage
Snatch'd up his lance, which ſtood againſt a tree,
And at me flew. I turn'd his point aſide,
And with a ſlender javelin pierc'd his heart.
I haſten'd home, but did not find my father;
Nor was it ſaſe to wait for his return.
I took the faireſt armour in the hall,
And hither bent my courſe. The reſt thou know'ſt.
KING.
Thou art a prodigy, and fill'ft my mind
With thoughts profound and expectation high.
When in a nation, humbled by the will
Of Providence, beneath an haughty foe,
A perſon riſes up, by nature rear'd,
Sublime, above the level of mankind;
Like that bright bow, the hand of the moſt High
Bends in the wat'ry cloud: He is the ſign
Of proſp'rous change and interpoſing Heav'n:
And thou, if right I read—
(Enter Meſſenger.)
MESSENGER.
The champion, Sir,
Who comes to fight for Spain, is near at hand:
[22]One of our ſcouts has ſeen him and his trian,
But brings a ſtrange report, which damps the heart
Of every Spaniard. It is not Alonzo.
KING.
What ſay'ſt thou? God of heaven! Not Alonzo!
Who is he then?
MESSENGER.
That is not fully known.
Clad in the flowing veſture of the eaſt,
A Perſian turban on his head he wears,
Yet he's a chriſtian knight. To mark his falth,
Holy, and adverſe to Mohammed's law,
Before his ſteps a ſilken banner borne
Streams in the wind, and ſhews a golden croſs,
KING.
Send out another ſcout.
MESSENGER.
There is not time
To go and to return.
KING.
Begone, begone,
And let me be obey'd. Alas! my hopes
Are vaniſh'd like a dream.
ALBERTO.
I grieve to ſee
The king afflicted.
KING.
[23]Ah! Thou doſt not know
How deep theſe tidings ſtrike.
ALBERTO.
Is not the king
Free to accept or to refuſe the aid
This ſtranger offers?
KING.
If I am, what then?
ALBERTO.
Be not offended, Sir, at my preſumption,
For from my heart I ſpeak, a loyal heart,
True to my ſov'reign and my native land.
If this is not Alonzo, why ſhould he,
Or any ſtranger fight the cauſe of Spain?
Are there not warriors born of Spaniſh race,
Who court the combat?
KING.
To my words attend.
The Mooriſh champion is of great renown;
In ſtature like the giant race of old,
Like Anak's true, or Titan's fabled ſons.
Againſt the foe nor ſword nor ſpear he lifts,
But in his might ſecure, a mace he wields,
Whoſe ſway reſiſtleſs breaks both ſhield and arm,
And cruſhes head and helmet. Thus he fights
[24]Whoſe fatal proweſs turn'd the doubtful ſcale
Of three ſucceſſive battles. He is deem'd
Invincible but by Alonzo's arm:
Therefore our warriors, tho' they know no fear,
No fear of ought that can themſelves befal,
Anxious for Spain, to great Alonzo yield,
And on his valour reſt.
ALBERTO.
Oft' have I heard
My father ſpeak of brave Alonzo's deeds;
What can with-hold him when his country calls?
Perhaps the laſt of combats he has fought,
And in the ſilent tomb the hero reſts.
But, ſince he's abſent, from whatever cauſe,
O! let no ſtranger knight his place aſſume,
To bring diſhonour on the Spaniſh name.
If this gigantic champion of the Moors,
Clad in the glory of his battles won,
Dazzles the warriors, and confounds their valour,
Let me, tho' young in arms, the combat claim,
On me his fame has no impreſſion made.
I'll meet the giant with a fearleſs heart.
It beats for battle now. Oft have I kill'd
The wolf, the boar, and the wild mountain bull,
For ſport and paſtime. Shall this Mooriſh dog
Reſiſt me fighting in my country's cauſe?
KING.
[25]By heaven and earth, thou mov'ſt me much! thy words
Have ſtirr'd the embers of my youthful fire.
Thou mak'ſt me wiſh I could recal thoſe days,
When of an age like thine, and not unlike
To thee in face and form, I rais'd the ſpear
Againſt the Moor, in Cava's bloody field.
Then by my hand the great Alchammon fell,
The ſtrength and pillar of the Caliph's hoſt.
Then I was ſit to meet Mirmallon's arm.
But now, my hairs are grey, my ſteps are ſlow,
My ſword deſcending breaks the ſhield no more:
Our foes have known it long.
ALBERTO.
O! King, thou art
Thy country's great deliv'rer, and the ſole
Reſtorer of the ſtate. Pelagio's fame
Shall never die: But let thy counſel now
(As oft thy valour) ſave this land from ſhame.
Let not a foreign warrior take the field,
And ſnatch the glory from the lance of Spain.
KING.
My voice alone cannot determine that.
The council ſit aſſembled near the liſts,
To them I will preſent thee. If this knight
Unknown, who from that diſtant egion comes,
Where the bright ſun lights up his golden lamp,
Bears not ſome high pre-eminence about him,
[26]Which marks him out our ſureſt ſafeſt choice,
My voice is for a Spaniard, and for thee!
ALBERTO.
Upon my knees, that ne'er were bow'd before
To mortal man, I thank thee!
KING.
Riſe, Alberto!
To me no thanks are due. A greater King,
The King of Kings, I deem hath choſen thee
To be the champion of his law divine
Againſt the Inſidel.—If not for this,
For ſome great purpoſe ſure thou art ordain'd.
Bred in the deſert, and by heav'n endued
With force and valor marvellouſly great,
Conducted by a hand unſeen, thyſelf
Not knowing whither, and this day produc'd
Before the nations.
ALBERTO.
Ah! my ſoul's on fire!
Should ſuch a glorious deſtiny be mine!
May I intreat to go without delay?
I fear ſome gallant warrior may ſtep forth
And claim the fight before me.
KING.
Stay, Sebaſtian,
And to my daughter tell what has befall'n.
[Exeunt King and Alberto.
[27] (Manet SEBASTIAN.)
How many changes mark this awful day!
What muſt the Princeſs ſuffer! Well I know
That ſhe above all others wiſh'd Alonzo.
Enter ORMISINDA and TERESA.
TERESA.
It is a falſe report. In times like theſe
The minds of men are credulous and weak:
To rumor's ſhifting blaſt they bow and bend,
Like corn of ſlender reed to every wind:
Thou know'ſt that from the Eaſt Alonzo comes.
Might not the haſty meſſenger miſtake
For him ſome turban'd warrior of his train?
ORMISINDA.
O! good Sebaſtian, canſt thou tell me ought?
Is it Alonzo?
SEBASTIAN.
If report ſpeaks truth,
And ſo the King believes, 'tis not Alonzo.
ORMISINDA.
Then I am loſt, Tereſa.
TERESA.
Haſt thou heard,
If not Alonzo, who this ſtranger is?
SEBASTIAN.
His garb beſpeaks him native of the Eaſt.
But from whatever clime the warrior comes,
[28]I hope, my Princeſs! that he comes in vain.
Another warrior, and of Spaniſh race,
Now claims the combat for his native land.
ORMISINDA.
Of Spaniſh race! Who is this Knight of Spain?
SEBASTIAN.
A wonder! never was his equal ſeen,
For daring valour and addreſs in arms.
He has not yet attain'd the prime of youth,
His look partakes more of the boy than man,
But he hath vanquiſh'd men. This day the Moors
Have felt his hand.
ORMISINDA.
Ha! Is it he, Sebaſtian,
Who was the author of the late alarm?
SEBASTIAN.
The ſame.
ORMISINDA.
And whence does this young hero come?
SEBASTIAN.
From Catalonia. In the deſerts there
His ſire, obſcure, tho' once a warrior, dwells.
ORMISINDA.
From Catalonia! In the deſert bred!
Tereſa! All that's poſſible I fear:
What if this youth—
TERESA. [To Ormiſinda.]
[29]O! think how many youths
Of Spaniſh race in Catalonia dwell.
Be recollected whilſt I aſk Sebaſtian
A queſtion that at once all doubt reſolves.
[To Sebaſtian.]
Has this youth no name? Haſt thou not heard
How he is call'd?
SEBASTIAN.
He calls himſelf Alberto.
ORMISINDA.
Mother of God!
TERESA. [To Her.]
Beware!—The Princeſs grieves,
[To Sebaſtian.]
That Spain depriv'd of great Alonzo's aid,
Should reſt her ſafety on a ſtripling's arm.
ORMISINDA.
No judge of warriors or of combats I;
But ſure this youth, tho' ne'er ſo brave and bold,
Of tender years, who has not reach'd his prime,
Is moſt unfit to cope with ſtrong Mirmallon.
SEBASTIAN.
Heroes muſt not be judg'd by common rules.
Irregular like comets in their courſe,
Who can compute the period when they ſhine?
Lady! If thou had'ſt ſeen this gallant youth,
If thou had'ſt heard him, when oblig'd to ſpeak,
[30]In ſelf-defence, he told his wond'rous deed,
As if he though them nothing: Thy faint heart
Would from his fire have caught the flame of hope,
Thou would' [...]t, even as thy royal father did,
Believe he was created and ordain'd,
By Heav'n ſupreme, the champion of his country.
TERESA.
Sebaſtian, go, and find this gallant youth.
Tell him, the Princeſs, partial to the brave,
Deſires his preſence.
SEBASTIAN.
Gladly I obey.
[Exit SEBASTIAN.]
ORMISINDA.
He's gone. Now I may ſpeak. My ſon! my ſon!
My hope, my comfort, in deſpair and death!
The only ſtar in my dark ſky that ſhone!
Muſt thy unhappy mother live to ſee
Thy light extinguiſh'd? I will not permit
This moſt unequal combat. I'll proclaim
My fatal ſtory, and declare his birth.
TERESA.
Think what muſt follow. Abſolute perdition!
ORMISINDA.
Is not his death perdition? Can be meet
The Moor and live? How ſhould his tender youth
Reſiſt the giant, who has overthrown
[31]Squadrons entire, and trampled on the necks
Of firmeſt warriors?
TERESA.
'Tis not yet decreed
That he ſhall fight the Moor. The ſtranger knight,
Who was at firſt miſtaken for Alonzo,
Comes not ſo far, without a name in arms,
To gain the ſuffrage of the Peers of Spain,
When once that name is known.
ORMISINDA.
Tereſa, no.
My fate has ſtill one even tenor held,
From bad to worſe. When I had fram'd my mind
To one diſaſter, then a greater came.
I had made death familiar to my thoughts;
I could embrace the ſpectre like a friend:
But ſtill I kept a corner of my heart
Safe and untouch'd. My deareſt child was there:
Amidſt the ruins of the wife and queen,
The mother ſtood ſecure. O thou Alonzo!
If yet thine eyes behold the light of day,
What ſorrow and remorſe muſt be thy portion,
When thou ſhalt hear—Now promiſe me, Tereſa,
That when my ſon and I are laid in duſt,
(For each event accelerates our doom)
Thou wilt ſeek out and find this cruel man.
Tell him how Spain, the kingdom of his fathers,
By him deſerted, was for ever loſt:
[32]How his forſaken wife in honour died—
But that's not much—for me he will not mourn.
Then tell him of is ſon, to wring his heart!
Truly deſcribe the boy! how brave he was!
How beautiful! how from the cloud obſcure
In which his careful mother had involv'd him,
He burſt the champion of his native land:
Then tell him how the ſpringing hero fell
[...] a ſtronger arm, fighting for Spain,
And for his mother; fighting with the foe
His father ſhould have fought, and could have vanquiſh'd!
TERESA.
Sebaſtian comes.
Enter SEBASTIAN.
SEBASTIAN.
All is revers'd again:
The ſtranger knight is for Abdallah know,
The Perſian prince, Alonzo's choſen friend,
His only equal in the ſtrife of arms.
To him the combat is decided.
ORMISINDA.
I know
His ſtory well; he is the Sophy's ſon,
The eldeſt born and Perſia's rightful heir;
But by his mother's zeal a Chriſtian bred:
True to his faith, he loſt his father's throne,
What ſays he of Alonzo?
SEBASTIAN.
[33]Sent by him,
The brave Abdallah comes to fight for Spain.
They march'd together, from the falls of Nile
To Damietta. There a wound receiv'd
In Aſia's wars broke out, and forc'd Alonzo,
Full of regret, in Egypt to remain.
His friend for him appears. The king, they father,
With all his peers, in honour of the prince,
Go forth to meet him.
ORMISINDA.
Haſt thou ſeen Alberto?
SEBASTIAN.
I have, and told him what I had in charge;
Then haſten'd hither to report theſe tidings,
At which Alberto droops.
TERESA.
Return, I pray,
To my apartment guide the young Alberto.
The princeſs will be there.
[Exit Sebaſtian.]
Did not I ſay,
Alonzo never would abandon Spain?
Abdallah comes to conquer in his name.
Now I can read the characters of fate,
And ſpell the will of Heav'n. This boy of yours
Will win your huſband back. When he beholds
The image of his valour ſo expreſs,
His heart will melt. The huſband and the father
Will ruſh upon him with a flood of joy.
ORMISINDA.
[34]Is he not like him? Mark his coming forth!
Behold Alonzo in his daring ſon!
Full of the ſpirit of his warlike ſire,
His birth unknown, he felt his princely mind,
Advanc'd undaunted on the edge of war,
And claim'd the poſt of danger for his own.
TERESA.
A mother's tongue cannot exceed the truth
In praiſing him. There never was a prince,
Since old Iberia firſt excell'd in arms,
Broke out with ſo much luſtre on mankind.
But in this interview, with prudence check
The tranſport of affection from thy ſon.
Cautions conceal the ſecret of his birth.
Safeſt he is, while to himſelf unknown.
ORMISINDA.
How could his faithful guardian let him go?
Perhaps that faithful guardian lives no more.
TERESA.
Alberto will inform thee.
ORMISINDA.
Not Alberto;
Alonzo is his name. I go to meet him.
[Exeunt.]
END OF THE SECOND ACT.
ACT III.
[]SCENE I. A view of the country near the city.
Enter ABDALLAH.
O! CITY! once the ſeat of all I lov'd!
O! hills and dales! haunts ofmy youthful days!
O! ſcenes well known! unalter'd you remain.
But I approach you with an alter'd mind,
Hate what I lov'd, and loath what I deſir'd,
Intolerable ſtate! My ſoul is void!
A chaos without form. Why, nature, why!
Art thou ſo watchful o'er the brutal tribes,
And yet ſo careleſs of the human race.
By certain inſtinct beaſts and birds diſcern
Their proper food: For them the faireſt fruit
Untouch'd, if pois'nous, withers on the bough:
But man, by a fair outſide, ſtill deceiv'd,
And by his boaſted reaſon more betray'd,
Gives the affection of his ſoul to beauty,
Devours the deadly bane.
Enter VELASCO.
My Lord! Thy people,
Where thou commanded'ſt, halt, and wait thy coming.
ABDALLAH.
[36]'Tis well! I wiſh'd to ſpeak with thee alone.
Velaſco! tho' to thee but little known,
I did in part reveal my ſecret ſoul,
Told thee the feign'd Abdallah was Alonzo
Further than that, thou haſt not ſought to know,
Tho' many a lonely hour we two have worn
On ſea and ſhore, that ſome men would have thought
Moſt opportune,
VELASCO.
My Lord! There are ſome men
Who having once been truſted with a little,
Avail themſelves of that, ſome more to learn,
And penetrate the boſom of a friend,
Even with the wedge his uneaſineſs had furniſh'd—
Such men ſhould not be truſted.
ABDALLAH.
True, Velaſco!
But thou art not like them: I have obſerv'd thee,
Warm in affection, but in temper cool:
A ſteady judgment guides thee thro' the world.
Thy gen'rous mind purſues the path of honour,
Unbiaſs'd and unmov'd.
VELASCO.
From early youth,
The choſen conſident of my companions,
I never yet from perſidy betray'd,
From babling vanity, divulg'd a ſecret,
ABDALLAH.
[37]I have a tale to tell, that will amaze,
Confound, and ſtrike thee dumb. The deſerts vaſt,
Of Aſia and of Africa have heard it.
The rocky cliffs of Caucaſus and Atlas
Have echo'd my complaints: But never yet
The human ear receiv'd them. Thou haſt heard
Already more than ever mortal did.
Thou know'ſt the princeſs?
VELASCO.
Ormiſinda!
ABDALLAH.
Her.
VELASCO.
Not many of the court have been more honour'd
With opportunities to know her worth;
And there is none who more her worth reveres.
ABDALLAH.
Her worth! Thou may'ſt as well revere a fiend,
The blackeſt fiend, that dwells in burning hell,
Is not more oppoſite to all that's good
Than Ormiſinda.
VELASCO.
What a ſtrain is this?
ABDALLAH.
'Tis true, by every high and holy name,
That binds a ſoldier's and a prince's vow:
[38]I ſwear, Velaſco, ſhe's the vileſt woman
That e'er diſgrac'd her ſex. The moſt abandon'd,
The hardieſt, moſt determin'd in her vice,
That ever wrong'd a fond believing heart.
VELASCO.
Great God!
ABDALLAH.
You ſtart and ſhudder like a man
Struck with a heavy blow.
VELASCO.
And ſo I am.
ABDALLAH.
And now you lift your eye-lids up and ſtare
With looks full of conjcture and ſuſpicion,
As if you doubted of my ſober mind.
I am not mad, Velaſco, tho' ſometimes
I have been near, yes, very near to madneſs;
By that bad woman craz'd.
VELASCO.
O! Would to heav'n!
That this afflicting moment of my life
Were a delirious dream! Unreal all
That's heard and ſpoken now! But how, my Lord,
Art thou ſo much affected by her crimes?
ABDALLAH.
I am her huſband.
VELASCO.
[39]Heav'n for that be prais'd!
ABDALLAH.
How dar'ſt thou thus profane the name of heav'n,
And mock my miſery? Thou art mad, I think;
The frenzy which thou wiſhed'ſt has come upon thee
Beware, for if this extaſy endures,
My ſword ſecures thy ſilence.
VELASCO.
O! forgive me,
Noble Alonzo, royal, I ſhould ſay,
Doubly my maſter now. There's not a man,
Whoſe veins contain one drop of Spaniſh blood,
Who does not wiſh thee wedded to the princeſs.
And for her virtue! Thou haſt long been abſent,
Reſerv'd, retir'd, and ſad. I'll ſtake my ſoul,
Some villain has belied thy faithful wife,
And ſnar'd thy eaſy faith.
ABDALLAH.
Take heed, take heed!
I am the villain who accuſe the princeſs,
And thou ſhalt be her judge.
VELASCO.
Eternal power!
What ſhould I think of this?
ABDALLAH.
[40]Liſten to me.
I have perplex'd thee, and have marr'd the ſtory
By my abruptneſs. 'Tis a ſerious ſtory,
Not to be told in parcels and by ſtarts,
As I from impotence of mind began,
But I will bear my ſwelling paſſion down,
And utter all my ſhame. Thou doſt remember
How I was baniſh'd from my native land?
VELASCO.
For killing young Ramirez.
ABDALLAH.
At that time
I doated on the princeſs. She conjur'd me
With earneſt pray'rs, with deluges of tears,
Not to reſiſt her father, nor advance
My better title to the crown of Spain,
As I had once reſolv'd. My rage ſhe ſooth'd,
Pride, anger, int'reſt, yielded all to love.
With her I made a merit of obedience,
And pleaded ſo effectually my cauſe,
That ſhe conſented to a private marriage,
Before I left the kingdon. We were married,
And met together, four ſucceſſive nights,
In the ſequeſtered cottage of the wood,
Behind the palace garden. O! I thought
Myſelf the happieſt and the moſt belov'd
Of all mankind. She mock'd me all the while;
[41]Meant me the cover of her looſe amours.
A cloak to hide her ſhame. O God! O God!
Did I deſerve no better?
VELASCO.
Good my Lord!
What circumſtance to warrant ſuch concluſion?
What evidence?
ABDALLAH.
The evidence of ſight—
Mine eyes beheld: I ſaw myſelf diſhonour'd.
VELASCO.
Your eyes beheld!
ABDALLAH.
By Heav'n and Hell—they did.
The night preceding the appointed day
Of my departure, from the realm of Spain,
I ſlew impatient to the place of meeting,
Before the hour was come: To wear away
The tedious time, for ev'ry minute ſeem'd
An age to me, I ſtruck into the wood
And wander'd there, ſtill ſteering to the gate
By which ſhe was to enter. Tho' the trees
The moon full orb'd in all her glory ſhone.
My am'rous mind a ſportful purpoſe form'd,
Unſeen to watch the coming of my bride,
And wantonly ſurprize her. Near the gate
There ſtood an aged tree. It was a beech,
Which far and wide ſtretch'd forth its level arms
[42]Low, near the ground, and form'd a gloomy ſhade.
Behind its trunk I took my ſecret ſtand;
The gate was full in view, and the green path
On which it open'd. There I ſtood awhile,
And ſoon I heard the turning of the key.
My heart beat thick with joy—and forth ſhe came:—
Not as I wiſh'd: She had a minion with her;
A handſome youth was tripping by her ſide,
Girt with a ſword, and dreſs'd in gay attire.
He ſeem'd to court her, as they paſs'd along,
Coy, but not angry, for I heard her laugh.
She flung away. He follow'd, ſoon o'erttok her,
Embrac'd her—
VELASCO.
Ah! The Princeſs Ormiſinda!
ABDALLAH.
I drew my ſword, that I remember well,
And then an interval like death enſued.
When conſciouſneſs return'd, I found myſelf
Stretch'd at my length upon the naked ground
Under the tree: My ſword lay by my ſide.
The ſudden ſhock, the tranſport of my rage,
And grief, had ſtopt the current of my blood,
And made a pauſe of life.
VELASCO.
Alas! my Lord!
'Twas piteous indeed. What did'ſt thou do,
When life and ſenſe return'd?
ABDALLAH.
[43]With life and ſenſe,
My rage return'd. Stumbling with haſte, I ran
To ſacrifice them to my juſt revenge.
But whether they had heard my heavy fall,
Or that my death-like ſwoon had laſted long,
I know not, but I never ſaw them more.
I ſearch'd till morning; then away I went,
Reſolv'd to ſcorn the ſtrumpet, and forget her.
But I have not been able to forget
Nor to deſpiſe her; tho' I hate her more
Than e'er I lov'd her, ſtill her image haunts me
Where'er I go. I think of nothing elſe
When I'm awake, and never ſhut my eyes
But ſhe's the certain viſion of my dream.
Sometimes, in all her lovelineſs ſhe comes
Without her crimes: In extaſy I wake,
And wiſh the viſion had endur'd for ever.
For theſe deceitful moments, O! my friend!
Are the ſole pleaſant moments which Alonzo
For eighteen years has known.
VELASCO.
Within that time,
What regions barbarous haſt thou explor'd,
What ſtrange viciſſitudes of life endur'd
In action and repoſe.
ABDALLAH.
Extremes of both
I courted to relieve my tortur'd mind:
[44]But the tormenter ſtill my ſteps attends;
Behind me mounts, when thro' the ranks of war
I drive my fiery ſteed; and when I ſeek
The hermit's cell, the fiend purſues me there.
Time, which they ſay the wounds of paſſion cures
In other hearts, inflames and feſters mine.
There's but one remedy.
VELASCO.
Would I could name one!
ABDALLAH.
Her life. The unction for the ſerpent's bite
Is the fell ſerpent's blood. I'll have her life.
Th' adultereſs with infamy ſhall die,
By public juſtice doom'd. With this intent
Diſguis'd I come. If in my proper ſhape
I had appear'd, alarm'd ſhe would have ſled,
And bafiled my revenge.
VELASCO.
My Lord, pemit me
One thing to mention, which theſe eyes beheld,
Altho' it ſquares not juſt with thy opinion.
ABDALLAH.
Opinion!
VELASCO.
Good my Lord! with patience hear.
When firſt I was to this employment nam'd,
Which ſince I have ſo happily diſcharg'd,
The Princeſs ſent and call'd me to her preſence.
[45]The treaty with the Moor engroſs'd her thoughts.
That ſad and penſive air ſhe always wears
Was ſettled to a thicker gloom of grief.
Her voice was low and languid. Few her words,
And the ſhort periods ended with a ſigh.
But when I gave her hopes of thy return,
A ſudden gleam of joy ſpread o'er her face,
Like morning breaking in a cloudy ſky.
With earneſt voice, ſtill riſing as ſhe ſpoke,
She urg'd diſpatch, exhorted me to zeal
And perſeverance, Never to deſiſt
Till I had found thee: For her fate, ſhe ſaid,
The fate of Spain, depended on Alonzo.
Her paſſion then burſt in a flood of tears
That choak'd her utterance.
ABDALLAH.
And thou didſt believe
That ev'ry word ſhe ſpoke was moſt ſincere.
How to interpret her let me inſtruct thee.
Whate'er ſhe utters with unuſual warmth,
As the effuſion genuine of her heart,
Receive and conſtrue in another ſenſe
Reverſe and oppoſite; for that's the truth.
The words ſhe ſpoke, her ſights, the tears ſhe ſhed,
Were all from apprehenſion of my coming,
Not as they ſeem'd, for fear I ſhould not come.
VELASCO.
'Tis dreadful that.
ABDALLAH.
[46]'Tis horrible, 'tis monſtrous!
When I for her had way'd my right to reign,
The right undoubted of the Gothic line,
And ſtoop'd, enamour'd, to that baſe decree
From Spain, which baniſh'd the true heir of Spain,
That ſhe ſhould pitch on me to be her fool,
And pour ſuch infinite contempt upon me.
But four days married! Fond, to madneſs fond!
And on the very eve of my departure!
She would not for a ſingle day refrain,
But ruth'd to proſtitution!
VELASCO.
I have heard
Stories and tales enough of female falſhood,
Some that were true, and others that were feign'd,
By ſpiteful wits maliciouſly devis'd.
But this ſurpaſſes all.
ABDALLAH.
All wicked women
Compar'd with her are ſaints. She is a foil
To ſet them off, and make their foulneſs fair.
In her incontinence ſhe ſtands unrivall'd,
Burning in fires peculiar to herſelf,
Phoenix in lewdneſs.
VELASCO.
May I aſk my Lord
How he intends?—But ſee, the King draws near.
ABDALLAH.
[47]He's much impair'd.
VELASCO.
When fore affliction comes
In the decline of life! 'tis like a ſtorm
Which in the rear of autumn ſhakes the tree
That froſt had touch'd before; and ſtrips it bare
Of all its leaves.
(Enter the KING with attendants.)
(As he advances, ſpeaks to VELASCO.)
KING.
We thank thy care, Velaſco!
To ABDALLAH.
Illuſtrious Prince! whom love of glory brings
From regions ſo remote, to fight for Spain,
Accept the thanks a grateful nation pays
To her defender.
ABDALLAH.
Monarchof Aſturia!
The nations of the Eaſt have heard thy praiſe.
Had not the hand of Time unſtrung thine arm,
Spain never would have ſought for foreign aid
To quell her foes.
KING.
'Tis better far for Spain
That I am old: For in my warlike days,
When in the prime of flow'ring youth I fought,
I equall'd not thy friend. Above his own,
[48]Above the ſtrength of ev'ry mortal arm!
Alonzo thine exalts.
ABDALLAH.
Three times we fought
With equal fortune on the Wolga's banks;
He for the Monguls, I againſt them ſtood.
But at our laſt encounter, on my helm
His faithleſs blade broke ſhort, and in his hand
The uſeleſs hilt remain'd. My ſword I dropt,
And in my arms the valiant chief embrac'd.
Our friendſhip thus commene'd, and ſince that time
We have been brothers ſworn, and leagu'd in arms.
Alonzo, fighting in my cauſe, receiv'd
That wound which now detains him from the field.
Urg'd by affection, and by honor bound,
For him I come againſt the ſoes of Spain.
But of myſelf more than enough is ſaid;
'Tis time to act. The Mooriſh knight, I hear,
Is in the liſts already.
KING.
Prince of Perſia!
The terms to thee are known.
ABDALLAH.
The firſt of men
With pride ſuch honors might from Spain receive;
But never can theſe honors grace Abdallah.
Long ſince my heart and hand were giv'n away;
And tho' the cuſtom of the Eaſt permits
Unnumber'd conſorts, me my faith reſtrains.
[49]But if victorious in the ſtrife of death,
I have an earneſt and a juſt requeſt
To thee, O King! which, at a proper time,
I ſhall be bold to make.
KING.
Whate'er it is,
I pledge my honor and my faith, to grant it.
Enter SEBASTIAN and ALBERTO.
(ALBERTO goes on to the KING.)
KING.
Advance, Alberto! to the Prince himſelf,
Deliver thou thy meſſage and the preſent.
ALBERTO.
Great Sir! the Princeſs Ormiſinda greets
The gen'rous champion of her country's cauſe,
Wiſhes that victory may ſit to day,
And ev'ry day of battle, on his ſword.
This coſtly bracelet from her arm ſhe ſends
To prince Abdallah, to Alonzo's friend.
ABDALLAH.
(Looking ſtedfaſtly on ALBERTO)
The Princeſs is moſt bountiful, as thou,
Who haſt the honor to attend her, know'ſt.
Her gracious preſent humbly I accept,
And thank her for her goodneſs to Alonzo,
Who will be proud to be by her remember'd.
The combat ended, I propoſe to pay
My homage to her beauty. At this time
[50]My mind is in the liſts.—The Mooriſh knight.
Will think me tardy.
(To the KING.)
KING.
Let our trumpets ſound
A ſprightly charge. The warrior's heart beats time
To that brave muſic. Onward from this place
A path direct to thy pavilion leads.
(The KING turns and gives orders).
ABDALLAH (to VELASCO.)
Another minion! View him well, Velaſco.
How inſolent! See what a creſt he rears,
Elated with her favour. O! vile woman!
Inſatiate and inconſtant.
VELASCO.
Ah! my Lord!
Truce with ſuch thoughts! Sure this is not a time!
The combat claims a cool and preſent mind.
ABDALLAH.
Fear not the combat.
VELASCO.
Thou art waited for;
The King himſelf intends with thee to walk.
[Exeunt: Abdallah looking back at Alberto.]
(Manent ALBERTO, SEBASTIAN.)
ALBERTO.
That Prince of Perſia is compos'd of pride;
He did not deign to look upon the preſent,
[51]But ſtretch'd his ſun-burnt hand ſtraight out before him,
Like a blind man, and would have ſtood ſo ſtill,
Had I not made his fingers feel the pearls.
And all the while he ſtar'd me in the face,
As if he meant t'oppreſs me with his eye,
And fright me with his fierce and uncouth looks.
I bluſh'd at firſt, but anger came at laſt,
And bore me up.
SEBASTIAN.
Thoſe princes of the Eaſt,
Us'd to the ſervile manners of their country,
Where ev'ry proſtrate ſlave adores his lord,
Without intention ſhock the ſons of Europe.
ALBERTO.
O! how unlike to him the King of Spain,
And that moſt gentle Princeſs, Ormiſinda!
Her look, her voice, benign and mild, diſpel
The awe her rank inſpires, and reaſſure
The modeſt mind. Would'ſt thou believe, Sebaſtian,
She talk'd to me, I cannot tell how long,
Before thou cam'ſt, and queſtion'd me minutely
How I had liv'd, how paſt my youthful days?
I fear I was too copious in my anſwers.
What ſignifies my rural life to her?
And yet ſhe ſeem'd to liſten with delight,
As if ſhe had an int'reſt in my fate;
And once or twice when I of danger ſpoke,
[52]From which I hardly had eſcap'd with life,
Methought I ſaw her tremble. Much ſhe blam'd
My raſhneſs; yet ſhe prais'd my courage too.
With all her tenderneſs of heart, I ſee
That ſhe admires true valour.
SEBASTIAN.
So ſhe does.
The braveſt knight that e'er was clad in ſteel,
Alonzo, was the lover of her youth:
And ſince he left this land ſhe ne'er rejoic'd,
But of theſe matters I will tell thee more
At a convenient ſeaſon. Let us follow,
And join the train before they reach the liſts.
ALBERTO.
I would not loſe one moment of this ſight
For half the lands of Spain. Tho' I abhor
The Perſian, yet I pray devoutly for him.
[Exeunt.]
END OF THE THIRD ACT.
ACT IV.
[53]SCENE I. The City.
Enter ORMISINDA and TERESA.
ORMISINDA.
THIS city looks as if a peſtilence
Had ſwept the whole inhabitants away.
The ſolitary ſtreets, the empty ſquares,
Appall me more than the deſerted palace.
Let us go back again.
TERESA.
'Tis time we ſhould.
You trembled at the howling of a dog,
That broke the ſilence and increas'd the horror.
If we ſtay here we ſhall be fancy-ſtruck,
Miſtake ſome ſtatue for a pale-fac'd ghoſt,
And think it beckons with its marble arm.
ORMISINDA.
Why ſhould this deſolation frighten me?
Why ſhould I fear to ſee a grave-clad ghoſt,
Who may ſo ſoon be number'd with the dead,
And be myſelf a ghoſt? What noiſe is that?
Did'ſt thou not hear, Tereſa?
TERESA.
[54]Yes, I did.
I heard an uncouth ſound.
ORMISINDA.
Uncouth indeed!
An univerſal groan! Hark! there again.
TERESA.
'Tis not the ſame. This has another tone,
A ſhout of triumph, and a burſt of joy.
ORMISINDA.
The combat's over, and my fate's determin'd.
Now death or life!
[The trumpets ſound.]
TERESA.
Long may the Princeſs live!
And every hour be fortunate as this!
The Spaniſh trumpets ſound, the ſign I know.
Thy champion has prevail'd.
ORMISINDA.
O gracious Heav'n!
The liſts are near, and we ſhall quickly learn.
TERESA.
Look yonder, flying ſwifter than the wind,
A horſeman comes; now at the gate he lights,
And haſtes acroſs the ſquare. It is Sebaſtian.
His look, his geſture, ſpeak his tidings good.
[Enter SEBASTIAN.]
SEBASTIAN.
[55]Joy to the Princeſs! Victory and peace!
The Moor is ſlain by brave Abdallah's hand.
ORMISINDA.
Bleſt be thy tongue, Sebaſtian! Thou ſhalt find
Some better recompence than barren thanks
For theſe glad tidings. But the gen'rous Prince
Who fought for Spain—
SEBASTIAN.
Safe and without a wound,
Freſh for another foe, Abdallah ſtands.
Short was the combat: Soon the boaſter fell,
Who durſt defy the Chriſtian world to arms.
ORMISINDA.
The God of battles, whom Abdallah ſerves,
Has overthrown the infidel, whoſe truſt
Was in his own right arm.
SEBASTIAN.
If I ſhould live
Ten thouſand years, I never could forget
The ſolemn prelude and the fierce encounter.
Thou know'ſt the place appointed for the combat,
An amphitheatre by nature form'd.
ORMISINDA.
I know it well.
SEBASTIAN.
The hills, of various ſlope
And ſhape, which circle round the ſpacious plain,
[56]Were cover'd with a multitude immenſe
Of either ſex, of every age and rank,
Chriſtian and Moor; whoſe faces and attire
Strangely diverſified the living ſcene.
Within the liſts a gallery was rais'd
In which thy father and the Mooriſh prince
Sate with their peers, the judges of the field.
To them the knights with ſlow and ſtately pace
Approach'd; and bound by ſacred oaths declar'd
That they no charm nor incantation us'd,
But truſted in their valour and their arms.
With low obeiſance then they both fell back;
And firſt the Moor (for he the challenge gave)
March'd to the middle of the liſted field;
There ſeiz'd his ponderous mace, beneath whoſe weight,
The brawny bearer bow'd; and round his head,
Like a light foil, he flouriſh'd it in air.
On him with diff'rent thoughts the nations gaz'd.
But ſuddenly a flaſh of light and flame
Struck ev'ry eye from brave Abdallah's ſhield,
Cover'd till then. 'Twas made of poliſh'd ſteel,
Which ſhone like adamant; and to a point
Roſe in the centre, ſtanting on each ſide.
This ſhield the Perſian Prince advancing bore
On his left arm outſtretch'd, and in his right,
Thrown back a little, gleam'd a pointed ſword.
Erect and high the bold Mirmallon ſtood,
And ſternly ey'd his near-approaching oe.
Then forward ſprung, and on the flaming ſhield
Diſcharg'd a mighty blow, enough to cruſh
[57]A wall, or ſplit a rock. The Spaniards gave
A general groan.
ORMISINDA.
That was the dreadful ſound
We heard, Tereſa.
SEBASTIAN.
Glancing from the ſhield,
Aſide the mace deſcended. Then enrag'd,
Once more the Moor his thund'ring weapon rear'd.
In ſtept the Prince, and raiſing high his ſhield,
Midway he met the blow; and with the ſtrength
And vigour of his arm, obliquely down
The pond'rous mace he drove. Then quick as thought,
His better hand and foot at once advancing,
Plung'd in Mirmallon's throat his thirſty blade.
The giant ſtagger'd for a little ſpace;
Then falling, ſhook the earth. The Chriſtians rais'd
A ſhout that rent the air. Away I came,
Happy to be the bearer of ſuch tidings.
[Trumpet.
ORMISINDA.
Behold, they come in triumph from the field.
O! glorious man! And yet forgive me, Heav'n,
I grudge the conqueſt to Alonzo's friend,
And wiſh Alonzo in Abdallah's place.
Enter the KING, ABDALLAH, VELASCO, ALBERTO, &c.
ABDALLAH. [To Velaſco.]
See where ſhe ſtands. O Heavens!
VELASCO.
[58]My Lord Alonzo,
Compoſe thy thoughts.
ABDALLAH.
Behold her how ſhe looks,
As if ſhe knew no ill. That harden'd heart
Againſt remorſe and fear and ſhame is arm'd;
But I ſhall wring it now.
KING.
Daughter, draw near!
This godlike Prince all recompence diſclaims,
Save thanks from Spain. The pleaſing taſk be thine
To greet the ſaviour of thy native land,
And ſpeak our gratitude.
ORMISINDA.
No words can ſpeak
The gratitude I feel. Believe it great
As my deliverance, vaſt as my diſtreſs!
Like ſad Andromeda, chain'd to the rock
I ſtood a living prey, when this brave Prince,
Came like another Perſeus from the ſky,
And ſav'd me from deſtruction. I forget,
Wrapt in myſelf, the charge my father gave
To thank the ſaviour of my native land;
Another voice ſhall give thee thanks for Spain,
Alonzo's voice ſhall thank thee for his country,
His friends, his people—ſav'd.
ABDALLAH.
Ah! If I hear
(Aſide.)
This ſyren longer, ſhe will charm my rage;
[59]But I remember where I heard her laſt.
Princeſs of Spain! I merit not thy praiſe.
Sent by Alonzo to this land I came:
What has been done, for Him I have perform'd.
Now of his promiſe I remind the King
To grant me one requeſt.
KING.
Speak! It is granted.
ORMISINDA.
If I conjecture right, even that requeſt
Will prove one favour more on Spain conferr'd.
ABDALLAH.
Perhaps it may
KING.
Proceed, illuſtrious Prince!
And make me happy to fulfil thy wiſh.
ABDALLAH.
Not for myſelf I ſpeak, but for my friend;
And in his name, whoſe perſon I ſuſtain,
I aſk for juſtice on a great offender.
KING.
Thou ſhalt have ample and immediate juſtice.
Nor favour nor affinity ſhall ſkreen
The guilty perſon. Prince, why ar thou troubled?
Thou ſhank'ſt from head to foot. Thy quiv'ring lip
Is pale with paſſion. On thy forehead ſtand
Big drops. Almighty God! What dreadſul birth
Do theſe ſtrong pangs portend?
ABDALLAH.
[60]The guilty perſon,
Whom with a capital offence I charge,
Stands by thy ſide.
KING.
My daughter!
ABDALLAH.
Yes! thy daughter!
'Tis her I mean, the Princeſs Ormiſinda.
Here in the preſence of the Peers of Spain,
I charge her with a crime, whoſe doom the laws
Of Spain have wrote in blood: Adultery.
I read aſtoniſhment in ev'ry face!
Who would ſuſpect that one ſo highly born,
With ev'ry outward mark of virtue grac'd,
Had giv'n her honour to a worthleſs wretch,
And driv'n a noble huſband to deſpair!
KING.
Am I awake! Is this the light of day?
Art thou, O! Prince, with ſudden frenzy ſeiz'd?
Or is the madneſs mine? Renown'd Abdallah!
What anſwer can be made to ſuch a charge?
This ſtrange demand of juſtice on my daughter,
For an offence that ſhe could not commit?
My daughter ne'er was married.
ABDALLAH.
Aſk her that?
Hear if ſhe will deny ſhe has a huſband?
KING.
[61]My child, thou art amaz'd!
ORMISINDA.
No, not ſo much
As thou wilt be, my father, when thou hear'ſt
Thy daughter's tongue confeſs ſhe has a huſband.
KING.
Haſt thou a huſband! God of heav'n and earth!
Since thou haſt thus diſſembled with thy father,
Perhaps thou haſt deceiv'd thy huſband too.
Who is thy huſband? Speak!
ORMISINDA.
The Prince Alonzo.
KING.
And haſt thou been ſo long in ſecret wedded?
'Tis eighteen years ſince he departed hence.
ORMISINDA.
O! I have reaſon to remember that.
There is no calendar ſo juſt and true
As the ſad mem'ry of a wife forſaken.
The years, the months, the weeks, the very days,
Are reckon'd, regiſter'd, recorded there!
And of that period I could cite ſuch times,
So dolorous, diſtreſsful, melancholy,
That the bare mention of them would excite
Amazement how I live to tell the tale.
But I forget the preſent in the paſt.
No wonder, for this moment is the firſt
That opes the ſluices of a heart o'ercharg'd,
[62]And burſting with a flood of grief conceal'd.
But I muſt turn me to another theme.
The earneſt eyes of all are bent on me,
Watching my looks, and prying to diſcern
Symptoms of innocence or ſigns of guilt.
Hear then the frank confeſſion of my ſoul:
I have tranſgreſs'd.
KING.
Stain of a noble race!
Doſt thou avow thy crime?
ORMISINDA.
Miſtake me not,
I have tranſgreſs'd my duty to my father:
Without his knowledge, and againſt his will,
Mov'd by a tender lover's parting tears,
I join'd myſelf in wedlock to Alonzo.
My King, my father, pardon the offence,
Which againſt thee I own I have committed:
But may I ne'er of God or man be pardon'd,
Nor friend nor father ever pity me,
If I have ſwerv'd one ſtep from virtue's path,
Or broke the ſmalleſt parcel of that vow
Which binds a faithful wife! O! Prince of Perſia!
Thou art the eſt of friends and benefactors;
Thou com'ſt to end my moſt diſtracting woes,
And to diſpel th' impenetrable cloud
That darken'd all my days. Now I ſhall know
Why I have been abandon'd and forſaken,
Why I have been deteſted and deſpis'd,
[63]As never woman was. Proceed, my Lord.
And whilſt thou keenly doſt aſſail my life,
And, dearer far, my honor and my fame,
Secure in innocence, I'll calmly hear.
From thee, I hope, the end of all my cares.
ABDALLAH.
Even thus Alonzo told me ſhe would ſpeak,
And thus proclaim her innocence.
ORMISINDA.
Did He?
O! would to Heav'n Alonzo heard me now,
Fearleſs defend his honor and my own!
My voice, which once was muſic to his ear,
Like David's harp which ſooth'd the gloomy king,
Would charm his malady, would drive away
The evil ſpirit, and call back again
The better genius of his early days.
O! thou that wert ſo good, ſo great! admir'd
Of all mankind! my lov'd, my loſt Alonzo!
For thee, in this humiliating hour,
More than myſelf I mourn.
ABDALLAH. (Half aſide.)
Eternal Power!
To whom the ſecrets of all hearts are known!
Hear, hear this woman, and between us judge!
'Tis not my buſineſs to contend with words,
Theſe are the conquering arms of womankind.
A nobler courſe of trial lies before me:
In a wrong'd huſband's name I charge this lady
With infidelity; and crave the doom
[64]Of law upon her head. If any knight,
Spaniard or ſtranger, dares aſſert her cauſe,
Let him ſtand forth, and take my gauntlet up;
Which on the ground I throw, my gage to prove
That ſhe is falſe to honor and Alnzo.
ORMISINDA.
Before the gage of death is lifted up,
Hear me one moment. By Alonzo ſent,
Thou com'ſt inſtructed in Alonzo's wrongs.
Let me conjure thee then, by all that's dear,
By all that's ſacred to the great and brave,
Thy mother's memory, thy conſort's fame,
Not on a gen'ral charge, obſcure and vague,
To which there is no anſwer but denial,
To found the claim of combat: Single out
What circumſtance thou wilt of ſpecial note,
Of ſuch a kind as may be tried and known
For true or falſe. Tell us at leaſt his name
With whom Alonzo's wife her honor ſtain'd,
And let us be confronted.
[Young ALBERTO ſteps forth.
ALBERTO.
Heaven forbid
That thou ſhould'ſt be conſronted with a villain.
Princeſs of Spain! Be ſure ſome wretch there is,
Some renegado, falſe to God and man,
Suborn'd, and ready with a lying tongue,
To ſecond this brave Prince who wrongs thy fame,
And wounds thy modeſt ear. Too much by far
Already thou haſt heard. Pretended Prince!
[65]For there is nothing royal in thy ſoul!
Thou baſe defamer of a lady's name!
I take thy gauntlet up, and hold it high
In ſcorn, and fierce deſiance, to thy face,
My gage to prove thy accuſation falſe,
And thee, the author of a tale invented
To rob a noble lady of her fame.
ORMISINDA.
Where am I now? What ſhall I do, Tereſa?
[Aſide.
TERESA.
The God of Heav'n direct thee!
ABDALLAH.
Boy! To thee
I anſwer nothing. I ſuſpect the cauſe
Of thy preſumption, and could wiſh that Spain
Had gi'n a worthier victim to my ſword.
[Walks aſide.
ORMISINDA.
O! valiant youth! much am I bound to thee:
But I have reaſons that import the ſtate,
Which ſhall, whatever is my fate, be known,
And own'd hereafter to be great and weighty,
Why I decline th' aſſiſtance of thy ſword.
If this appeal to combat is the law,
And I can find no champion but Alberto,
Without the chance of combat let me fall,
For I will not accept—
ALBERTO.
[66]Recall theſe words,
Too gen'rous Princeſs! I can read thy thoughts:
Thou think'ſt my youth unequal to the foe;
Thou fear'ſt the weakneſs of Alberto's arm.
My ſtrength exceeds the promiſe of my years.
Oft have I bent the bow, and drawn the ſword,
Nor fly my ſhafts, nor falls my ſword in vain.
This day againſt a troop alone I fought;
But never did I fight in ſuch a cauſe,
Nor was I e'er ſo certain to prevail.
A fire divine invades my zealous breaſt:
I feel the force of legions in mine arm.
Thy innocence has made thy champion ſtrong!
The God of battles is our righteous judge;
And let the cauſe be tried.
(A warrior armed, with his helmet on, ſteps forth.)
WARRIOR.
But not by thee!
Thy father's voice forbids, too daring youth!
Stand back, and let thy maſter in the art
Of war, now claim the combat for his own.
My liege!
KING.
That voice I know: Thy figure too
Reſembles much a chief, lamented long
As ſlain in battle.
WARRIOR.
[67]I am he, Coſtollo.
'Tis true, O! king! that on the field I fell,
Fighting for Spain. How I was ſav'd from death,
And where, for many years I have remain'd,
This is no time to tell. This hour demands
A ſoldier's ſpeech, brief prologue to his deeds.
On me, proud Perſion! turn thy gloomy eyes,
Hear me, and let thy ready ſword reply.
With hell-born malice, level'd at her life,
Thou haſt defam'd a Princeſs, honour'd, lov'd,
By all, who virtue or fair honour love.
The fell Hyaena, native of thy land,
Has not a voice or heart more falſe than thine,
Thou counterfeit of truth! whom I defy
To mortal combat, and the proof of arms.
Thy full-blown fame, thy unexhauſted ſtrength,
Deceitful confidence, I laugh to ſcorn;
The conquering cauſe is mine.
ALBERTO.
My lord, the King!
And ye his counſellors for wiſdom fam'd!
You will not ſure permit this good old man,
By fond affection for his ſon impell'd,
To meet ſo ſtern a foe. His hoary head,
His wither'd veins, are ſymptoms of decay,
Lean not upon a reed which time hath bruis'd,
Nor truſt the life and honour of the Princeſs
To the weak arm of age.
ABDALLAH.
[68]I'll fight you both,
Father and ſon at once. Together come,
Tongue-valiant men! and try Abdallah's arm.
I'll have it ſo; for both of you have dar'd,
Ignoble as you are, to match yourſelves
Againſt a Prince who moves not in your ſphere,
And utter words for which ſuch blood as yours
Is poor atonement.
COSTOLLO.
Ev'ry word thou ſpeak'ſt,
Is inſolent and falſe. Son of a ſlave!
For eaſtern monarchs buy with gold their brides,
The blood by thee deſpis'd, flows from a ſourc
Purer than thine and nobler.
ALBETO.
Nay, my father!
That's ſaid too far. Fierce and diſdainful Prince,
Vain is the offer which thy paſſion makes.
Perhaps the conqueror of the Moor may find
One Spaniard is enough.
COSTOLLO.
A father's right
Unmov'd I claim, and with determin'd voice
Forbid the combat.
KING.
[69]Hence let us retire
To the pavilion. There our peers ſhall judge
Of your pretenſions.
[Exeunt King and Spaniards.
ABDALLAH.
Come with me Velaſco.
[Exeunt Abdallah and Velaſco.
(Manent ORMISINDA and TERESA.)
ORMISINDA.
My thoughts are of my ſon. Mine own eſtate
Is deſp'rate. The huſband whom I lov'd,
On whom I doated, and from whom I ſuffer'd,
What never woman with ſuch patience bore,
Conſpires againſt my honour and my life,
Long cheriſh'd hope, farewel!
TERESA.
To guard thy ſon
Defend thyſelf; and, to prevent the combat,
In thy demand perſiſt. Call the accuſer
To circumſtance of proof. That is the thread
To lead us thro' this labyrinth perplex'd.
Nor has the Perſian thy demand refus'd,
ORMISINDA.
He had not time to ſpeak. Alberto's voice
Broke in like thunder in his mother's cauſe.
Amidſt the anguiſh of my tortur'd heart,
My ſoul exults, Tereſa! in my ſon!
[70]When in the pride of valour forth he came,
And for my ſake defied the bold Abdallah,
His look (he ſeem'd a cherub in my eyes!)
His voice (at every word my boſom yearn'd!).
Tranſported me ſo much, that I forgot
His ſtate and mine, and had well nigh ſprung forth
To claſp my blooming hero in my arms.
TERESA.
No wonder that his mother's ſoul was mov'd:
His brave demeanor the ſpectators charm'd.
Valour, which ſheds a glory round the head
Of age and ruggedneſs; how bright its beams
When in the lovely front of youth they ſhine!
ORMISINDA.
I've heard of ſtrange and perilous eſſays
To try the pureneſs of ſuſpected virtue.
I'll undergo whate'er can be devis'd.
By ordeal trial let my faith be prov'd.
Blindfold, barefooted, on the ſmoaking ſoil,
With red hot plough-ſhares ſpread, I'll walk my way,
Plunge in the boiling oil my naked arm,
But will not riſk my young Alonzo's life.
The Mooriſh hoſt hangs o'er our heads no more.
The heir of Spain ſhall for himſelf be known,
Alonzo's ſon.
TERESA.
He will not be allow'd
Alonzo's ſon, nor yet the heir of Spain,
Whilſt ſlander's breath ſullies his mother's fame.
ORMISINDA.
[71]Now thou haſt touch'd a ſtring, to whoſe deep ſound
A mother's heart replies. My ſon! my ſon!
I weigh thy virtues down, hang on thy life,
Attaint thy blood, thy birth, thy right to reign!
The birds of prey that dwell among the rocks,
The ſavage beaſts that thro' the deſerts roam,
The monſters of the deep, their offspring love,
And to preſerve their lives devote their own.
Athwart the gloom, I ſee a flaſh of light,
That opens the horizon. I deſcry
A hand that points a high and lofty path
Which I will boldly tread. Now to my father.
Upon my knees his aid I'll firſt implore.
[Exeunt.
END F THE FOURTH ACT.
ACT V.
[72]SCENE I.
ABDALLAH and VELASCO.
VELASCO.
BEFORE this day ſhe ne'er beheld the boy.
Far from this place in Catalonia bred.
He came to ſee the famous combat fought.
'Twas he, my Lord, who ſlew the Mooriſh chief,
And in his own defence ſuch wonders wrought.
That action to the Princeſs made him known,
The reſt in honour of his valour follow'd.
ABDALLAH.
How doſt thou know?
VELASCO.
With admiration ſtruck,
When he ſtood forth and brav'd a foe, like thee,
Of divers perſons curious I enquir'd,
Who, and from whence he was.
ABDALLAH.
Pity it were
To hurt the ſtripling. 'Tis a noble boy.
I love the outbreak of his Spaniſh fire
Againſt the Moors.
VELASCO.
[73]Ay, and againſt Abdallah,
Whom antient fame and recent glory rais'd,
Above all mortal men. Spare this young plant,
Who makes ſo fair a ſhoot.
ABDALLAH.
How can I ſpare him?
Should their election ſend him to my ſword,
How, good Velaſco?
VELASCO.
When the peers return,
The King, the Princeſs, with their champion choſen;
Then to the wond'ring audience, in the face
Of her that's guilty, let my Lord relate
The truth-mark'd ſtory he to me has told.
Detected thus, confounded and ſurpris'd,
Pierc'd with a thouſand eyes, that gaze upon her,
And dart conviction; can ſhe ſtill deny,
And by denial, make her guilt ambiguous?
But if her ſex's genius is ſo ſtrong
That ſhe the port of innocence maintains,
And, from the fulneſs and exceſs of vice,
Derives a boldneſs, that may look like virtue,
Then let the ſword decide.
ABDALLAH.
What you propoſe
Is worth the trial. I am loth to ſpill
The young Alberto's or Coſtollo's blood:
[74]For they deſerve no harm. Ev'n you, my friend.
Before my hand unclaſp'd the book of ſhame,
Her champion would have been.
VELASCO.
Againſt the world.
ABDALLAH.
I will adopt the counſel of Velaſco,
And probe more deeply ſtill her feſter'd mind.
I ſee 'tis better that ſhe ſhould confeſs
Her guilt, than with her vanquiſh'd champion fall,
By doom of law, proteſting to the laſt
Her innocence.
VELASCO.
Better a thouſand times.
Her dying voice would ſhake the hearts of men,
And echo thro' the world.
ABDALLAH.
Behold the King,
And young Alberto marching by his ſide
As if he trod on air.
VELASCO.
See, Ormiſinda
With folded hands implores her liſt'ning ſire.
Enter the King, Ormiſinda, Tereſa, Alberto, Coſtollo, &c.
KING.
The peers of Spain have judg'd. Stand forth, Alberto!
Behold the champion of my daughter's fame.
ALBERTO.
[75]Before the trumpet's voice unſheaths the ſword
Which one of us ſhall never ſheath again,
Permit me, Prince of Perſia, to intreat
A moment's audience. Not from fear I ſpeak.
The cauſe I fight for, and the mind I bear,
Exalt me far above the thoughts of dnger;
But from a conſcious ſenſe of what is due
To thee, renown'd Abdallah. In the heat
Of our contention, if my tongue has utter'd
One word offenſive to thy noble ear,
Which might have been omitted, and the tone
Of firm defiance equally preſerv'd;
For that I aſk forgiveneſs.
ABDALLAH.
Leſs I mark'd
The manner than the matter of thy ſpeeck:
If thou doſt need forgiveneſs, freely take it,
KING.
'Twas generouſly aſk'd, and nobly granted;
Such courteſy with valour ever dwells.
Let me too crave for a few words thine ear.
Throughout the trying bus'neſs of this day,
Thou art my witneſs, that my mind upright
Has never been by pow'rful nature bent,
Nor ſway'd to favour and opinion form'd,
By long habitual and accuſtom'd love:
But I with equal hand the balance held
Between thee and my child.
ABDALLAH.
[76]Thou haſt indeed.
It is but juſtice that I ſhould declare it.
KING.
Then to thy candour let me now appeal,
And beg of thee to grant me one requeſt,
Which I do not, but might perhaps, command.
ABDALLAH.
What is it?
KING.
I have ſearch'd my hapleſs child,
Ev'n to the pith and marrow of her ſoul,
Have touch'd her to the quick. She never ſhrinks
Nor wavers in the leaſt. Perhaps, my Lord!
Some fool officious, or ſome wretch that's worſe,
(If there is ought comes between man and wife
That's more pernicious than a medling fool)
Some falſe deſigning friend has wrong'd her fame,
And pour'd his poiſon in Alonzo's ear.
If thou wilt give ſome ſcope to her defence,
And bring the charge from darkneſs into light,
Then ſhe ſhall forthwith anſwer on the ſpot
Where now ſhe ſtands before us.
ORMISINDA.
If I fail
To clear my fame ev'n in Abdallah's ſight;
If but one dark ſuſpicious ſpeck remains
To make mine honour dim, let me be held
[77]Guilty of all. Before-hand I renounce
The right of combat, and ſubmit to die.
ABDALLAH.
Thy wiſh is fatal, but if ſhall be granted,
This inſtant too.
ORMISINDA.
Bleſſings upon thy head!
Ten thouſand bleſſings! O! thou doſt not know
How happy thou haſt made me. On my breaſt
A mountain lay: Thy hand has heav'd it off,
And now I breathe again.
ABDALLAH.
O woman! woman!
A little way from hence my people wait;
With them remains a neceſſary witneſs.
Thither I go, and quickly will return
To ring thy knell.
[Exit Abdallah.]
ORMISINDA.
The knell of all my woes!
My heart knocks at my ſide, as if 'twould burſt
Itſelf a paſſage outwards. Yet a while;
Poor ſuſſ'ring heart, and thou ſhalt beat no more.
Shortly for what I am I ſhall be known,
Then let my doom be ſquar'd to my deſert
Without indulgence.
KING.
I can truſt thee, now:
Thine eye ſecure beams innocence and honour.
Thou art my daughter ſtill.
ALBERTO.
[78]I fear, O King!
Some practice vile, ſome infamous impoſture,
Supported by falſe witneſs. Still I wiſh
The fair deciſion of the honeſt ſword.
Enter ABDALLAH in a Spaniſh Drſs as ALONZO.
KING.
God of my ſoul! What mockery is this?
Unleſs my eyes deceive me, 'tis Alonzo.
ORMISINDA.
My huſband! Ah!
[Runs to embrace him, he repulſes her.]
ALONZO.
Away, thy huſband's ſhame,
Shame to thy ſex, reproach of womankind!
ORMISINDA.
O! ſhield me, Heav'n! Abdallah was Alonzo.
ALONZO.
To Heav'n appeal not.
ORMISINDA.
I appeal to Heav'n,
Juſtice on earth will come too late for me.
KING. [To Alonzo.]
Haſt thou no other witneſs than thyſelf?
ALONZO.
I have no other, and none elſe require.
KING.
[79]Unfeeling man, to trifle with our ſorrows,
And like a pageant play a mimic ſcene.
This is thy hatred of Pelagio's houſe,
Thy paſſion to confound a rival race.
Would I were young again!
ALBERTO. [To Alonzo.]
Defend thyſelf.
I can no longer hold me from thy breaſt.
PELAGIO.
Sound, trumpet, ſound! and Heav'n defend the right!
ALONZO. [Drawing his Swords.]
His blood be on your heads.
[Ormiſinda throws herſelf between their Swords.]
ORMISINDA.
Hold! Strike thro' me!
You know not what you do, unhappy both!
This combat muſt not, nor it ſhall not be.
The Sun in Heav'n-would backward turn his courſe,
And ſhrink from ſuch a ſpectacle as this,
More horrid than the banquet of Thyeſtes.
You have no quarrel. I'll remove the cauſe.
A Roman matron, to redeem her fame.
Before her huſband's and her father's eyes
Plung'd in her breaſt the ſteel.
[Stabs herſelf, and falls.]
KING.
O! Deſp'rate deed!
What fury urg'd thy hand?
ORMISINDA.
[80]Condemn me not.
There was no other way to ſave—but that
Muſt not as yet be told. My huſband! hear
My dying voice! my lateſt words believe,
Whoſe truth my blood hath ſeal'd. I'm innocent.
As I for mercy hope at that tribunal
Where I ſhall ſoon appear, I never wrong'd thee.
When that is manifeſt, remember me
As love like mine deſerv'd, and to this youth,
Who is—
ALONZO.
Who is this youth! All-ſeeing God!
A ſecret horror comes upon my ſoul.
Who is this youth!
ORMISINDA.
He is thy ſon.
ALONZO.
My ſon!
ORMISINDA.
Whom thy forſaken wife in ſorrow bore,
And gave in ſecret to Coſtollo's care.
ALBERTO.
Art thou my mother! Doſt thou die for me?
ORMISINDA.
I die with pleaſure to be juſt to thee.
O! if that Power which did inſpire my ſoul,
To ruſh between your ſwords, would let me live,
[81]To prove my innocence. Alonzo ſpeak!
Whilſt I have breath to anſwer.
ALONZO.
Tho' diſarm'd
And ſoften'd, even if guilty to forgive thee,
Thy ſolemn call I inſtantly obey.
That night appointed for our laſt farewel,
That fatal night for ever curſt—thou know'ſt
What happen'd then.
ORMISINDA.
I know thou didſt not come,
Forlorn thou lefted'ſt me.
ALONZO.
Thou waſt not forlorn,
In the dark wood with thee there was a youth.
ORMISINDA, (After a pauſe.)
O heaven and earth, a youth! It was Tereſa.
ALONZO.
Tereſa!
TERESA.
Yes, that memorable night,
My brother's ſword and helmet plum'd I wore.
ALONZO.
Great God! the ſnares of hell have caught my ſoul.
TERESA.
The night before, the Princeſs, as ſhe went,
Was fright'ned in the wood, and I aſſumed
That warlike form, to ſeem—
ALONZO.
[82]No matter why?
I ſaw thee then, and thought thee what thou ſeem'dſt.
KING.
She's innocent; like gold try'd in the fire,
Her honour ſhines: Would I had died for thee!
[To ORMISINDA.
ORMISINDA.
Why didſt thou never till this moment ſpeak?
[To ALONZO.
ALONZO.
Becauſe I'm born and deſtin'd to perdition.
Had I a voice like AEtna when it roars;
For in my breaſt is pent as hot a fire:
I'd ſpeak in flames.
ORMISINDA.
My Lord!
ALONZO.
Do not forgive me.
Do not oppreſs me with ſuch tender looks:
I will not be forgiven.
[ORMISINDA raiſing herſelf and ſtretching out her arms.
ORMISINDA.
Come to my arms
And let me ſooth thine anguiſh. Had I been
What I to thee appear'd, thy rage was juſt,
A Spaniard's temper, and a Prince's pride,
[83]A Lover's paſſion, and a Huſband's honour,
Prompted no leſs.
ALONZO.
Hear, men and angels hear.
Let me fall down and worſhip.
[Throws himſelf into her arms.
Oh I loved thee!
I lov'd thee all the while, to madneſs loved.
ORMISINDA.
My huſband! dear as ever to my heart!
In my laſt moments dear!
ALONZO.
My heart is torn.
My head, my brain! How bleſt I might have been!
With ſuch a wife, with ſuch a ſon!
ORMISINDA.
To him
Pay all the debt of love thou ow'ſt to me:
Embrace thy ſon before mine eyes are clos'd:
Let me behold him in his father's arms.
ALONZO.
Thou brave defender of thy mother's fame!
ORMISINDA.
He's gentle too; his ſoul diſſolves in grief.
ALONZO.
My falt'ring tongue dares ſcarcely call thee ſon.
Canſt thou endure the touch of ſuch a father?
ALBERTO.
[84]My burſting heart, amidſt its grief is proud
Of ſuch a father. Let me claſp thy knees,
And help to reconcile thee to thyſelf.
[They embrace.
ORMISINDA.
This pleaſing ſight ſubdues the pains of death,
My ſon!
ALBERTO.
My mother, Oh!
ORMISINDA.
My deareſt huſband—
ALONZO.
What would'ſt thou ſay. Alas! thine eye grows dim;
Thy voice begins to fail.
ORMISINDA.
Remember me
When I am dead; remember how I lov'd you.
And thou, Alnzo, live to guard thy ſon,
To fix the Spaniſh ſcepter in—
[Dies looking at her ſon. Alonzo remains ſilent, with his eyes fixed upon Ormiſinda.
ALBERTO.
My father!
Under thy gather'd brows I ſee deſpair:
Have pity on thy ſon, who liv'd ſo long
In total ignorance of what he was:
[85]Who has already ſeen one parent die,
And for the ſad ſurvivor trembles now.
My mother's laſt requeſt!
ALONZO.
I'm mindful of it,
And to her ſacred memory will be juſt.
Hang not on me, my ſon! go to the King
And pay thy duty there.
[The King embraces Alberto.
KING.
My child, my all!
I lov'd thee at firſt ſight.
ALONZO.
'Tis well; 'tis well.
The good old King hath ſtill ſome comfort left.
Now is my time.
[Draws his ſword.
Oft have I ſtruck with thee,
But never ſtruck a foe with better will
Than now myſelf.
[Stabs himſelf and falls.
VELASCO, COSTOLLO.
Alas!
(ALBERTO turning.)
ALBERTO.
'Twas this I fear'd.
ALONZO.
There was good cauſe to fear. I would have liv'd
For thee, if I with honour could have liv'd.
[86]My ſon! thy fathers were renown'd in arms:
The valour of our warlike race is thine:
But guard againſt the impulſe of their blood.
Take warning by my fate.
PELAGIO.
Thou might'ſt have liv'd,
Renown'd Alonzo; even I forgave
And pitied thee.
ALONZO.
I am more juſt than thou—
For I did not forgive, nor would I live,
Upon the alms of other men; their pity—
Farewel, my ſon! O! Ormiſinda, ſtay
'Till I o'ertake thee.
[Dies.
(The King to ALBERTO.)
PELAGIO.
Dwell not on this ſight,
Prince of Aſturia! leave the ſcene of ſorrow.
FINIS.
Appendix A EPILOGUE.
[]THO' lately dead, a Princeſs, and of Spain,
I am no Ghoſt, but Fleſh and Blood again!
No time to change this Dreſs, it is expedient,
I paſs for Britiſh, and your moſt obedient.
How happy, Ladies, for us all—That we,
Born in this Iſle, by Magna Charta free,
Are not like Spaniſh Wives, kept under Lock and Key.
The Spaniard now, is not like him of Yore,
Who in his whiſker'd face, his Titles bore!
Nor Joy, nor Vengeance made him ſmile or grin,
Fix'd were his features, tho' the Devil within!
He, when once jealous, to waſh out the Stain,
Stalk'd home, ſtabb'd Madam, and ſtalk'd out again.
Thanks to the times, this Dagger-drawing paſſion,
Thro' poliſh'd Europe, is quite out of Faſhion.
Signor Th' Italian, quick of ſight and hearing,
Once ever liſf'ning, and for ever leering,
To Cara Spoſa, now politely kind,
He, beſt of Huſbands, is both deaf and blind.
Mynheer the Dutchman, with his ſober pace,
Whene'er be finds his Rib has wanted Grace,
He feels no Branches ſprouting from his Brain,
But Calculation makes of Loſs and Gain,
And when to part with her, occaſion's ripe,
Mynheer turns out mine Frow, an ſmokes his pipe.
When a briſk Frenchman's Wife is giv'n to prancing,
It never ſpoils his Singing or his Dancing:
[] Madams, you falſe—de tout mon Coeur—Adieu;
Begar you Cocu me, I Cocu you.—
He, torjours gai, diſpels each jealous Vapour,
Takes Snuſf, ſings Vive l'amour, and cuts a Caper.
As for John Bull—not he in upper Life,
But the plain Engliſhman, who loves his Wife;
When honeſt John, I ſay, has got his doubts,
He ſullen grows, ſcratches his head, and pouts.
What is the Matter with you, Love? Cries She;
Are you not well, my Deareſt? Humph! Cries He:
You're ſuch a Brute!—But, Mr. Bull, I've done:
And if I am a Brute—Who made me one?
You know my tenderneſs—My heart's too full,
And ſo's my head—I thank you Mrs. Bull.
O you baſe Man!—Zounds, Madam, there's no bearing,
She falls a weeping, and he falls a ſwearing:
With Tears and Oaths, the Storm domeſtick ends.
The Thunder dies away, the rain deſcends,
She ſabs, he melts, and then they kiſs and Friends.
Whatever caſe theſe modern Modes may bring,
A little Jealouſy is no bad thing:
To me, who ſpeak from Nature unrefin'd,
Jealouſy is the Bellows of the Mind.
Touch it but gently, and it warms deſire,
If handled roughly, you are all on Fire!
If it ſtands ſtill, Affection muſt expire!
This Truth, no true Philoſopher can doubt.
Whate'er you do—let not the Flame go out.
- Zitationsvorschlag für dieses Objekt
- TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 3933 Alonzo A tragedy In five acts As it is performed at the Theatre Royal Drury Lane. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-5CCA-A