The Revenge Part 12

_Leon._ Jealous! it sickens at my heart. Unkind, Ungen'rous, groundless, weak, and insolent!

Why, wherefore? on what shadow of occasion?

Oh, how the great man lessens to my thought!

How could so mean a vice as jealousy Live in a throng of such exalted virtues!

I scorn and hate, yet love him, and adore.

I cannot, will not, dare not, think it true, 'Till from himself I know it. [_exit._

_Zan._ This succeeds Just to my wish. Now she, with violence, Upbraids him; he, not doubting she is guilty, Rages no less; and if on either side The waves run high, there still lives hope of ruin.

_Re-enter Alonzo._

My lord--

_Alon._ Oh, Zanga, hold thy peace! I am no coward; But heav'n itself did hold my hand; I felt it, By the well-being of my soul, I did.

I'll think of vengeance at another season.

_Zan._ My lord, her guilt--

_Alon._ Perdition on thee, Moor, For that one word! Ah, do not rouse that thought!

I have o'erwhelm'd it much as possible: I tell thee, Moor, I love her to distraction.

If 'tis my shame, why, be it so--I love her; I could not hurt her to be lord of earth; It shocks my nature like a stroke from heav'n.

But see, my Leonora comes--Be gone. [_exit Zanga._

_Re-enter Leonora._

Oh, seen for ever, yet for ever new!

The conquer'd thou dost conquer o'er again, Inflicting wound on wound.

_Leon._ Alas, my lord!

What need of this to me?

_Alon._ Ha! dost thou weep?

_Leon._ Have I no cause?

_Alon._ If love is thy concern, Thou hast no cause: none ever lov'd like me.

Oh, that this one embrace would last for ever!

_Leon._ Could this man ever mean to wrong my virtue?

Could this man e'er design upon my life?

Impossible! I throw away the thought. [_aside._ These tears declare how much I taste the joy Of being folded in your arms and heart; My universe does lie within that s.p.a.ce.

This dagger bore false witness.

_Alon._ Ha, my dagger!

It rouses horrid images. Away, Away with it, and let us talk of love.

_Leon._ Of death!

_Alon._ As thou lov'st happiness--

_Leon._ Of murder!

_Alon._ Rash, Rash woman! yet forbear.

Alas, thou quite mistak'st my cause of pain!

Yet, yet dismiss me; I am all in flames.

_Leon._ Who has most cause, you or myself? what act Of my whole life encourag'd you to this?

Or of your own, what guilt has drawn it on you?

You find me kind, and think me kind to all; The weak, ungen'rous error of your s.e.x.

What could inspire the thought? We oft'nest judge From our own hearts; and is yours then so frail, It prompts you to conceive thus ill of me?

He that can stoop to harbour such a thought, Deserves to find it true. [_holding him._

_Alon._ [_turning on her_] Ill-fated woman!

Why hast thou forc'd me back into the gulf Of agonies I had block'd up from thought?

For, since thou hast replung'd me in my torture, I will be satisfy'd.

_Leon._ Be satisfy'd!

_Alon._ Yes, thy own mouth shall witness it against thee; I will be satisfy'd.

_Leon._ Of what?

_Alon._ Of what?

How dar'st thou ask that question? Woman, woman, Weak and a.s.sur'd at once! thus 'tis for ever.

Who told thee that thy virtue was suspected?

Who told thee I design'd upon thy life?

You found the dagger; but that could not speak: Nor did I tell thee; who did tell thee then?

Guilt, conscious guilt!

_Leon._ This to my face! Oh, heaven!

_Alon._ This to thy very soul.

_Leon._ Thou'rt not in earnest?

_Alon._ Serious as death.

_Leon._ Then heav'n have mercy on thee.

Till now, I struggled not to think it true; I sought conviction, and would not believe it.

And dost thou force me? this shall not be borne Thou shalt repent this insult. [_going._

_Alon._ Madam, stay.

Your pa.s.sion's wise; 'tis a disguise for guilt: You and your thousand arts shall not escape me.

_Leon._ Arts?

_Alon._ Arts! Confess; for death is in my hand.

_Leon._ 'Tis in your words.