The Revenge - BestLightNovel.com
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_Alon._ Confess, confess, confess!
Nor tear my veins with pa.s.sion to compel thee.
_Leon._ I scorn to answer thee, presumptuous man!
_Alon._ Deny then, and incur a fouler shame.
Where did I find this picture?
_Leon._ Ha, don Carlos!
By my best hopes, more welcome than thy own.
_Alon._ I know it; but is vice so very rank, That thou shouldst dare to dash it in my face?
Nature is sick of thee, abandon'd woman!
_Leon._ Repent.
_Alon._ Is that for me?
_Leon._ Fall, ask my pardon.
_Alon._ Astonishment!
_Leon._ Dar'st thou persist to think I am dishonest?
_Alon._ I know thee so.
_Leon._ This blow then to thy heart--
[_she stabs herself; he endeavours to prevent her._
_Alon._ Ho, Zanga! Isabella! ho! she bleeds!
Descend, ye blessed angels, to a.s.sist her!
_Leon._ This is the only way I would wound thee, Though most unjust. Now think me guilty still.
_Enter Isabella._
_Alon._ Bear her to instant help. The world to save her.
_Leon._ Unhappy man! well may'st thou gaze and tremble.
But fix thy terror and amazement right; Not on my blood, but on thy own distraction.
What hast thou done? whom censur'd--Leonora!
When thou hadst censur'd, thou wouldst save her life: Oh, inconsistent! should I live in shame, Or stoop to any other means but this T' a.s.sert my virtue? no: she who disputes, Admits it possible she might be guilty.
While aught but truth could be my inducement to it, While it might look like an excuse to thee, I scorn'd to vindicate my innocence: But now, I let thy rashness know, the wound Which least I feel, is that my dagger made.
[_exit Isabella, leading out Leonora._
_Alon._ Ha! was this woman guilty?--And if not-- How my thoughts darken that way! grant, kind heaven, That she prove guilty; or my being end.
Is that my hope, then?--Sure, the sacred dust Of her that bore me trembles in its urn.
Is it in man the sore distress to bear, When hope itself is blacken'd to despair?
When all the bliss I pant for, is to gain In h.e.l.l, a refuge from severer pain? [_exit._
_Re-enter Zanga._
_Zan._ How stands the great account 'twixt me and vengeance?
Though much is paid, yet still it owes me much, And I will not abate a single groan-- Ha! that were well--but that were fatal too-- Why, be it so--Revenge so truly great, Would come too cheap, if bought with less than life.
_Re-enter Isabella._
_Isa._ Ah, Zanga, see me tremble! has not yet Thy cruel heart its fill?--Poor Leonora--
_Zan._ Welters in blood, and gasps for her last breath.
What then? we all must die.
_Isa._ Alonzo raves, And, in the tempest of his grief, has thrice Attempted on his life. At length, disarm'd, He calls his friends, that save him, his worst foes, And importunes the skies for swift perdition.
Thus in his storm of sorrow: after pause, He started up, and call'd aloud for Zanga, For Zanga rav'd; and see, he seeks you here, To learn the truth which most he dreads to know.
_Zan._ Begone. Now, now, my soul, consummate all. [_exit Isabella._
_Re-enter Alonzo._
_Alon._ Oh, Zanga!
_Zan._ Do not tremble so; but speak.
_Alon._ I dare not. [_falls on him._
_Zan._ You will drown me with your tears.
_Alon._ Have I not cause?
_Zan._ As yet, you have no cause.
_Alon._ Dost thou too rave?
_Zan._ Your anguish is to come: You much have been abus'd.
_Alon._ Abus'd! by whom?
_Zan._ To know, were little comfort.
_Alon._ Oh, 'twere much!
_Zan._ Indeed!
_Alon._ By heaven! Oh, give him to my fury!
_Zan._ Born for your use, I live but to oblige you.
Know, then, 'twas--I.
