And pushed it on, and bid it give her death;
But, oh, her eyes struck first, and murdered 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 doomed to suf- | But to forget, and so to love again.

Alon. That thought has more of hell than had
the former.

fer!

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 sheathed in steel, and bent on other thoughts.
Zan. I'll work him to the murder of his friend.

[Aside.

Yes, tell 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 sce, nor hear
The burning kiss, the sigh of ecstacy,
Their throbbing hearts that jostle one another:
Thank Heaven, these torments will be all my

Another, and another, and another!
And each shall cast a smile upon my tomb!
I am convinced; I must not, will not die.
Zan. You cannot die; nor can you murder her.
What then remains? In nature no third way,

The Greek and Roman name in such a lustre,
But doing right in stern despite to nature,
Shutting their ears to all her little cries,
When great, august, and godlike justice called?
At Aulis, one poured out a daughter's life,
And gained more glory than by all his wars;
Another slew his 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, unenjoyed-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 honoured.
And when with garlands the full bowl is crowned,
And music gives the elevating sound,
And golden carpets spread the sacred floor,
And a new day the blazing tapers pour;
Thou, Zanga, thou 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.

ACT V.

Alon. On, pitiful! Oh, terrible to sight! Poor mangled shade! all covered o'er with wounds.

And so disguised with blood!- -Who murdered thee?

Tell thy sad tale, and thou shalt be revenged.

Ha! Carlos?-Horror! Carlos?-Oh, away!
Go to the grave, or let me sink to mine.

I cannot bear the sight-What sight?—Where
am I?

There's nothing here-If this was fancy's work,
She draws a picture strongly.-

Enter ZANGA.

Zan. Ha!you're pale.
Alon. Is Carlos murdered?

Zan. I obeyed your order.

Six ruffians overtook him on the road;
He fought as he was wont, and four he slew.
Then sunk beneath an hundred wounds to death.
His last breath blest Alonzo, and desired
His bones might rest near yours.

Alon. Oh, Zanga! Zanga!

But I'll not think: for I must act, and thinking
Would ruin me for action. Oh, the medley
Of right and wrong! the chaos of
my brain!
He should, and should not die-You should obey,
And not obey-It is a day of darkness,
Of contradictions, and of many deaths.
Where's Leonora, then? Quick, answer me :
I'm deep in horrors, I'll be deeper still.
I find thy artifice did take effect,
And she forgives my late deportment to her.
Zan. I told her, from your childhood you was

wont,

On any great surprise, but chiefly then
When cause of sorrow bore it company,
To have your passions shake the seat of reason;
A momentary ill, which soon blew o'er.
Then did I tell her of Don Carlos' death,
(Wisely suppressing by what means he fell)
And laid the blame on that. At first she doubt-❘
ed;

But such the honest artifice I used,

And such her ardent wish it should be true,
That she, at length, was fully satisfied.

Sweet myrtles, and ye golden orange groves!
Why do you smile? Why do you look so fair?
Are ye not blasted as I enter in?

Yes, see how every flower lets fall its head!
How shudders every leaf without a wind!
How every green is as the ivy pale!
Did ever midnight ghosts assemble here?
Have these sweet echoes ever learned to groan?
Joy-giving, love-inspiring, holy bower!
Know, in thy fragrant bosom thou receivest
Amurderer! Oh, I shall stain thy lilies,
And horror will usurp the seat of bliss.
So Lucifer broke into paradise,

And soon damnation followed. [He advances.]
Ha! she sleeps-

The day's uncommon heat has overcome her.
Then take, my longing eyes, your last full gaze.
Oh, what a sight is here! how dreadful fair!
Who would not think that being innocent?
Where shall I strike? Who strikes her, strikes
himself.

My own life-blood will issue at her wound.
Oh, my distracted heart!—Oh, cruel Heaven!
To give such charms as these, and then call man,
Mere man, to be your executioner.
Was it because it was too hard for you?
But see, she smiles! I never shall smile more.
It strongly tempts me to a parting kiss.

[Going, he starts back. Ha! smile again. She dreams of him she loves. Alon. 'Twas well she was. In our late inter- Curse on her charms! I'll stab her through them

view,

My passion so far threw me from my guard,
(Methinks 'tis strange) that, conscious of her guilt,
She saw not, through its thin disguise, my heart.
Zan. But what design you, sir, and how?
Alon. I'll tell thee.

Thus I've ordained it. In the jasmine bower,
The place which she dishonoured with her guilt,
There will I meet her; the appointment's made;
And calmly spread (for I can do it now)
The blackness of her crime before her sight,
And then, with all the cool solemnity
Of public justice, give her to the grave.
Zan. Why, get thee gone! horror and night go
with thee.

[Exit.

Sisters of Acheron, go hand in hand;
Go dance around the bower, and close them in;
And tell them that I sent you to salute them.
Profane the ground, and for th' ambrosial rose,
And breath of jasmine, let hemlock blacken,
And deadly nightshade poison all the air,
For the sweet nightingale may ravens croak,
Toads pant, and adders rustle through the leaves;
May serpents, winding up the trees, let fall
Their hissing necks upon them from above,
And mingle kisses-such as I could give them.

[Exit.

SCENE II.-The bower.
LEONORA sleeping. Enter ALONZO.
Alon. Ye amaranths! ye roses, like the morn!

Thou didst; and 'tis religion to adore them.
Leon. My best Alonzo, moderate your thoughts;
Extremes still fright me, though of love itself. Just to my wish. Now she, with violence,
Alon. Extremes indeed! it hurried me away; Upbraids him; he, well knowing she is guilty,
But I come home again-and now for justice-Rages no less; and if, on either side,
And now for death-It is impossible
The waves run high, there still live hopes of
ruin.

Away with it, and let us talk of love,

Plunge ourselves deep into the sweet illusion,
And hide us there from every other thought.
Leon. It touches you.

Alon. Let's talk of love.
Leon. Of death!

Alon. As thou lov'st happiness-
Leon. Of murder!

Alon. Rash,

Rash woman! yet forbear.

Leon. Approve my wrongs!

Alon. Then must I fly, for thy sake and my

own.

Leon. Nay, by my injuries, you first must

hear me :

Stab me, then think it much to hear my groan!

Alan. Heaven strike me deaf!

Leon. It well may sting you home.

Your passion's wise; 'tis a disguise for guilt:
'Tis my turn now to fix you here awhile;

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.

Alon. Confess, confess, confess!

Nor tear my veins with passion to compel thee. Leon. I scorn to answer thee, presumptuous man!

Alon. Deny, then, and incur a fouler shame.

Alon. Alas, thou quite mistak'st my cause of Where did I find this picture? pain!

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

Leon. Who has most cause, you or myself?
What act

Of my whole life encouraged 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, ungenerous error of your sex.
What could inspire the thought? We oftenest
judge

Fom 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. Oh, sex, sex, sex! [Turning on her.
The language of you all. Ill-fated woman!
Why hast thou forced me back into the gulf
Of agonies I had blocked up from thought?
I know the cause; thou saw'st me impotent
Ere while to hurt thee, therefore thou turn'st on
me;

But, by the pangs I suffer, to thy woe:

For, since thou hast replunged me in my torture,
I will be satisfied.

Leon. Be satisfied!

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, abandoned 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, Hoa, Zanga! Isabella! hoa! she bleeds! Descend, ye blessed angels, to assist her!

Leon. This is the only way I would wound

and tremble:

But fix thy terror and amazement right;
Not on my blood, but on thy own distraction.
What hast thou done! Whom censured?-Leo-
nora!

When thou hast censured, thou wouldst save her
life;

Oh, inconsistent! Should I live in shame,
Or stoop to any other means but this
To assert my virtue? No; she who disputes
Admits it possible she might be guilty.
While aught but truth could be my inducement
to it,