Alv. Vastly more:

Almeyda may be settled in the throne,
And you review your native clime with fame:
A firm alliance, and eternal peace,
(The glorious crown of honourable war,)
Are all included in that prince's life:
Let this fair queen be giv'n to Muley-Zeydan,
And make her love the sanction of your league.
Seb. No more of that: his life's in my dispose,
And pris'ners are not to insist on terms;
Or, if they were, yet he demands not these.
Alv. You should exact 'em.
Alm. Better may be made;

These cannot I abhor the tyrant's race;
My parents' murderers, my throne's usurpers.
But, at one blow, to cut off all dispute,
Know this, thou busy, old, officious man,
I am a Christian; now be wise no more;
Or, if thou would'st be still thought wise, be silent.
Alv. O! I perceive you think your interest
touch'd;

'Tis what before the battle I observ'd:
But I must speak, and will.

Seb. I prithee, peace;

Perhaps she thinks they are too near of blood.
Alv. I wish she may not wed to blood more near.
Seb. What if I make her mine?
Alv. Now heav'n forbid!

Seb. Wish rather heav'n may grant:
For, if I could deserve, I have deserv'd her:
My toils, my hazards, and my subjects' lives,
(Provided she consent) may claim her love;
And, that once granted, I appeal to these,
If better I could chuse a beauteous bride.
Ant. The fairest of her sex.

Mor. The pride of nature.

Dor. He only merits her, she only him;
So pair'd, so suited in their minds and persons,
That they were fram'd the tallies for each other.
If any alien love had interpos'd,

It must have been an eye-sore to beholders,
And to themselves a curse.

lo. And to themselves,

Th greatest curse that can be were to join.
Seb. Did I not love thee past a change to hate,
That word had been thy ruin; but no more,
I charge thee on thy life, perverse old man!

Alv. Know, sir, I would be silent if I durst:
But, if on shipboard I should see my friend
Grown frantic in a raging calenture,
And he, imagining vain flowery fields,
Would headlong plunge himself into the deep,
Should I not hold him from that mad attempt,
Till his sick fancy were by reason cur'd?

Seb. I pardon thee th' effects of doting age; Vain doubts, and idle cares, and over-caution; The second nonage of a soul, more wise; But now decay'd, and sunk into the socket, Peeping by fits, and giving feeble light. Alv. Have you forgot?

Seb. Thou mean'st my father's will, In bar of marriage to Almeyda's bed: Thou seest my faculties are still entire, Tho' thine are much impair'd; I weigh'd that will, And found 'twas grounded on our diff'rent faiths; But, had he lived to see her happy change, He would have cancell'd that harsh interdict, And join'd our hands himself.

Ato. Still had he lived and seen this change, He still had been the same.

Seb. I have a dark remembrance of my father; His reasonings and his actions both were just; And, granting that, he must have chang'd his

measures.

Alv. Yes, he was just,and therefore could not change.

Seb. 'Tis a base wrong thou offer'st to the dead.
Alo. Now, heav'n forbid,

That I should blast his pious memory!
No, I am tender of his holy fame;
For, dying, he bequeath'd it to my charge.
Believe I am, and seek to know no more,
But pay a blind obedience to his will;
For, to preserve his fame, I would be silent.

Seb. Craz'd fool, who would'st be thought an oracle,

Come down from off thy tripos, and speak plain!
My father shall be justified, he shall:
'Tis a son's part to rise in his defence,
And to confound thy malice, or thy dotage.

Alv. It does not grieve me that you hold me craz'd;

But, to be clear'd at my dead master's cost,
O there's the wound! but let me first adjure you,
By all you owe that dear departed soul,
No more to think of marriage with Almeyda.
Seb. Not heav'n and earth combin’d can hin-
der it.

Alv. Then, witness heav'n and earth, how
loth I am

To say, you must not, nay, you cannot wed.
And since not only a dead father's fame,
But more, a lady's honour must be touch'd,
Which, nice as ermines, will not bear a soil,
Let all retire, that you alone may hear
What ev'n in whispers I would tell your ear.
[All are going out.

7

Alm. Not one of you depart; I charge you stay! And, were my voice a trumpet loud as fame, To reach the round of heav'n, and earth, and sea, All nations should be summon'd to this place, So little do I fear that fellow's charge: So should my honour, like a rising swan, Brush with her wings the falling drops away, And proudly plough the waves.

Scb. This noble pride becomes thy innocence: And I dare trust my father's memory, To stand the charge of that foul forging tongue. Alv. It will be soon discover'd if I forge: Have you not heard your father in his youth, When newly married, travell'd into Spain, And made a long abode in Philip's court?

Seb. Why so remote a question, which thyself Can answer to thyself, for thou wert with him, His favourite, as I oft have heard thee boast, And nearest to his soul?

Alv. Too near indeed; forgive me, gracious heaven,

That ever I should boast I was so near, The confidant of all his young amours! [To ALM.] And have not you, unhappy beauty, heard,

Have you not often heard, your exil'd parents
Were refug'd in that court, and at that time?
Am. 'Tis true: and often since, my mother
own'd

How kind that prince was to espouse her cause;
She counsell'd, nay enjoin'd me on her blessing,
To seek the sanctuary of your court:
Which gave me first encouragement to come,
And, with my brother, beg Sebastian's aid.
Seb. [To ALM.] Thou help'st me well, to jus-
tify my war:

My dying father swore me, then a boy,
And made me kiss the cross upon his sword,
Never to sheath it, till that exil'd queen
Were by my arms restor❜d.

Alv. And can you find

No mystery couch'd in this excess of kindness? Were kings e'er known, in this degenerate age, So passionately fond of noble acts,

Where interest shar'd not more than half with honour?

Seb. Base, grovelling soul, who know'st not ho-
nour's worth,

But weigh'st it out in mercenary scales!
The secret pleasure of a generous act,
Is the great mind's great bribe.

Alv. Show me that king, and I'll believe the
phoenix.

But knock at your own breast, and ask your soul
If those fair fatal eyes edg'd not your sword,
More than your father's charge, and all your
Vows?

If so, and so your silence grants it is,—
Know, king, your father had, like you, a soul;
And love is your inheritance from him.
Almeyda's mother too had eyes, like her,
And not less charming, and were charm'd no less
Than your's are now with her, and her's with

you.

Alm. Thou liest, impostor! perjur'd fiend, thou liest!

Seb. Was't not enough to brand my father's fame,

But thou must load a lady's memory?

O infamous and base beyond repair!
And to what end this ill-concerted lie,
Which, palpable and gross, yet granted true,
It bars not my inviolable vows.

Alv. Take heed, and double not your father's crimes;

To his adultery do not add your incest.
Know, she is the product of unlawful love;
And 'tis your carnal sister you would wed.

Seb. Thou shalt not say thou wert condemn'd unheard,

Else, by my soul, this moment were thy last. Alm. But think not oaths shall justify thy

charge,

Nor imprecations on thy cursed head;
For who dares lie to heaven, thinks heaven a jest.
Thou hast confess'd thyself the conscious pander
Of that pretended passion:

A single witness, infamously known,
Against two persons of unquestion'd fame.

Alv. What interest can I have, or what de

light,

To blaze their shame, or to divulge my own?
If prov'd you hate me, if unprov'd, condemn.
Not racks or tortures could have forc'd this
secret,

But too much care, to save you from a crime
Which would have sunk you both. For, let me say,
Almeyda's beauty well deserves your love.

Alm. Out, base impostor, I abhor thy praise! Dor. It looks not like imposture, but a truth, On utmost need reveal'd.

Seb. Did I expect from Dorax this return? Is this the love renew'd?

Such I restore it, with a trembling hand,
Lest aught within disturb your peace of soul.
Seb. [Tearing open the seals.] Draw near, Al-
meyda; thou art most concern'd,

For I am most in thee.
Alonzo, mark the characters:

Thou know'st my father's hand; observe it well:
And if th' impostor's pen have made one slip,
That shows it counterfeit, mark that, and save me.
Dor. It looks, indeed, too like my master's
hand;

So does the signet: more I cannot say,
But wish 'twere not so like.

Seb. Methinks it owns

The black adultery, and Almeyda's birth;
But such a mist of grief comes o'er my eyes,
I cannot, or I would not, read it plain.

Alm. Heav'n cannot be more true than this is
false.

Seb. O could'st thou prove it, with the same assurance!

Speak, hast thou ever seen my father's hand? Alm. No; but my mother's honour has been

read

By me, and by the world, in all her acts,
In characters more plain and legible
Than this dumb evidence, this blotted lie.
Oh that I were a man, as my soul's one,
To prove thee, traitor, an assassinate
Of her fair fame: thus would I tear thee, thus,
[Tearing the paper.
And scatter o'er the field thy coward limbs,
Like this foul offspring of thy forging brain.
[Scattering the paper.
Alv. Just so shalt thou be torn from all thy
hopes;

For know, proud woman, know, in thy despite,
The most authentic proof is still behind.
Thou wear'st it on thy finger; 'tis that ring,
Which, match'd with that on his, shall clear the
doubt;

'Tis no dumb forgery: for that shall speak, And sound a rattling peal to either's conscience.

Seb. This ring indeed, my father, with a cold And shaking hand, just in the pangs of death, Put on my finger, with a parting sigh, And would have spoke; but faulter'd in his speech, With undistinguish'd sounds.

Alv. I know it well,

With joints so close, as not to be perceiv'd; Yet are they both each other's counterpart.

| Her part had Juan inscrib'd, and his had Zayda ; (You know those names are theirs :) and in the midst

A heart divided in two halves was plac'd. Now if the rivets of those rings, inclos'd, Fit not each other, I have forg'd this lie: But if they join, you must for ever part. [SEBASTIAN pulling off his ring; ALMEYDA does the same, and gives it to ALVAREZ, who unscrews both the rings, and fits one half to the other.

Seb. Now life, or death!

for ever!

Alm. And either thine, or ours. -I'm lost [Swoons. [The women and MORAYMA take her up and carry her off. SEBASTIAN here stands amazed without motion, his eyes fixed upward. Seb. Look to the queen my wife; for I am past All pow'r of aid to her or to myself.

Alv. His wife, said he? his wife! O fatal sound;
For, had I known it, this unwelcome news
Had never reach'd their ears!

So they had still been blest in ignorance,
And I alone unhappy.

Dor. I knew it, but too late, and durst not
speak.

Seb. [Starting out of his amazement.] I will
not live; no, not a moment more;

I will not add one moment more to incest.
I'll cut it off, and end a wretched being;
For, should I live, my soul's so little mine,
And so much her's, that I should still enjoy.
Ye cruel powers!

Take me as you have made me, miserable;
You cannot make me guilty; 'twas my fate,
And you made that, not I. [Draws his sword.
[ANTONIO and ALV. lay hold on him, and Do-

RAX wrests the sword out of his hand.
Ant. For heav'n's sake hold, and recollect
your mind.

Alv. Consider whom you punish, and for what; Yourself; unjustly: You have charg'd the fault On heav'n, that best may bear it.

Though incest is indeed a deadly crime,
You are not guilty, since unknown 'twas done,
And, known, had been abhorr'd.

Seb. By heav'n ye're traitors all, that hold my
hands.

If death be but cessation of our thought,
Then let me die, for I would think no more.
I'll boast my innocence above,

And let 'em see a soul they could not sully:
I shall be there before my father's ghost;
That yet must languish long, in frosts and fires,
For making me unhappy by his crime:

[Struggling again.] Stand off, and let me take
my fill of death;

For I can hold my breath in your despite,
And swell my heaving soul out, when I please.
Alv. Heav'n comfort you!

Seb. What! art thou giving comfort? Wouldst thou give comfort, who hast given despair?

Thou seest Alonzo silent; he's a man ;
He knows that men, abandon'd of their hopes,
Should ask no leave, nor stay for suing out
A tedious writ of ease, from ling'ring heav'n,
But help themselves as timely as they could,
And teach the fates their duty.

Dor. [To ALV. and ANT.] Let him go :
He is our king, and he shall be obey'd.

Alo. What, to destroy himself! Ŏ parricide! Dor. Be not injurious in your foolish zeal, But leave him free; or, by my sword I swear To hew that arm away, that stops the passage To his eternal rest.

Ant. [Letting go his hold.] Let him be guilty of his own death if he pleases: for I'll not be guilty of mine, by holding him.

The king shakes off ALVAREZ. Alo. [To DoR.] Infernal fiend!

Is this a subject's part?

Dor. 'Tis a friend's office.

He has convinc'd me that he ought to die ;
And, rather than he should not, here's my sword
To help him on his journey.

Seb. My last, my only friend, how kind art thou,

And how inhuman these!

Dor. To make the trifle death, a thing of moment!

Seb. And not to weigh th' important cause I had,

To rid myself of life.

Dor. True; for a crime,

So horrid in the face of men and angels, As wilful incest is!

Seb. Not wilful neither.

Dor. Yes, if you liv'd, and with repeated acts Refresh'd your sin, and loaded crimes with crimes,

To swell your scores of guilt.
Seb. True; if I liv'd.

Dor. I said so, if you

liv'd.

Seb. For hitherto 'twas fatal ignorance, And no intended crime.

Dor. That you best know;

But the malicious world will judge the worst.
Alv. O what a sophister has hell procur'd,
To argue for damnation!

Dor. Peace, old dotard!

Mankind, that always judge of kings with malice, Will think he knew this incest, and pursu'd it. His only way to rectify mistakes,

And to redeem her honour, is to die.

Seb. Thou hast it right, my dear, my best
Alonzo!

And that, but petty reparation too;

But all I have to give.

Dor. Your pardon, sir;

You may do more, and ought.
Seb. What, more than death?

Dor. Death? Why that's children's sport: a
stage-play, death.

We act it every night we go to bed.
Death to a man in misery is sleep.
Would you, who perpetrated such a crime
As frighten'd nature, made the saints above

Shake heav'n's eternal pavement with their trem

bling,

To view that act, would you but barely die? But stretch your limbs, and turn on t'other side, To lengthen out a black voluptuous slumber, And dream you had your sister in your arms? Seb. To expiate this, can I do more than die? · Dor. O yes: you must do more; you must be damn'd,

You must be damn'd to all eternity;
And, sure, self-murder is the readiest way.
Seb. How, damn'd?

Dor. Why, is that news?
Alv. O, horror! horror!

Dor. What, thou a statesman,
And make a business of damnation?
In such a world as this, why 'tis a trade.
The scriv'ner, usurer, lawyer, shopkeeper,
And soldier, cannot live, but by damnation.
The politician does it by advance,

And gives all gone before-hand.

Seb. O thou hast giv'n me such a glimpse of hell,

So push'd me forward, even to the brink,
Of that irremeable burning gulph,

That looking in th' abyss, I dare not leap.
And now I see what good thou meanst my soul,
And thank thy pious fraud: Thou hast indeed
Appear'd a devil, but didst an angel's work.

Dor. 'Twas the last remedy, to give you lei

sure:

For, if you could but think, I knew you safe.
Seb. I thank thee, my Alonzo: I will live,
But never more to Portugal return :
For, to go back and reign, that were to show
Triumphant incest, and pollute the throne.
Alo. Since ignorance-

Seb. O, palliate not my wound!
When you have argued all you can, 'tis incest.
No, 'tis resolv'd, I charge you plead no more;
I cannot live without Almeyda's sight,
Nor can I see Almeyda but I sin.
Heav'n has inspir'd me with a sacred thought,
To live alone to heav'n, and die to her.

Dor. Mean you to turn an anchoret?
Seb. What else?

The world was once too narrow for my mind,
But one poor little nook will serve me now,
To hide me from the rest of human kind.
Afric has desarts wide enough to hold
Millions of monsters, and I am, sure, the greatest.
Alv. You may repent, and wish your crown
too late.

Seb. O never, never: I am past a boy;
A sceptre's but a play-thing, and a globe
A bigger bounding stone. He who can leave
Almeyda, may renounce the rest with ease.
Dor. O truly great!

A soul fix'd high, and capable of heav'n.
Old as he is, your uncle cardinal
Is not so far enamour'd of a cloister,
But he will thank you for the crown you leave

him.

Seb. To please him more, let him believe me dead,

That he may never dream I may return.
Alonzo, I am now no more thy king,
But still thy friend, and by that holy name,
Adjure thee to perform my last request.
Make our conditions with yon captive king,
Secure me but my solitary cell;
'Tis all I ask him for a crown restor❜d.
Dor. I will do more:

But fear not Muley-Zeydan: his soft metal
Melts down with easy warmth; runs in the mould,
And needs no farther forge. [Exit DORAX.
Re-enter ALMEYDA, led by MORAYMA, and fol-
lowed by her Attendants.

Seb. See where she comes again!

By heav'n, when I behold those beauteous eyes, Repentance lags, and sin comes hurrying on. Alm. This is too cruel!

Seb. Speak'st thou of love, of fortune, or of
death,

Or double death? for we must part, Almeyda.
Alm. I speak of all;

For all things that belong to us are cruel;
But what's most cruel, we must love no more.
O'tis too much that I must never see you,
But not to love you is impossible:

No, I must love you: Heav'n may bate me that,
And charge that sinful sympathy of souls
Upon our parents, when they lov'd too well.
Seb. Good heav'n, thou speak'st my thoughts,
and I speak thine.

Nay, then there's incest in our very souls,
For we were form'd too like.

Alm. Too like indeed,

And yet not for each other.

Sure, when we part (for I resolv'd it too,
Though you propos'd it first,) however distant,
We shall be ever thinking of each other,
And, the same moment, for each other pray.
Seb. But if a wish should come athwart our
prayers!

Alm. It would do well to curb it, if we could.
Seb. We cannot look upon each other's face,
But, when we read our love, we read our guilt;
And yet methinks I cannot chuse but love.
Alm. I would have ask'd you, if I durst for
shame,

If still you lov'd? you gave it air before me.
Ah, why were we not born both of a sex;
For then we might have lov'd without a crime!
Why was not I your brother? though that wish
Involv'd our parents' guilt, we had not parted;
We had been friends, and friendship is not incest.
Seb. Alas, I know not by what name to call
thee!

Sister and wife are the two dearest names;
And I would call thee both, and both are sin.
Unhappy we, that still we must confound
The dearest names into a common curse!

Alm. To love, and be belov'd, and yet be
wretched!

Seb. To have but one poor night of all our
lives!

It was indeed a glorious, guilty night;
So happy, that, forgive me heav'n, I wish,

With all its guilt, it were to come again. Why did we know so soon, or why at all, That sin could be conceal'd in such a bliss ?

Alm. Men have a larger privilege of words, Else I should speak: but we must part, Sebastian; That's all the name that I have left to call thee: I must not call thee by the name I would; But when I say Sebastian, dear Sebastian, I kiss the name I speak.

Seb. We must make haste, or we shall never part.

I would say something that's as dear as this; Nay, would do more than say: one moment longer,

And I should break through laws divine and hu

Alm. Here comes the sad denouncer of iny fate,

To toil the mournful knell of separation:
While I, as on my death-bed, hear the sound,
That warns me hence for ever.

Seb. [To DOR.] Now be brief,
And I will try to listen,

And share the minute that remains betwixt
The care I owe my subjects and my love.

Dor. Your fate has gratified you all she can,
Gives easy misery, and makes exile pleasing.
I trusted Muley Zeydan, as a friend,
But swore him first to secresy: he wept
Your fortune, and with tears not squeez'd by art,
But shed from nature, like a kindly shower:
In short, he proffer'd more than I demanded;
A safe retreat, a gentle solitude,

Unvex'd with noise, and undisturb'd with fears:
I chose you one.-

Alm. O do not tell me where!
For if I knew the place of his abode,
I should be tempted to pursue his steps,
And then we both were lost.

Seb. Ev'n past redemption:
For, if I knew thou wert on that design,
(As I must know, because our souls are one,)
I should not wander, but, by sure instinct,
Should meet thee just half-way, in pilgrimage,
And close for ever: for I know my love
More strong than thine, and I more frail than
thou.

Alm. Tell me not that: for I must boast my