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me:

I have o'erwhelmed it as much as possible : Of my whole life encouraged you to this ?
Away, then, let us talk of other things.

Or of your own, what guilt has drawn it on you ?
I tell thee, Moor, I love her to distraction. You find me kind, and think me kind to all;
If 'tis my shame, why, be it so I love her; The weak, ungenerous error of your sex.
Nor can I help it; 'tis imposed upon me What could inspire the thought ? we oft'nest judge
By some superior and resistless power.

From our own hearts; and is yours then so frail, I could not hurt her to be lord of earth;

It prompts you to conceive thus ill of me? It shocks my nature like a stroke from heaven. He that can stoop to harbour such a thought, Angels defend her, as if innocent.

Deserves to find it true. [holding him.] But see my Leonora comes—begone. [exit Zanga. Alon. Oh, sex, sex, sex! (turning on her] Enter LEONORA.

The language of you all. IIl-fated woman! Oh, seen for ever, yet for ever new!

Why hast thou forced me back into the gulf The conquered thou dost conquer o'er again, Of agonies I had blocked up from thought? Inflicting wound on wound.

I know the cause; thou saw'st me impotent Leon. Alas, my lord !

Ere while to hurt thee, therefore thou turnest on What need of this to me? Alon. Ha! dost thou weep?

But, by the pangs I suffer, to thy wo; Leon. Have I no cause?

For, since thou hast replunged me in my torture, Alon. If love is thy concern,

I will be satisfied. Thou hast no cause: none ever loved like me. Leon. Be satisfied ! But wherefore this? is it to break my heart, Alon. Yes, thy own mouth shall witness it Which loses so much blood for every tear ?

against thee. Leon. Is it so tender?

I will be satisfied. Alon. Is it not? oh, heaven!

Leon. Of what? Doubt of my love! why, I am nothing else; Alon. Of what! It quite absorbs my every other passion. How darest thou ask that question? woman, woman, Oh, that this one embrace would last for ever! Weak and assured at once! thus 'tis for ever. Leon. Could this man ever mean to wrong my Who told thee that thy virtue was suspected ? virtue?

Who told thee I designed upon thy life? Could this man e'er design upon my life? You found the dagger; but that could not speak; Impossible! I throw away the thought. [aside. Nor did I tell thee; who did tell thee then ? These tears declare how much I taste the joy Guilt, conscious guilt ! Of being folded in your arms and heart;

Leon. This to my face! oh, heaven! My universe does lie within that space.

Alon. This to thy very soul. This dagger bore false witness.

Leon. Thou'rt not in earnest ? Alon. Ha, my dagger!

Alon. Serious as death. It rouses horrid images. Away,

Leon. Then heaven have mercy on thee. Away with it, and let us talk of love,

'Till now I struggled not to think it true; Plunge ourselves deep into the sweet illusion, I sought conviction, and would not believe it; And hide us there from every other thought. And dost thou force me? this shall not be borne; Leon. It touches you.

Thou shalt repent this insult. (going] Alon. Let's talk of love

Alon. Madam, stay. Leon. Of death!

Your passion's wise ; 'tis a disguise for guilt: Alon. As thou lov'st happiness

'Tis my turn now to fix you here a while; Leon. Of murder !

You and your thousand arts shall not escape me. Alon. Rash,

Leon. Arts ! Rash woman! yet forbear.

Alon. Arts. Confess; for death is in my hand. Leon. Approve my wrongs !

Leon. 'Tis in your words. Alon. Then must I fly, for thy sake and my own. Alon. Confess, confess, confess! Leon. Nay, by my injuries, you first must hear Nor tear my veins with passion to compel thee. me;

Leon. I scorn to answer thee, presumptuous man' Stab me, then think it much to hear my groan! Alon. Deny, then, and incur a fouler shame. Alon. Heaven strike me deaf!

Where did I find this picture? Leon. It well may sting you home.

Lcon. Ha, Don Carlos! Alon. Alas, thou quite mistakest my cause of By my best hopes, more welcome than thy own. pain!

Alon. I know it; but is vice so very rank, Yet, yet dismiss me; I am all in flames. That thou should'st dare to dash it in my face? Leon. Who has most cause, you or myself ? Nature is sick of thee, abandoned woman! what act

Leon. Repent,

(esit Isa.

Alon. Is that for me?

Zan. Welters in blood, and gasps for her last Leon. Fall, ask my pardon.

breath. Alon. Astonishment!

What then? we all must die. Leon. Dar’st thou persist to think I am dishonest?

Isa. Alonzo raves, Alon. I know thee so.

And in the tempest of his grief, has thrice Leon. This, blow, then, to thy heart

Attempted on his life. At length disarmed, [she stabs herself-he endeavours to prevent her. He calls his friends that save him his worst foes,

Alon. Hoa, Zanga! Isabella! hoa! she bleeds! And importunes the skies for swift perdition. Descend, ye blessed angels, to assist her! Thus in his storm of sorrow, after pause,

Leon. This is the only way I would wound thee, He started up, and called aloud for Zanga, Though most unjust. Now think me guilty still. For Zanga raved; and see, he seeks you here,

To learn the truth which most he dreads to know, Enter ISABELLA.

Zan. Begone. Now, now, my soul, consumAlon. Bear her to instant help. The world to mate all.

save her. Leon. Unhappy man! well may'st thou gaze

Enter ALONZO. and tremble:

Alon. Oh, Zanga! But fix thy terror and amazement right;

Zan. Do not tremble so; but speak. Not on my blood, but on thy own distraction. Alon. I dare not. (falls on him) What hast thou done? whom censured?—Leonora! Zan. You will drown me with your tears. When thou had'st censured, thou would'st save her Alon. Have I not cause ? life;

Zan. As yet you have no cause. Oh, inconsistent! should I live in shame,

Alon. Dost thou, too, rave? Or stoop to any other means but this

Zan. Your anguish is to come: To assert my virtue ? no; she who disputes, You much have been abused. Admits it possible she might be guilty.

Alon. Abused, by whom?
While aught but truth could be my inducement to Zan. To know were little comfort.
it,

Alon. Oh, 'twere much.
While it might look like an excuse to thee, Zan. Indeed!
I scorned to vindicate my innocence;

Alon. By heaven! oh, give him to my fury! But, now, I let thy rashness know, the wound Zan. Born for your use, I live but to oblige you, Which least I feel, is—that my dagger made. Know then, 'twas—I.

[Isabella leads out Leonora. Alon. Am I awake! Alon. Ha !—was this woman guilty ?-and, if Zan. For ever. not

Thy wife is guiltless—that's one transport to me; How my thoughts darken that way! grant, kind And I, let thee know it—that's another. heaven,

I urged Don Carlos to resign his mistress, That she prove guilty; or my being end. I forged the letter, I disposed the picture ; Is that my hope, then?—sure the sacred dust I hated, I despised, and I destroy! Of her that bore me, trembles in its urn.

Alon. Oh! (swoons) Is it in man the sore distress to bear,

Zan. Why, this is well-why, this is blow for When hope itself is blackened to despair,

blow! When all the bliss I pant for, is to gain Where are you ? crown me, shadow me with In hell, a refuge from severer pain? [erit.

laurels,

Ye spirits which delight in just revenge!
Enter ZANGA.

Let Europe and her pallid sons go weep; Zan. How stands the great account 'twixt me Let Afric and her hundred thrones rejoice ; and vengeance?

Oh, my dear countrymen, look down and see Though much is paid, yet still it owes me much, How I bestride your prostrate conqueror! And I will not abate a single groan

I tread on haughty Spain and all her kings. Ha! that were well--but that were fatal too- But this is mercy, this is my indulgence; Why, be it so.—Revenge so truly great, 'Tis peace, 'tis refuge from my indignation. Would come too cheap, if bought with less than I must awake him into horrors. Hoa! life.

Alonzo, hoa ! the Moor is at the gate ! Come, death, come, hell, then; 'tis resolved, 'tis Awake, invincible, omnipotent! done.

Thou who dost all subdue!

Alon. Inhuman slave! Isa. Ah, Zanga, see me tremble! has not yet Zan. Fallen christian, thou mistak’st my cha Thy cruel heart its fill? poor Leonora

racter.

Enter ISABELLA.

Look on me. Who am I? I know, thou say'st As he is going to stab himse!s, Alonzo rushes upon him to The Moor, a slave, an abject, beaten slave :

prevent him. In the mean time, enter DON ALVAREZ, Eternal woes to him that made me so !

attended. They disarm and seize Zanga. Alonzo puts the

dagger in his bosom. But look again. Has six years cruel bondage Extinguished majesty so far, that nought

Alon. No, monster, thou shalt not escape by death. Shines here, to give an awe to one above thee ? Oh, fati When the great Moorish king, Abdallah, fell, Alv. Oh, Alonzo !-Isabella, Fell by thy hand accurst, I fought fast by him, Touched with remorse to see her mistress' pangs, His son, though through his fondness, in disguise, Told all the dreadful tale. Less to expose me to the ambitious foe,

Alon. What groan was that? Ha! does it wake thee?-o'er my father's corse Zan. As I have been a vulture to thy heart, I stood astride, till I had clove thy crest; So will I be a raven to thine ear, And then was made the captive of a squadron, As true as ever snuffed the scent of blood, And sunk into thy servant—but, oh! what, As ever flapt its heavenly wing against What were my wages! hear nor heaven nor earth! The window of the sick, and croaked despair. My wages were a blow! by heaven a blow!

Thy wife is dead. And from a mortal hand!

[Alvarez goes to the side of the stage, and returns. Alon. Oh, villain! villain!

Ald. The dreadful news is true. Zan. All strife is vain. (showing a dagger.] Alon. Prepare the rack; invent new torments for Alon. Is thus my love returned ?

him! Is this my recompense ? make friends of tigers!

Zan. This, too, is well. The fixed and noble Lay not your young, oh, mothers, on the breast,

mind
For fear they turn to serpents as they lie, Turns all occurrence to its own advantage;
And pay you for their nourishment with death! And I'll make vengeance of calamity.
Carlos is dead and Leonora dying!

Were I not thus reduced, thou would'st not know,
Both innocent, both murdered, both by me. That, thus reduced, I dare defy thee still.
That heavenly maid, who should have lived for Torture thou may’st, but thou shalt ne'er despise me.
ever,

The blood will follow where the knife is driven,
At least, have gently slept her soul away! The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear,
Whose life should have shut up as evening flowers And sighs and cries by nature grow on pain.
At the departing sun—was murdered! murdered ! But these are foreign to the soul: not mine
Oh, shame! oh, guilt! oh, horror! oh, remorse! The groans that issue, or the tears that fall;
Oh, punishment! had Satan never fell, They disobey me: on the rack I scorn thee,
Hell had been made for me. Oh, Leonora! As when my falchion clove thy helm in battle.

Zan. Must I despise thee too, as well as hate thee? Alv. Peace, villain!
Complain of grief, complain thou art a man.- Zan. While I live, old man, I'll speak;
Priam from fortune's lofty summit fell;

And well I know thou dar'st not kill me yet,
Great Alexander 'midst his conquests mourned; For that would rob thy blood-hounds of their prey.
Heroes and demi-gods have known their sorrows: Alon. Who called Alonzo?
Cæsars have wept; and I have had my blow; Alo. No one called, my son.
But 'tis revenged, and now my work is done. Alon. Again?—'tis Carlos' voice, and I obey.-
Yet ere I fall, be it one part of vengeance Oh, how I laugh at all that this can do ?
To make thee to confess that I am just.-

(showing the dagger. Thou seest a prince, whose father thou hast slain, The wounds that pained, the wounds that murderWhose native country thou hast laid in blood, Whose sacred person-oh!- thou hast profaned, Were given before; I am already dead; Whose reign extinguished—what was left to me, This only marks my body for the grave. So highly born? no kingdom, but revenge ;

[stabs himself. No treasure, but thy tortures and thy groans. Afric, thou art revenged.--Oh, Leonora. (dies. If men should ask who brought thee to thy end, Zan. Good ruffians give me leave; my blood is Tell them the Moor, and they will not despise thee. yours, If cold white mortals censure this great deed, The wheel's prepared, and you shall have it all. Warn them, they judge not of superior beings, Let me but look one moment on the dead, Souls made of fire and children of the sun, And pay yourselves with gazing on my pangs. With whom revenge is virtue. Fare thee well

[he goes to Alonzo's body. Now, fully satisfied, I should take leave; Is this Alonzo ? where's the haughty mien? But one thing grieves me, since thy death is near, Is that the hand which smote me? heavens, how I leave thee my example how to die.

pale!

ed me,

And art thou dead ?—so is my enmity

And by the parent's leave will speak my mind. I war not with the dust. The great, the proud, Gallants, pray tell me, do you think 'twas well, The conqueror of Afric was my foe.

To let a willing maid lead apes in hell ? A lion preys not upon carcasses.

You nicer ladies, should you think it right, This was thy only method to subdue me. To eat no supper on your wedding night? Terror and doubt fall on me; all thy good Should English husbands dare to starve their wives, Now blazes-all thy guilt is in the grave. Be sure they'd lead most comfortable lives ! Never had man such funeral applause;

But he loves mischief, and with groundless fears, If I lament thee, sure thy worth was great.- Would fain set loving couples by the cars; Oh, vengeance, I have followed thee too far, Would spoil the tender husbands of our nation, And to receive me, hell blows all her fires. By teaching them this vile outlandish fashion.

(he is borne of But we've been taught, in our good-natured clime, Alv. Dreadful effects of jealousy! a rage That jealousy, though just, is still a crime;

In which the wise with caution will engage; And will be still; for, not to blame the plot, Reluctant long, and tardy to believe,

That same Alonzo was a stupid sot, Where, swayed by nature, we ourselves deceive. To kill a bride, a mistress unenjoyedWhere our own folly joins the villain's art, 'Twere some excuse, had the poor man been cloyed; And each man finds a Zanga in his heart. To kill her on suspicion, ere he knew

Whether the hideous charge were false or true

The priest said grace, she met him in the bower, EPILOGUE.

In hopes she might anticipate an hour

Love was her errand, but the hot-brained Spaniard, Our author sent me, in an humble strain, Instead of love-produced—a filthy poignardTo beg you'll bless the offspring of his brain! Had he been wise, at this their private meeting, And I, your proxy, promised in your name, The proof o' the pudding had been in the eating; The child should live, at least six days of fame. Madam had then been pleased, and Don contented, I like the brat, but still his faults can find; | And all this blood and murder been prevented.

THE END OF YOUNG'S WORKS.

THE

LETTERS AND POEMS

OF

THOMAS GRAY.

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