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By the five Moorish Kings,-although the latter
Are said to be taken prisoners. They say too
Rodrigo took them, but he's not in the troop,-
And that he has been slain.


Look to the lady.

[XIMENA faints. A noise of trumpets growing nearer. Enter Third Officer.

3d Off. My lord, the strangest and the happiest news!
Rodrigo de Bivàr, at the head o' the vassals
Of the old Count his father, has surprised
The Moors in the defile, and sends their kings
Prisoners unto your greatness.

What of the conqueror?
3d Officer. He, Sir, in his great modesty
And deference to your late reproof of him,
Has turned out of the path to his father's house,
Where he awaits your pleasure.


Go to him instantly, And fetch both father and son. This is the noblest Day of my life, though I am conquered too.

A March.-Enter ALVAR FANEZ with the five Moorish Kings; all but the King and a few others uncover.

Alv. Fan. (Kneeling and presenting a letter and a standard)— My cousin, Sir, Rodrigo de Bivàr,

Having, he says, by fortune and his friends

Been blessed with quick prevention of the war,

Lays the green standard at your royal feet;

And begs your princely hospitality

In favour of these great and gallant enemies.

This letter will speak farther.

King. (Uncovering with the rest, and descending from his throne)

His wishes, and their own reverse of fortune,

Make it our business to receive them worthily.
These letters too enable us to shew

Our sense of the young lustre lately obscured
By some sad tears here. His own liberty,
Although unasked for, is restored to him,
And, as I think, to the delight of all.

You, royal Abdoulrahman, our great brother,
Who shewed that sparing virtue to our fields
In middle of all-wilful victory,

Be held, together with our other brethren,
Visitors at our court, which you will leave
At your own pleasure, after staying awhile
To heighten ours.

We are thrice conquered, Sir;
By your new general, his great soul, and yours.
Enter a Herald with a trumpet.

Her. My liege, the venerable Count Lainez
And his victorious son, attend your bidding.

King. You and the other heralds usher them; And let the music bid all hearts rise up

With its most numerous and majestic voice.

A full and noble March.—Enter eight Heralds with Trumpets, two and two, and then RODRIGO supporting his Father. The King introduces DIEGO to the Moors, and then seats him in a Chair.

King. Rodrigo, you have made us pant for words
With this great tide of glory. Let it suffice
That all which by a father of his country

Ought to be done for you, shall shew my thanks.
Rod. Sir, you do all for me in that one word.

King. Not so. After we have performed the ceremony
So lately and unhappily broken off,

Your knighting, there's a crowning conquest still,
With which perhaps I may assist to make

Your aspect happy as glorious.-You would speak of it
Yourself, and win it otherwise?

I have, Sir,

I do confess, two favours still to ask;

And I should blush to ask them openly,

Had not a secret, as I understand,

Escaped with sweet sad breath to most here present.

King. Ask on :—it has.


Then first, Sir, to explain That secret further. (Turning to Almanzor)

My great-hearted friend,

Take up that veil from off thy nobleness.
Yes, Sir; it is Almanzor, once my combatant,
Who thought himself my rival in the affections
Of one whom he mistook for her fair cousin.

Your nephew, Sir, (to Abd.); and oh, my friend of friends, [ALMANZOR and RODRIGO rush into each others arms. You did not get my letter? You came here

And passed it on the road?


It must be so. But it has shewn for me that I have gratitude; Shewn thee!

Rod. And shewn another.-Sir, (to the King) they love Each other nobly, as you now have seen;

And my first favour is, that you would make
Their union part of your festivity.

King. Theirs, and one more, I hope.



[Embraces him again.

Pardon me, Sir,

[Goes towards XIMENA. Sweetest young lady,

Dieg. Pardon me, my son.

Whom, with my son, I have unknowingly,
Almost until this hour, tried with such pain,
I could, as a fond father, ask you much;

I can, as a fond father, ask you nothing.
Yet there's a difference, fair one; a great difference,
Though not for me to tell you. You will think of it.
But I may say, that had not this new taste

Of sorrow come to me through all these sweets,-
Why, I had died for joy ere long; and then
My boy might have been happy.


Not for that, sir :
Not with such help. I do not speak in anger.
I wish not you nor him otherwise than

As you now are, except in one fond habit

That mars his well-earned happiness. I can look
Even on you, sir, not bitterly; and am firm,
Not out of hate, bnt duty; you may see it.

[She weeps.

King. Not to enlarge on the distinction, lady,

Which the Count speaks of, though I might well urge it As witness to this matter, first and last;

Yet as the King,—I mean, as princely father

Of all my Spanish family, I may advise you
To weigh the involuntary death of one
In balance with these thousands of glad lives
Saved by our young and conquering cousin,-one
Whom you yourself-



May I intreat
I had one other favour. I would ask it.


Xim. My lord, to shew you all my heart at once,

Its duties, its necessities, the shadow
Which the ever-present pall has cast upon it,
To shew my sense, Sir, of your condescension,
Which I am forced thus publicly and painfully
To seem to undervalue ;-and I may add
To shew how justly (I feel pale to say it,
Not blushing, even at all these eyes) I loved,—
I will abide, my lord-I will abide

By the decision of Rodrigo's self.

Rod. O the futility of toils and dangers,
Of burning, and of cold, and torn-up wounds,
And all the aches that gnaw into all patience,
Compared with one such agony o' the heart!
Pardon me, Sir.-And do thou pardon me,
Ximena, for a thought, which like a whirlwind,
Took my right sense away, even of thee.
She means not, Sir,-instinctively, she means not
To exile me from all hope, and make me mock
The last most awful spirit of self-sacrifice,
The very exacter of these trials,-Justice.
She means it not or if she thinks she does,
I tell her, she does not ;-the very favour
Which I was going to ask of you she construed
With the blest instinct of her heart too well.
Sir, I do ask that favour;-'tis to let

Lady Ximena be secure and quiet
From all solicitation ;-she will let
Me in return, fancy at least I see
A far-set hope, like to a star in heaven,
Which I may try to journey to,-not frowned at
Even by a single face that looks
Out of the placid world of the departed.

upon me

King. Be it so. Shall I not request her then Even to remain during this honouring ceremony?

Rod. I did intend to hope, Sir, that she would,-
As my first hope, and for a toilsome while,
My last; a sign, that at the least she recognizes
The spirit in me still, which she held honourable.

[XIMENA slowly takes her seat again. Enter the proper Assistants with a Golden Bason, and Spur, and a Velvet Stool. Abdoulrahman. Oh my most noble Cid, let me now grasp This hand again, which took me indeed a prisoner. Would it were I that had the knighting of thee!

King. What is that title, brother, which you give him? Abd. I called him Cid; for my heart could not help Speaking a native word: it signifies

Master and Lord.

It shall henceforward be
His most distinguishing title, both in honour
Of him who first conferred it, and of qualities
That make him understood so and admired

By friend and foe.-Plant thy foot here, Rodrigo.

[A Herald throws a Mantle over his Shoulders, and the King puts the Spur on his Foot. Then rising, the King dips his Finger in the Bason, and crosses RODRIGO's Forehead and his own.

King. Be thou a faithful and right loyal knight
For God and for Saint Jago and for Spain.-
Cousins, my noble peers; you other nobles,
Officers, heralds, and all ye that hear,
This is Rodrigo de Bivàr, the Cid.

[The Heralds, standing four on each side of the Company, blow their Trumpets loudly towards the Audience, and the Curtain falls.


It is all right between S. G. and his Companion.


Published by HUNT and CLARKE, York street, Covent garden: and sold by all Booksellers and Newsvenders in town and country.-Price 4d.


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