Tor. Can you have grief, and not have pity

too?

He told me, when my father did return,
He had a wondrous secret to disclose:
He kiss'd me, bless'd me, nay, he call'd me son;
He prais'd my courage; pray'd for my success:
He was so true a father of his countrey,
To thank me for defending ev'n his foes,
Because they were his subjects.

Qu. If they be, then what am I?

Tor. The sovereign of my soul, my earthly heaven.

Qu. And not your queen?

Tor.
You are so beautifull,
So wondrous fair, you justifie rebellion;
As if that faultless face could make no sin,
But heaven, with looking on it, must forgive.
Qu. The king must dye, he must, my Torris-
mond,

Though pity softly plead within my soul;
Yet he must dye, that I may make you great,
And give a crown in dowry with my love.

Tor. Perish that crown on any head but
yours!

O, recollect your thoughts!

Shake not his hour-glass, when his hasty sand
Is ebbing to the last;

A little longer, yet a little longer,

200

205

210

215

220

And nature drops him down without your sin,
Like mellow fruit without a winter storm.

Qu. Let me but doe this one injustice more.
His doom is past, and for your sake he dies.
Tor. Wou'd you for me have done so ill an
act,

And will not doe a good one?

Now, by your joys on earth, your hopes in
heaven,

O, spare this great, this good, this aged king,
And spare your soul the crime!

Qu.
The crime's not mine;
'Twas first propos'd, and must be done, by Ber-

tran, Fed with false hopes to gain my crown and me; I, to inhance his ruin, gave no leave,

But barely bad him think, and then resolve.

Tor. In not forbidding, you command the
crime;

225

230

Think, timely think, on the last dreadfull day, 235 How will you tremble, there to stand expos'd, And formost in the rank of guilty ghosts

That must be doom'd for murther; think on murther;

That troop is plac'd apart from common crimes; 'The damn'd themselves start wide, and shun

that band,

As far more black, and more forlorn then they.

240

Qu. 'Tis terrible; it shakes, it staggers me; I knew this truth, but I repell'd that thought. Sure there is none but fears a future state; And when the most obdurate swear they do not, 245 Their trembling hearts bely their boasting

tongues.

Enter Teresa.

Send speedily to Bertran; charge him strictly
Not to proceed, but wait my farther pleasure.
Ter. Madam, he sends to tell you, 'tis per-
formed.
Exit Teresa.

Tor. Ten thousand plagues consume him!
Furies drag him!

250

Fiends tear him! blasted be the arm that strook,
The tongue that order'd! — onely she be spar'd,
That hindred not the deed! O, where was then
The power that guards the sacred lives of kings?
Why slept the lightning and the thunder-bolts, 255
Or bent their idle rage on fields and trees,
When vengeance call'd 'em here?

Qu.

Sleep that thought too; 'Tis done, and since 'tis done, 'tis past recall; And, since 'tis past recall, must be forgotten. Tor. O, never, never shall it be forgotten! 260 High heaven will not forget it; after ages Shall with a fearful curse remember ours; And bloud shall never leave the nation more! Qu. His body shall be royally interr'd,

And the last funeral pomps adorn his hearse; 265
I will my self (as I have cause too just),
Be the chief mourner at his obsequies;
And yearly fix on the revolving day

The solemn marks of mourning, to attone
And expiate my offences.

Tor.

Nothing can,

But bloudy vengeance on that traitor's head,
Which, dear departed spirit, here I vow.

Qu. Here end our sorrows, and begin our joys:

Love calls, my Torrismond; though hate has

rag'd,

270

And rul'd the day, yet love will rule the night. 275
The spitefull stars have shed their venom down,
And now the peacefull planets take their turn.
This deed of Bertran's has remov'd all fears,
And giv'n me just occasion to refuse him.
What hinders now but that the holy priest
In secret join our mutual vows? and then
This night, this happy night, is yours and mine.
Tor. Be still, my sorrows, and be loud, my
joys.

Fly to the utmost circles of the sea,

280

Thou furious tempest, that hast tost my mind, 285 And leave no thought but Leonora there. "What's this I feel, aboding in my soul,

270 offences. Sb, offence.

287 soul. Mark of interrogation after this, Q1, Q2.

As if this day were fatal? be it so;
Fate shall but have the leavings of my love;
My joys are gloomy, but withall are great;
The lion, though he sees the toils are set,
Yet, pinch'd with raging hunger, scowrs away,
Hunts in the face of danger all the day;
At night, with sullen pleasure, grumbles o'er
his prey.
Exeunt ambo.

206