ALONZO.

And is there need

Of words? Behold a wonder! See my tears!

ZANGA,

I feel them too: Heav'n grant my senses fail me!
I rather would lose them, than have this real.

ALONZO.

Go, take a round through all things in thy thought,
And find that one; for there is only one

Which could extort my tears; find that, and tell
Thyself my mis'ry, and spare me the pain.

ZANGA.

Sorrow can think but ill-I am bewilder'd;
I know not where I am.

ALONZO.

Think, think no more;

It ne'er can enter in an honest heart.

I'll tell thee then-I cannot-Yet I do,

By wanting force to give it utterance.

ZANGA.

Speak: ease your heart; its throbs will break your bo

som.

ALONZO.

I am most happy; mine is victory,

Mine the king's favour, mine the nation's shout,
And great men make their fortunes of my smiles.

O curse of curses! in the lap of blessing

ZANGA.

Then heav'n has lost its image here on earth. [While Zanga reads the letter, he trembles, and shews the utmost concern.

ALONZO.

Good-natur'd man! He makes my pains his own.
I durst not read it; but I read it now

In thy concern.

ZANGA.

Did you not read it then?

ALONZO.

Mine eye just touch'd it, and could bear no more.
ZANGA. [Tears the letter.]

Thus perish all that gives Alonzo pain.

Why didst thou tear it?

ALONZO.

ZANGA.

Think of it no more:

'Twas your mistake, and groundless are your fears.

ALONZO.

And didst thou tremble then for my mistake?
Or give the whole contents; or by the pangs
That feed upon my heart, thy life's in danger.

ZANGA.

Is this Alonzo's language to his Zanga?
Draw forth your sword, and find the secret here:
For whose sake is it, think you, I conceal it?
Wherefore this rage? Because I seek your peace?
I have no interest in suppressing it,

But what good-natur'd tenderness for you
Obliges me to have. Not mine the heart
That will be rent in two; not mine the fame

That will be damn'd, though all the world should

know it.

ALONZO.

Then my worst fears are true, and life is past.

ZANGA

What has the rashness of my passion utter'd?
I know not what; but rage is our distraction,
And all its words are wind--Yet sure, I think,
I nothing own'd-But grant I did confess,
What is a letter? Letters may be forg'd.

For heav'n's sweet sake, my lord, lift up your heart:
Some foe to your repose

ALONZO.

So heav'n look on me,

As I can't find the man I have offended.

ZANGA.

Indeed! [Aside.]-Our innocence is not our shield:
They take offence, who have not been offended;
They seek our ruin too, who speaks us fair;

And death is often ambush'd in our smiles.

We know not whom we have to fear. 'Tis certain,

A letter may be forg'd; and in a point

Of such a dreadful consequence as this,

One would rely on nought that might be false-
Think; have you any other cause to doubt her?
Away; you can find none : Resume your spirit,
All's well again.

ALONZO.

O that it were!

ZANGA.

It is;

For who would credit that, which, credited,
Makes hell superfluous by superior pains,
Without such proofs as cannot be withstood?
Has she not ever been to virtue train'd?
Is not her fame as spotless as the sun,
Her sex's envy, and the boast of Spain?

ALONZO.

O Zanga! It is that confounds me most,
That full in opposition to appearance-

No

ZANGA.

more, my lord; for you condemn yourself. What is absurdity, but to believe

Against appearance ?-You can't yet, I find,
Subdue your passion to your better sense;

And, truth to tell, it does not much displease me:
'Tis fit our indiscretions should be check'd,
With some degrees of pain.

ALONZO.

What indiscretion?

ZANGA.

Come, you must bear to hear your faults from me.

Had you not sent Don Carlos to the court

The night before the battle, that foul slave,

Who forg'd the senseless scroll which gives you pain, Had wanted footing for his villainy.

ALONZO.

I sent him not.

ZANGA.

Not send him!-Ha!-That strikes me.

I thought he came on message to the king:
Is there another cause could justify

His shunning danger, and the promis'd fight?
But I perhaps may think too rigidly;

So long an absence, and impatient love

ALONZO.

• In my confusion, that had quite escap'd me:
By heav'n my wounded soul does bleed afresh ;
'Tis clear as day—for Carlos is so brave,
He lives not but on fame, he hunts for danger,
And is enamour'd of the face of death ;
How then could he decline the next day's battle,
But for the transports? O, it must be so

Inhuman, by the loss of his own honour,

To buy the ruin of his friend!

Indeed he knew not of my treacherous love—
Proofs rise on proofs, and still the last the strongest,
Th' eternal law of things declares it true,

Which calls for judgments on distinguish'd guilt,
And loves to make our crime our punishment
Love is my torture; Love was my first crime: