Who might have mark'd her sudden turn of love: Where does this tend? ZANGA. ALONZO. To shed a woman's blood Would stain my sword, and make my wars inglorious; And take a flight at heav'n. ZANGA. Alas! my lord, 'Tis not your reason, but her beauty, finds Those arguments, and throws you on your sword: That has ten thousand ecstasies in store- ALONZO. O! thro' my heart and marrow! Pr'ythee spare me; ZANGA I know not what to answer to my lord. Men are but men; we did not make ourselves: And in eternal darkness close these eyes What dost thou mean? ALONZO. ZANGA. And is it then unknown? O grief of heart, to think that you should ask it! Who brought you thither by their lawless loves: Him sleep so fast, who else would mar their joys. ALONZO. Distraction!-But Don Carlos, well thou know'st, ZANGA, I'll work him to the murder of his friend.-- [Aside. Yes, till the fever of his blood returns, While her last kiss still glows upon his cheek. But when he finds Alonzo is no more, How will he rush, like lightning, to her arms! There sigh, there languish, there pour out his soul; But not in grief-sad obsequies to thee But thou wilt be at peace, nor see, nor hear, The burning kiss, the sigh of ecstasy, Their throbbing hearts that jostle one another: ALONZO. I'll ease thee of that pain: Let Carlos die; 'Tis my command. [Gives his signet. ZANGA. I dare not disobey. ALONZO. My Zanga, now I have thy leave to die. ZANGA. Ah, Sir, think, think again. Are all men buried ALONZO. That thought has more of hell than had the former; And each shall cast a smile upon my tomb! I am convinc'd; I must not, will not, die. ZANGA. You cannot die; nor can you murder her. If you forget, the world will call you Wise; If you receive her to your grace again, ALONZO. Zanga, I understand thee well. She dies; ZANGA. That's truly great. What think you 'twas set up When great, august, and godlike justice call'd? A third, the theme of all succeeding times, ALONZO. 'Tis done again new transports fire my brain; Friend, give me joy; we must be gay together: And when with garlands the full bowl is crown'd, And golden carpets spread the sacred floor, [Exeunt. |