ALONZO.

Ha! resign her to me

Resign her! Who resign'd her?-Double death! How could I doubt so long? My heart is broke: First love her to distraction; then resign her!

ZANGA.

But was it not with utmost agony?

ALONZO.

Grant that, he still resign'd her; that's enough.
Would he pluck out his eye to give it me?
Tear out his heart ?-She was his heart no more-
Nor was it with reluctance he resign'd her.
By heav'n he ask'd, he courted me, to wed:
I thought it strange; 'tis now no longer so.

ZANGA.

Was't his request? Are you right sure of that?
I fear the letter was not all a tale.

ALONZO.

A tale ! there's proof equivalent to sight.

ZANGA.

I should distrust my sight on this occasion.

ALONZO.

And so should I; by heav'n, I think I should.
What! Leonora the divine, by whom

We guess'd at angels? O! I'm all confusion.

ZANGA.

You now are too much ruffled to think clearly. Since bliss and horror, life and death, hang on it,

Go to your chamber; there maturely weigh
Each circumstance; consider, above all,
That it is jealousy's peculiar nature

To swell small things to great; nay, out of nought
To conjure much; and then to lose its reason
Amid the hideous phantoms it has form'd.

ALONZO.

Had I ten thousand lives, I'd give them all
To be deceiv'd: I fear 'tis doomsday with me;
And yet she seem'd so pure, that I thought heav'n
Borrow'd her form for Virtue's self to swear,

To gain her lovers with the sons of men. [Exit Alon.

Enter ISABElla.

ZANGA.

Thus far it works auspiciously. My patient
Thrives, underneath my hand, in misery :
He's gone to think; that is, to be distracted.

ISABELLA.

I overheard your conference, and saw you,
To my amazement, tear the letter.

ZANGA.

There,

There, Isabella, I outdid myself:
For tearing it, I not secure it only

In its first force, but superadd a new:
For who can now the character examine

To cause a doubt, much less detect the fraud?
And, after tearing it, as loth to shew

The foul contents, if I should swear it now

A forgery, my lord would disbelieve me;
Nay, more would disbelieve, the more I swore :
But is the picture happily dispos'd of?

It is.

ISABELLA.

ZANGA.

That's well-Ah! what is well? O pang to think;
O dire necessity! is this my province ?

Whither, my soul, ah! Whither, art thou sunk
Beneath thy sphere? E'er while, far, far above
Such little arts, dissemblings, falshoods, frauds,
The trash of villainy itself, which falls

To cowards, and poor wretches wanting bread:
Does this become a soldier? This become
Whom armies follow'd, and a people lov'd?
My martial glory withers at the thought:
But great my end; and since there are no other,
These means are just; they shine with borrow'd light,
Illustrious from the purpose they pursue.

And greater sure my merit, who, to gain

A point sublime, can such a task sustain;

To wade through ways obscene, my honour bend,

And shock my nature to attain my end:

Late time shall wonder; that my joys will raise ; For wonder is involuntary praise.

ACT. IV.

SCENE I.

Enter ALONZO and ZANGA.

ALONZO.

WHAT a pain to think! when every thought, Perplexing thought, in intricacies runs, And reason knits th' inextricable toil, In which herself is taken! I am lost; Poor insect that I am, I am involv'd, And bury'd in the web myself have wrought! One argument is balanc'd by another, And reason reason meets in doubtful fight, And proofs are countermin'd by equal proofs. No more I'll bear this battle of the mind, This inward anarchy; but find my wife, And, to her trembling heart presenting death, Force all the secret from her.

ZANGA.

You totter on the very brink of ruin.

O forbear!

ALONZO.

What dost thou mean?

ZANGA. [Aside.]

That will discover all,

And kill my hopes: What can I think or do?

ALONZO.

What dost thou murmur?

ZANGA.

Force the secret from her!

What's perjury to such a crime as this?
Will she confess it then; O groundless hope!
But rest assur'd, she'll make this accusation,
Or false or true, your ruin with the king;

Such is her father's

power.

ALONZO.

No more;

I care not:

Rather than groan beneath this load, I'll die.

ZANGA.

But for what better will you change this load? Grant you should know it, would not that be worse?

ALONZO.

No; it would cure me of my mortal pangs,
By hatred and contempt: I should despise her;
And all my love-bred agonies would vanish.

ZANGA.

Ah! were I sure of that, my lord

ALONZO,

What then?

ZANGA.

You should not hazard life to gain the secret.