ALONZO.

As thou lov'st happiness

LEONORA.

Of murder.

ALONZO.

Rash,

Rash woman, yet forbear.

LEONORA.

Approve my wrongs!

ALONZO.

Then must I fly, for thy sake and my own.

LEONORA.

Nay, by my injuries, you first must hear me:
Stab me, then think it much to hear me groan

ALONZO.

Heav'ns strike me deaf!

LEONORA.

It well may sting you home.

ALONZO.

Alas! thou quite mistak'st my cause of pain.
Yet, yet dismiss me; I am all in flames.

LEONORA.

Who has most cause? You, or myself? What act
Of
my whole life encourag'd you to this?..

Or of your own, what guilt has drawn it on you?
You find me kind, and think me kind to all;

The weak, ungenerous error of your sex.

What could inspire the thought? We oft'nest judge From our own hearts: and is yours then so frail,

It prompts you to conceive thus ill of me?
He that can stoop to harbour such a thought,

Deserves to find it true.

ALONZO.

[Holding him.

O sex, sex, sex! [Turning on, her.

The language of you all. Il-fated woman!
Why hast thou forc'd me back into the gulph
Of agonies, I had block'd up from thought?
I know the cause; thou saw'st me impotent
E'er while to hurt thee, therefore thou turn'st on me
But, by the pangs I suffer, to thy woe:

For, since thou hast replung'd me in my torture,
I will be satisfied

LEON ORA.
Be satisfied!

ALONZO.

Yes; thy own mouth shall witness it against thee;

I will be satisfied.

LEONORA.

Of what?

ALONZO.

Of what!

How dar'st thou ask that question? Woman, Woman,
Weak, and assur'd at once; thus 'tis for ever.
Who told thee that thy virtue was suspected?
Who told thee I design'd upon thy life?

You found the dagger, but that could not speak;
Nor did I.tell thee: Who did tell thee then?

Guilt, conscious guilt.

LEONORA.

This to my face? O heav'n!

This to thy very soul.

ALONZO.

LEONORA.

Thou'rt not in earnest?

ALONZO.

Serious as death.

LEONORA.

Then heav'n have mercy on thee.

Till now, I struggled not to think it true;

I sought conviction, and would not believe it:
And dost thou force me? This shall not be borne:

Thou shalt repent this insult.

[Going.

ALONZO.

Madam, stay:

Your passion's wise; 'tis a disguise for guilt; 'Tis my turn now to fix you here awhile;

You, and your thousand arts, shall not escape me.

Arts?

LEONORA.

ALONZO.

Arts! Confess; for death is in my hand.

LEONORA.

'Tis in your words.

ALONZO.

Confess, confess, confess;

Nor tear my veins with passion to compel thee.

LEONORA.

I scorn to answer thee, presumptuous man!

ALONZO.

Deny then, and incur a fouler shame.

Where did I find this picture?

LEONORA.

Ha! Don Carlos?

By my best hopes, more welcome than thy own.

ALONZO.

I know it; but is vice so very rank,

That thou should'st dare to dash it in my face?
Nature is sick of thee, abandon'd woman!

[She stabs herself, he endeavouring to prevent hers

ALONZO.

Ho! Zanga! Isabella! Ho! She bleeds!
Descend, ye blessed angels, to assist her!

LEONORA.

This is the only way I would wound thee,

Tho' most unjust. Now think me guilty still.

Enter ISABella.

ALONZO.

Bear her to instant help: The world to save her!

LEONORA.

Unhappy man! well may'st thou gaze and tremble;
But fix thy terror and amazement right;
Not on my blood, but on thy own distraction.
What hast thou done? Whom censur'd?-Leonora.
When thou hadst censur'd, thou would'st save her life;
O inconsistent! Should I live in shame,

Or stoop to any other means but this,

T' assert my virtue? No; she who disputes,
Admits it possible she might be guilty:

While aught but truth could be my inducement to it,
While it might look like an excuse to thee,
I scorn'd to vindicate my innocence;

But now, I let thy rashness know, the wound
Which least I feel, is that my dagger made.

[Isabella leads out Leonora.

ALONZO.

Ha! Was this woman guilty?-and if not

How my thought darkens that way! Grant, kind heav'n,

That she prove guilty, or give Being end.

Is that my hope then ?-Sure, the sacred dust

Of her that bore me trembles in its urn.

Is it in man the sore distress to bear,
When hope itself is blacken'd to despair?
When all the bliss I pant for, is to gain

In hell a refuge from severer pain? [Exit Alonzo.

Enter ZANGA.

ZANGA.

How stands the great account 'twixt me and vengeance?
Tho' much is paid, yet still it owes me much;
And I will not abate a single groan.-