Chapter 6

_Enter the_ Queen _in an undress alone, with a Light_.

_Qu_. Thou grateful Night, to whom all happy Lovers Make their devout and humble Invocations; Thou Court of Silence, where the God of Love, Lays by the awful Terror of a Deity, And every harmful Dart, and deals around His kind Desires; whilst thou, blest Friend to Joys, Draw’st all thy Curtains, made of gloomy Shades, To veil the Blushes of soft yielding Maids; Beneath thy Covert grant the Love-sick King, May find admittance to _Florella’s_ Arms; And being there, keep back the busy Day; Maintain thy Empire till my Moor returns; Where in her Lodgings he shall find his Wife, Amidst her amorous Dalliance with my Son.-- My watchful Spies are waiting for the Knowledge; Which when to me imparted, I’ll improve, Till my Revenge be equal to my Love. _Enter_ Elvira. --_Elvira_, in thy Looks I read Success; What hast thou learnt?

_Elv_. Madam, the King is gone as you imagin’d, To fair _Florella’s_ Lodging.

_Qu_. But art thou sure he gain’d Admittance?

_Elv_. Yes, Madam; But what Welcome he has found, to me’s unknown; But I believe it must be great, and kind.

_Qu_. I am of thy Opinion.-- But now, _Elvira_, for a well-laid Plot, To ruin this _Florella_;--though she be innocent, Yet she must die; so hard a Destiny My Passion for her Husband does decree: But ‘tis the way I stop at.-- His Jealousy already I have rais’d; That’s not enough, his Honour must be touch’d. This Meeting twixt the King and fair _Florella_, Must then be render’d publick; ’.is the Disgrace, not Action, must incense him-- Go you to Don _Alonzo’s_ Lodging strait, Whilst I prepare my Story for his Ear.-- [Exit Elvira. Assist me all that’s ill in Woman-kind, And furnish me with Sighs, and feigned Tears, That may express a Grief for this Discovery.-- My Son, be like thy Mother, hot and bold; And like the noble Ravisher of Rome, Court her with Daggers, when thy Tongue grows faint, Till thou hast made a Conquest o’er her Virtue. _Enter_ Alonzo, Elvira. --Oh, _Alonzo_, I have strange News to tell thee!

_Alon_. It must be strange indeed, that makes my Queen Dress her fair Eyes in Sorrow.

_Qu_. It is a Dress that thou wilt be in love with, When thou shalt hear my Story.-- You had a Sister once.

_Alon_. Had!

_Qu_. Yes, had,--whilst she was like thy self, all Virtue; Till her bewitching Eyes kindled such Flames, As will undo us all.

_Alon_. My Sister, Madam! sure it cannot be:-- What Eyes? what Flames?--inform me strait.

_Qu. Alonzo_, thou art honest, just and brave: And should I tell thee more,-- (Knowing thy Loyalty’s above all Nature) It would oblige thee to commit an Outrage, Which baser Spirits will call Cruelty.

_Alon_. Gods, Madam! do not praise my Virtue thus, Which is so poor, it scarce affords me patience To attend the end of what you wou’d deliver-- Come, Madam, say my Sister--is a Whore. I know ‘tis so you mean; and being so, Where shall I kneel for Justice? Since he that shou’d afford it me, Has made her Criminal.-- Pardon me, Madam, ‘tis the King I mean.

_Qu_. I grieve to own, all thy prophetick Fears Are true, _Alonzo_, ‘tis indeed the King.

_Alon_. Then I’m disarm’d, For Heaven can only punish him.

_Qu_. But, _Alonzo_, Whilst that religious Patience dwells about thee, All Spain must suffer, nay, Ages that shall ensue Shall curse thy Name, and Family; From whom a Race of Bastards shall proceed, To wear that Crown.

_Alon_. No, Madam, not for mine, My Sister’s in my power, her Honour’s mine; I can command her Life, though not my King’s. Her Mother is a Saint, and shou’d she now Look down from Heaven upon a Deed so foul, I think even there she wou’d invent a Curse, To thunder on her Head.-- But, Madam, whence was this Intelligence?

_Qu. Elvira_ saw the King enter her Lodgings, With Lover’s haste, and Joy.

_Alon_. Her Lodgings!--when?

_Qu_. Now, not an Hour ago, Now, since the Moor departed.

_Alon_. Damnation on her! can she be thus false? Come, lead me to the Lodgings of this Strumpet, And make me see this truth, [_To_ Elvira. Or I will leave thee dead, for thus abusing me.

_Qu_. Nay, dear _Alonzo_, do not go inrag’d, Stay till your Temper wears a calmer look; That if, by chance, you shou’d behold the Wantons, In little harmless Dalliance, such as Lovers (Aided with Silence, and the shades of Night) May possibly commit, You may not do that which you may repent of.

_Alon_. Gods! should I play the Pander! And with my Patience, aid the amorous Sin-- No, I shall scarce have so much Tameness left, To mind me of my Duty to my King. Ye Gods! behold the Sacrifice I make To my lost Honour: behold, and aid my Justice. [_Ex_. Alon.

_Qu_. It will concern me too to see this Wonder, For yet I scarce can credit it.

[_Exeunt_.