SCENE III.--_A Bed Chamber.

LEONORA, _and_ TERESA.

_Ter._ You are not what you were, since yesterday; Your food forsakes you, and your needful rest; You pine, you languish, love to be alone; Think much, speak little, and, in speaking, sigh: When you see Torrismond, you are unquiet; But, when you see him not, you are in pain.

_Leo._ O let them never love, who never tried! They brought a paper to me to be signed; Thinking on him, I quite forgot my name, And writ, for Leonora, Torrismond. I went to bed, and to myself I thought That I would think on Torrismond no more; Then shut my eyes, but could not shut out him. I turned, and tried each corner of my bed, To find if sleep were there, but sleep was lost. Fev'rish, for want of rest, I rose, and walked, And, by the moon-shine, to the windows went; There, thinking to exclude him from my thoughts, I cast my eyes upon the neighbouring fields, And, ere I was aware, sighed to myself,-- There fought my Torrismond.

_Ter._ What hinders you to take the man you love? The people will be glad, the soldiers shout, And Bertran, though repining, will be awed.

_Leo._ I fear to try new love, As boys to venture on the unknown ice, That crackles underneath them while they slide. Oh, how shall I describe this growing ill! Betwixt my doubt and love, methinks I stand Altering, like one that waits an ague fit; And yet, would this were all!

_Ter._ What fear you more?

_Leo._ I am ashamed to say, 'tis but a fancy. At break of day, when dreams, they say, are true, A drowzy slumber, rather than a sleep, Seized on my senses, with long watching worn: Methought I stood on a wide river's bank, Which I must needs o'erpass, but knew not how; When, on a sudden, Torrismond appeared, Gave me his hand, and led me lightly o'er, Leaping and bounding on the billows' heads, 'Till safely we had reached the farther shore.

_Ter._ This dream portends some ill which you shall 'scape. Would you see fairer visions, take this night Your Torrismond within your arms to sleep; And, to that end, invent some apt pretence To break with Bertran: 'twould be better yet, Could you provoke him to give you the occasion, And then, to throw him off.

_Enter_ BERTRAN _at a distance._

_Leo._ My stars have sent him; For, see, he comes. How gloomily he looks! If he, as I suspect, have found my love, His jealousy will furnish him with fury, And me with means, to part.

_Bert._ [_Aside._] Shall I upbraid her? Shall I call her false? If she be false, 'tis what she most desires. My genius whispers me,--Be cautious, Bertran! Thou walkest as on a narrow mountain's neck, A dreadful height, with scanty room to tread.

_Leo._ What business have you at the court, my lord?

_Bert._ What business, madam?

_Leo._ Yes, my lord, what business? 'Tis somewhat, sure, of weighty consequence, That brings you here so often, and unsent for.

_Bert._ 'Tis what I feared; her words are cold enough, To freeze a man to death. [_Aside._]--May I presume To speak, and to complain?

_Leo._ They, who complain to princes, think them tame: What bull dares bellow, or what sheep dares bleat, Within the lion's den?

_Bert._ Yet men are suffered to put heaven in mind Of promised blessings; for they then are debts.

_Leo._ My lord, heaven knows its own time when to give; But you, it seems, charge me with breach of faith!

_Bert._ I hope I need not, madam; But as, when men in sickness lingering lie, They count the tedious hours by months and years,-- So, every day deferred, to dying lovers, Is a whole age of pain!

_Leo._ What if I ne'er consent to make you mine? My father's promise ties me not to time; And bonds, without a date, they say, are void.

_Bert._ Far be it from me to believe you bound; Love is the freest motion of our minds: O could you see into my secret soul, There might you read your own dominion doubled, Both as a queen and mistress. If you leave me, Know I can die, but dare not be displeased.

_Leo._ Sure you affect stupidity, my lord; Or give me cause to think, that, when you lost Three battles to the Moors, you coldly stood As unconcerned as now.

_Bert._ I did my best; Fate was not in my power.

_Leo._ And, with the like tame gravity, you saw A raw young warrior take your baffled work, And end it at a blow.

_Bert._ I humbly take my leave; but they, who blast Your good opinion of me, may have cause To know, I am no coward. [_He is going._

_Leo._ Bertran, stay. [_Aside._] This may produce some dismal consequence To him, whom dearer than my life I love. [_To him._] Have I not managed my contrivance well, To try your love, and make you doubt of mine?

_Bert._ Then, was it but a trial? Methinks I start as from some dreadful dream, And often ask myself if yet I wake.-- This turn's too quick to be without design; I'll sound the bottom of't, ere I believe. [_Aside._

_Leo._ I find your love, and would reward it too, But anxious fears solicit my weak breast. I fear my people's faith; That hot-mouthed beast, that bears against the curb, Hard to be broken even by lawful kings, But harder by usurpers. Judge then, my lord, with all these cares opprest, If I can think of love.

_Bert._ Believe me, madam, These jealousies, however large they spread, Have but one root, the old imprisoned king; Whose lenity first pleased the gaping crowd; But when long tried, and found supinely good, Like Æsop's Log, they leapt upon his back. Your father knew them well; and, when he mounted, He reined them strongly, and he spurred them hard: And, but he durst not do it all at once, He had not left alive this patient saint, This anvil of affronts, but sent him hence To hold a peaceful branch of palm above, And hymn it in the quire.

_Leo._ You've hit upon the very string, which, touched. Echoes the sound, and jars within my soul;-- There lies my grief.

_Bert._ So long as there's a head, Thither will all the mounting spirits fly; Lop that but off, and then--

_Leo._ My virtue shrinks from such an horrid act.

_Bert._ This 'tis to have a virtue out of season. Mercy is good, a very good dull virtue; But kings mistake its timing, and are mild, When manly courage bids them be severe: Better be cruel once, than anxious ever. Remove this threatening danger from your crown, And then securely take the man you love.

_Leo._ [_Walking aside._] Ha! let me think of that:--The man I love? 'Tis true, this murder is the only means, That can secure my throne to Torrismond: Nay, more, this execution, done by Bertran, Makes him the object of the people's hate.

_Bert._ The more she thinks, 'twill work the stronger in her. [_Aside._

_Leo._ How eloquent is mischief to persuade! Few are so wicked, as to take delight In crimes unprofitable, nor do I: If then I break divine and human laws, No bribe but love could gain so bad a cause. [_Aside._

_Bert._ You answer nothing.

_Leo._ 'Tis of deep concernment, And I a woman, ignorant and weak: I leave it all to you; think, what you do, You do for him I love.

_Bert._ For him she loves? She named not me; that may be Torrismond, Whom she has thrice in private seen this day; Then I am fairly caught in my own snare. I'll think again. [_Aside._]--Madam, it shall be done; And mine be all the blame. [_Exit._

_Leo._ O, that it were! I would not do this crime, And yet, like heaven, permit it to be done. The priesthood grossly cheat us with free-will: Will to do what--but what heaven first decreed? Our actions then are neither good nor ill, Since from eternal causes they proceed; Our passions,--fear and anger, love and hate,-- Mere senseless engines that are moved by fate; Like ships on stormy seas, without a guide, Tost by the winds, and driven by the tide.

_Enter_ TORRISMOND.

_Tor._ Am I not rudely bold, and press too often Into your presence, madam? If I am--

_Leo._ No more, lest I should chide you for your stay: Where have you been? and how could you suppose, That I could live these two long hours without you?

_Tor._ O words, to charm an angel from his orb! Welcome, as kindly showers to long-parched earth! But I have been in such a dismal place, Where joy ne'er enters, which the sun ne'er cheers, Bound in with darkness, overspread with damps; Where I have seen (if I could say I saw) The good old king, majestic in his bonds, And, 'midst his griefs, most venerably great: By a dim winking lamp, which feebly broke The gloomy vapours, he lay stretched along Upon the unwholesome earth, his eyes fixed upward; And ever and anon a silent tear Stole down, and trickled from his hoary beard.

_Leo._ O heaven, what have I done!--my gentle love, Here end thy sad discourse, and, for my sake, Cast off these fearful melancholy thoughts.

_Tor._ My heart is withered at that piteous sight, As early blossoms are with eastern blasts: He sent for me, and, while I raised his head, He threw his aged arms about my neck; And, seeing that I wept, he pressed me close: So, leaning cheek to cheek, and eyes to eyes, We mingled tears in a dumb scene of sorrow.

_Leo._ Forbear; you know not how you wound my soul.

_Tor._ Can you have grief, and not have pity too? He told me,--when my father did return, He had a wond'rous secret to disclose: He kissed me, blessed me, nay--he called me son; He praised my courage; prayed for my success: He was so true a father of his country, To thank me, for defending even his foes, Because they were his subjects.

_Leo._ If they be,--then what am I?

_Tor._ The sovereign of my soul, my earthly heaven.

_Leo._ And not your queen?

_Tor._ You are so beautiful, So wond'rous fair, you justify rebellion; As if that faultless face could make no sin, But heaven, with looking on it, must forgive.

_Leo._ The king must die,--he must, my Torrismond, Though pity softly plead within my soul; Yet he must die, that I may make you great, And give a crown in dowry with my love.

_Tor._ Perish that crown--on any head but yours! O, recollect your thoughts! Shake not his hour-glass, when his hasty sand Is ebbing to the last: A little longer, yet a little longer, And nature drops him down, without your sin; Like mellow fruit, without a winter storm.

_Leo._ Let me but do this one injustice more. His doom is past, and, for your sake, he dies.

_Tor._ Would you, for me, have done so ill an act, And will not do a good one! Now, by your joys on earth, your hopes in heaven, O spare this great, this good, this aged king; And spare your soul the crime!

_Leo._ The crime's not mine; 'Twas first proposed, and must be done, by Bertran, Fed with false hopes to gain my crown and me; I, to enhance his ruin, gave no leave, But barely bade him think, and then resolve.

_Tor._ In not forbidding, you command the crime: Think, timely think, on the last dreadful day; How will you tremble, there to stand exposed, And foremost, in the rank of guilty ghosts, That must be doomed for murder! think on murder: That troop is placed apart from common crimes; The damned themselves start wide, and shun that band, As far more black, and more forlorn than they.

_Leo._ 'Tis terrible! it shakes, it staggers me; I knew this truth, but I repelled that thought. Sure there is none, but fears a future state; And, when the most obdurate swear they do not, Their trembling hearts belie their boasting tongues.

_Enter_ TERESA.

Send speedily to Bertran; charge him strictly Not to proceed, but wait my farther pleasure.

_Ter._ Madam, he sends to tell you, 'tis performed. [_Exit._

_Tor._ Ten thousand plagues consume him! furies drag him, Fiends tear him! blasted be the arm that struck, The tongue that ordered!--only she be spared, That hindered not the deed! O, where was then The power, that guards the sacred lives of kings? Why slept the lightning and the thunder-bolts, Or bent their idle rage on fields and trees, When vengeance called them here?

_Leo._ Sleep that thought too; 'Tis done, and, since 'tis done, 'tis past recal; And, since 'tis past recal, must be forgotten.

_Tor._ O, never, never, shall it be forgotten! High heaven will not forget it; after-ages Shall with a fearful curse remember ours; And blood shall never leave the nation more!

_Leo._ His body shall be royally interred, And the last funeral-pomps adorn his hearse; I will myself (as I have cause too just,) Be the chief mourner at his obsequies; And yearly fix on the revolving day The solemn marks of mourning, to atone, And expiate my offence.

_Tor._ Nothing can, But bloody vengeance on that traitor's head,-- Which, dear departed spirit, here I vow.

_Leo._ Here end our sorrows, and begin our joys: Love calls, my Torrismond; though hate has raged, And ruled the day, yet love will rule the night. The spiteful stars have shed their venom down, And now the peaceful planets take their turn. This deed of Bertran's has removed all fears, And given me just occasion to refuse him. What hinders now, but that the holy priest In secret join our mutual vows? and then This night, this happy night, is yours and mine.

_Tor._ Be still my sorrows, and be loud my joys. Fly to the utmost circles of the sea, Thou furious tempest, that hast tossed my mind, And leave no thought, but Leonora there.-- What's this I feel, a boding in my soul, As if this day were fatal? be it so; Fate shall but have the leavings of my love: My joys are gloomy, but withal are great. The lion, though he sees the toils are set, Yet, pinched with raging hunger, scowers away, Hunts in the face of danger all the day; At night, with sullen pleasure, grumbles o'er his prey. [_Exeunt._