The Poetical Works of Milton, Young, Gray, Beattie, and Collins

I have o'erwhelmed it as much as possible:
Away, then, let us talk of other things.
I tell thee, Moor, I love her to distraction.
If 'tis my shame, why, be it so—I love her;
Nor can I help it; 'tis imposed upon me
By some superior and resistless power.
I could not hurt her to be lord of earth;

It shocks my nature like a stroke from heaven.
Angels defend her, as if innocent.

But see my Leonora comes-begone. [exit Zanga.

Enter LEONORA.

Oh, seen for ever, yet for ever new!

The conquered thou dost conquer o'er again,
Inflicting wound on wound.

Leon. Alas, my lord!

What need of this to me?
Alon. Ha! dost thou weep?
Leon. Have I no cause?

Alon. If love is thy concern,

Thou hast no cause: none ever loved like me.
But wherefore this? is it to break my heart,
Which loses so much blood for every tear?
Leon. Is it so tender?

Alon. Is it not? oh, heaven!

Doubt of my love! why, I am nothing else;
It quite absorbs my every other passion.
Oh, that this one embrace would last for ever!
Leon. Could this man ever mean to wrong my
virtue ?

Could this man e'er design upon my life?
Impossible! I throw away the thought. [aside.
These tears declare how much I taste the joy
Of being folded in your arms and heart;
My universe does lie within that space.
This dagger bore false witness.

Alon. Ha, my dagger!

It rouses horrid images. Away,
Away with it, and let us talk of love,

Plunge ourselves deep into the sweet illusion,
And hide us there from every other thought.
Leon. It touches you.

Alon. Let's talk of love

Leon. Of death!

Alon. As thou lov'st happiness

Leon. Of murder!

Alon. Rash,

Rash woman! yet forbear.

Leon. Approve my wrongs!

Alon. Then must I fly, for thy sake and my own.
Leon. Nay, by my injuries, you first must hear

me;

Stab me, then think it much to hear my groan!

Alon. Heaven strike me deaf!

Leon. It well may sting you home.

Of my whole life encouraged 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. [holding him.]

Alon. Oh, sex, sex, sex! [turning on her]
The language of you all. Ill-fated woman!
Why hast thou forced me back into the gulf
Of agonies I had blocked up from thought?
I know the cause; thou saw'st me impotent

Ere while to hurt thee, therefore thou turnest on

me:

But, by the pangs I suffer, to thy wo;

For, since thou hast replunged me in my torture,
I will be satisfied.

Leon. Be satisfied!

Alon. Yes, thy own mouth shall witness it against thee.

I will be satisfied.
Leon. Of what?
Alon. Of what!

How darest thou ask that question? woman, woman,
Weak and assured at once! thus 'tis for ever.
Who told thee that thy virtue was suspected'
Who told thee I designed 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!

Leon. This to my face! oh, heaven!

Alon. This to thy very soul.

Leon. Thou'rt not in earnest ?

Alon. Serious as death.

Leon. Then heaven 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]

Alon. Madam, stay.

Your passion's wise; 'tis a disguise for guilt:

'Tis my turn now to fix you here a while;

You and your thousand arts shall not escape me.
Leon. Arts!

Alon. Arts. Confess; for death is in my hand.
Leon. 'Tis in your words.

Alon. Confess, confess, confess!

Nor tear my veins with passion to compel thee.
Leon. I scorn to answer thee, presumptuous man'
Alon. Deny, then, and incur a fouler shame.
Where did I find this picture?
Lcon. Ha, Don Carlos!

Alon. Alas, thou quite mistakest my cause of By my best hopes, more welcome than thy own.

pain!

Yet, yet dismiss me; I am all in flames.

Leon. Who has most cause, you or myself? what act

Alon. 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, abandoned woman! Leon. Repent,

Alon. Is that for me?

Leon. Fall, ask my pardon.

Alon. Astonishment!

Leon. Dar'st thou persist to think I am dishonest? Alon. I know thee so.

Leon. This, blow, then, to thy heart— [she stabs herself—he endeavours to prevent her. Alon. Hoa, Zanga! Isabella! hoa! she bleeds! Descend, ye blessed angels, to assist her! Leon. This is the only way I would wound thee, Though most unjust. Now think me guilty still.

Enter ISABELLA.

Alon. Bear her to instant help. The world to save her.

Leon. 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 censured?-Leonora!
When thou had'st censured, thou would'st save her
life;

Oh, inconsistent! should I live in shame,
Or stoop to any other means but this

To 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 scorned 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.

Alon. Ha!-was this woman guilty?—and, if

not

Zan. Welters in blood, and gasps for her last breath.

What then? we all must die.

Isa. Alonzo raves,

And in the tempest of his grief, has thrice
Attempted on his life. At length disarmed,
He calls his friends that save him his worst foes,
And importunes the skies for swift perdition.
Thus in his storm of sorrow, after pause,
He started up, and called aloud for Zanga,
For Zanga raved; and see, he seeks you here,
To learn the truth which most he dreads to know.
Zan. Begone. Now, now, my soul, consum-
mate all.
[exit Isa.

Alon. Am I awake! Zan. For ever.

Thy wife is guiltless-that's one transport to me;

How my thoughts darken that way! grant, kind And I, let thee know it-that's another.

heaven,

I urged Don Carlos to resign his mistress,

I forged the letter, I disposed the picture;

I hated, I despised, and I destroy!
Alon. Oh! [swoons]

Zan. Why, this is well-why, this is blow for blow!

Where are you? crown me, shadow me with

laurels,

Ye spirits which delight in just revenge! Let Europe and her pallid sons go weep;

Zan. How stands the great account 'twixt me Let Afric and her hundred thrones rejoice; and vengeance?

Oh, my dear countrymen, look down and see

Though much is paid, yet still it owes me much, How I bestride your prostrate conqueror!

And I will not abate a single groan

Ha! that were well-but that were fatal tooWhy, be it so.-Revenge so truly great,

I tread on haughty Spain and all her kings. But this is mercy, this is my indulgence; 'Tis peace, 'tis refuge from my indignation.

Would come too cheap, if bought with less than I must awake him into horrors. Hoa!

life.

Alonzo, hoa! the Moor is at the gate!

Come, death, come, hell, then; 'tis resolved, 'tis Awake, invincible, omnipotent!

done.

Enter ISABELLA.

Isa. Ah, Zanga, see me tremble! has not yet Thy cruel heart its fill? poor Leonora—

Look on me. Who am I? I know, thou say'st
The Moor, a slave, an abject, beaten slave:
Eternal woes to him that made me so!
But look again. Has six years cruel bondage
Extinguished majesty so far, that nought

Shines here, to give an awe to one above thee?
When the great Moorish king, Abdallah, fell,
Fell by thy hand accurst, I fought fast by him,
His son, though through his fondness, in disguise,
Less to expose me to the ambitious foe,—
Ha! does it wake thee?-o'er my father's corse
I stood astride, till I had clove thy crest;
And then was made the captive of a squadron,
And sunk into thy servant-but, oh! what,
What were my wages! hear nor heaven nor earth!
My wages were a blow! by heaven a blow!
And from a mortal hand!

Alon. Oh, villain! villain!
Zan. All strife is vain. [showing a dagger.]
Alon. Is thus my love returned?

Is this my recompense? make friends of tigers!
Lay not your young, oh, mothers, on the breast,
For fear they turn to serpents as they lie,
And pay you for their nourishment with death!
Carlos is dead and Leonora dying!

Both innocent, both murdered, both by me.

As he is going to stab himself, Alonzo rushes upon him to prevent him. In the mean time, enter DON ALVAREZ, attended. They disarm and seize Zanga. Alonzo puts the dagger in his bosom.

Alon. No, monster, thou shalt not escape by death. Oh, father!

Alv. Oh, Alonzo!-Isabella,

Touched with remorse to see her mistress' pangs,
Told all the dreadful tale.

Alon. What groan was that?

Zan. As I have been a vulture to thy heart,
So will I be a raven to thine ear,

As true as ever snuffed the scent of blood,
As ever flapt its heavenly wing against
The window of the sick, and croaked despair.
Thy wife is dead.

[Alvarez goes to the side of the stage, and returns.
Alv. The dreadful news is true.

Alon. Prepare the rack; invent new torments for him!

Zan. This, too, is well. The fixed and noble
mind

Turns all occurrence to its own advantage;
And I'll make vengeance of calamity.

Were I not thus reduced, thou would'st not know,
That, thus reduced, I dare defy thee still.

That heavenly maid, who should have lived for Torture thou may'st, but thou shalt ne'er despise me.

ever,

At least, have gently slept her soul away!
Whose life should have shut up as evening flowers
At the departing sun-was murdered! murdered!
Oh, shame! oh, guilt! oh, horror! oh, remorse!
Oh, punishment! had Satan never fell,
Hell had been made for me. Oh, Leonora!

The blood will follow where the knife is driven,
The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear,
And sighs and cries by nature grow on pain.
But these are foreign to the soul: not mine
The groans that issue, or the tears that fall;
They disobey me: on the rack I scorn thee,
As when my falchion clove thy helm in battle.
Alv. Peace, villain!

Zan. While I live, old man, I'll speak;
And well I know thou dar'st not kill me yet,
For that would rob thy blood-hounds of their prey.
Alon. Who called Alonzo?

Alv. No one called, my son.

Alon. Again?-'tis Carlos' voice, and I obey.Oh, how I laugh at all that this can do?

[showing the dagger. The wounds that pained, the wounds that murdered me,

Zan. Must I despise thee too, as well as hate thee? Complain of grief, complain thou art a man.Priam from fortune's lofty summit fell; Great Alexander 'midst his conquests mourned; Heroes and demi-gods have known their sorrows: Cæsars have wept; and I have had my blow; But 'tis revenged, and now my work is done. Yet ere I fall, be it one part of vengeance To make thee to confess that I am just.Thou seest a prince, whose father thou hast slain, Whose native country thou hast laid in blood, Whose sacred person-oh!-thou hast profaned, Whose reign extinguished-what was left to me, So highly born? no kingdom, but revenge; No treasure, but thy tortures and thy groans. If men should ask who brought thee to thy end, Tell them the Moor, and they will not despise thee. If cold white mortals censure this great deed, The wheel's prepared, and you shall have it all. Warn them, they judge not of superior beings, Let me but look one moment on the dead, Souls made of fire and children of the sun, And pay yourselves with gazing on my pangs. With whom revenge is virtue. Fare thee well[he goes to Alonzo's body. Now, fully satisfied, I should take leave; Is this Alonzo? where's the haughty mien ? But one thing grieves me, since thy death is near, Is that the hand which smote me? heavens, how

I leave thee my example how to die.

Were given before; I am already dead;
This only marks my body for the grave.

[stabs himself. Afric, thou art revenged.-Oh, Leonora. [dies. Zan. Good ruffians give me leave; my blood is

yours,

pale!

And art thou dead?-so is my enmity-
I war not with the dust. The great, the proud,
The conqueror of Afric was my foe.
A lion preys not upon carcasses.
This was thy only method to subdue me.
Terror and doubt fall on me; all thy good
Now blazes-all thy guilt is a the grave.
Never had man such funeral applause;
If I lament thee, sure thy worth was great.-
Oh, vengeance, I have followed thee too far,
And to receive me, hell blows all her fires.
[he is borne of

Alv. Dreadful effects of jealousy! a rage
In which the wise with caution will engage;
Reluctant long, and tardy to believe,
Where, swayed by nature, we ourselves deceive.
Where our own folly joins the villain's art,
And each man finds a Zanga in his heart.

EPILOGUE.

OUR author sent me, in an humble strain, To beg you'll bless the offspring of his brain! And I, your proxy, promised in your name, The child should live, at least six days of fame. I like the brat, but still his faults can find;

And by the parent's leave will speak my mind.
Gallants, pray tell me, do you think 'twas well,
To let a willing maid lead apes in hell?
You nicer ladies, should you think it right,
To eat no supper on your wedding night?
Should English husbands dare to starve their wives,
Be sure they'd lead most comfortable lives!
But he loves mischief, and with groundless fears,
Would fain set loving couples by the cars;
Would spoil the tender husbands of our nation,
By teaching them this vile outlandish fashion.
But we've been taught, in our good-natured clime,
That jealousy, though just, is still a crime;
And will be still; for, not to blame the plot,
That same Alonzo was a stupid sot,
To kill a bride, a mistress unenjoyed-
'Twere some excuse, had the poor man been cloyed;
To kill her on suspicion, ere he knew

| Whether the hideous charge were false or true-
The priest said grace, she met him in the bower,
In hopes she might anticipate an hour
Love was her errand, but the hot-brained Spaniard,
Instead of love-produced-a filthy poignard-
Had he been wise, at this their private meeting,
The proof o' the pudding had been in the eating;
Madam had then been pleased, and Don contented,
And all this blood and murder been prevented.

THE END OF YOUNG'S WORKS.

THE

LETTERS AND POEMS

THOMAS GRAY.

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