My corpse had been the bulwark of
my king.
His glorious end was a patched work of fate,
Ill-sorted with a soft, effeminate life:

It suited better with my life than his

So to have died: mine had been of a piece,
Spent in your service, dying at your feet.

Seb. The more effeminate and soft his life,
The more his fame, to struggle to the field,
And meet his glorious fate: confess, proud spirit
(For I will have it from thy very mouth),

That better he deserved my love than thou.

Dor. Oh, whither would you drive me! I must grant,

Yes, I must grant, but with a swelling soul,

Henriquez had your love with more desert:

For you he fought and died; I fought against you;
Through all the mazes of the bloody field

Hunted your sacred life; which that I missed,

Was the propitious error of my fate,

Not of my soul; my soul's a regicide.

Seb. Thou might'st have given it a more gentle name; Thou meant'st to kill a tyrant, not a king.

Speak; didst thou not, Alonzo?

Dor. Can I speak?

Alas! I cannot answer to Alonzo:
No, Dorax cannot answer to Alonzo:

Alonzo was too kind a name for me.

Then, when I fought and conquered with your arms,
In that blest age I was the man you named;
Till rage and pride debased me into Dorax,
And lost, like Lucifer, my name above.

Seb. Yet twice this day I owed my life to Dorax.
Dor. I saved you but to kill you: there's my grief.

Seb Nay, if thou canst be grieved, thou canst repent; Thou couldst not be a villain, though thou wouldst; Thou own'st too much, in owning thou hast erred; And I too little, who provoked thy crime.

Dor. Oh, stop this headlong torrent of your goodness; It comes too fast upon a feeble soul

Half drowned in tears before; spare my confusion;
For pity, spare, and say not first you erred.

For yet I have not dared, through guilt and shame,
To throw myself beneath your royal feet.
Now spurn this rebel, this proud renegade:

'Tis just you should, nor will I more complain.
Seb. Indeed thou shouldst not ask forgiveness first;
But thou prevent'st me still, in all that's noble.
Yes, I will raise thee up with better news:
Thy Violante's heart was ever thine;
Compelled to wed, because she was my ward,
Her soul was absent when she gave her hand:
Nor could my threats, or his pursuing courtship,
Effect the consummation of his love:

So, still indulging tears, she pines for thee,

A widow and a maid.

Dor. Have I been cursing Heav'n, while Heaven blessed me?

I shall run mad with ecstasy of joy :

What, in one moment to be reconciled

To Heaven, and to my king, and to my love!
But pity is my friend, and stops me short,
For my unhappy rival. Poor Henriquez!

Seb. Art thou so generous, too, to pity him?
Nay, then, I was unjust to love him better.
Here let me ever hold thee in my arms;

And all our quarrels be but such as thesc,

Who shall love best, and closest shall embrace :

Be what Henriquez was: be my Alonzo.

Dor. What! my Alonzo, said you? My Alonzo ! Let my tears thank you; for I cannot speak;

And if I could,

Words were not made to vent such thoughts as mine.

Seb. Thou canst not speak, and I can ne'er be silen ̈. Some strange reverse of fate must sure attend

This vast profusion, this extravagance

Of Heaven to bless me thus.

"Tis gold so pure,

It cannot bear the stamp, without alloy.
Be kind, ye Powers, and take but half away:
With ease the gifts of fortune I resign;

But let my love, and friend, be ever mine.

THE CONQUEST OF GRENADA.

Love.

LOVE is that madness which all lovers have; But yet 'tis sweet and pleasing so to rave.

'Tis an enchantment, where the reason's bound;
But Paradise is in th' enchanted ground.

A palace void of envy, cares, and strife;
Where gentle hours delude so much of life.
To take those charms away, and set me free,
Is but to send me into misery.

And prudence, of whose cure so much you boast,
Restores those pains which that sweet folly lost...
Unveil, my love, and lay aside your fears.

The storm that caused your fright is past and done.

Love and Friendship.

THAT friendship which from withered love doth shoot, Like the faint herbage on a rock, wants root;

Love is a tender amity, refined:

Grafted on friendship, it exalts the mind;

But when the graff no longer does remain,
The dull stock lives, but never bears again.

BERENICE, SAINT CATHERINE.

Ber. Now death draws near, a strange perplexity Creeps coldly on me, like a fear to die:

Courage uncertain dangers may abate,

But who can bear th' approach of certain fate?

St. Cath. The wisest and the best some fear may show,

And wish to stay, though they resolve to go.

Ber. As some faint pilgrim, standing on the shore,

First views the torrent he would venture o'er,

And then his inn upon the farther ground,
Loath to wade through, and loather to go round:
Then dipping in his staff, does trial make
How deep it is, and, sighing, pulls it back:
Sometimes resolved to fetch his leap; and then
Runs to the bank, but there stops short again:
So I at once

Both heavenly faith and human fear obey;
And feel before me in an unknown way.
For this blest voyage I with joy prepare,
Yet am ashamed to be a stranger there.

A CHANGE SO swift what heart did ever feel!
It rushed upon me like a mighty stream,
And bore me in a moment far from shore.
I've loved away myself; in one short hour
Already am I gone an age of passion.
Was it his youth, his valour, or success?
These might, perhaps, be found in other men,
'Twas that respect, that awful homage paid me;
That fearful love which trembled in his eyes,
And with a silent earthquake shook his soul.
But when he spoke, what tender words he said!
So softly, that, like flakes of feathered snow,
They melted as they fell.

ALL things are hushed, as Nature's self lay dead;
The mountains seem to nod their drowsy head,
The little birds in dreams their songs repeat,
And sleeping flowers beneath the night-dew sweat;
Even lust and envy sleep, yet love denies
Rest to my soul and slumber to my eyes.

Three days I promised to attend my doom,
And two long days and nights are yet to come;

'Tis sure the noise of a tumultuous fight; [Noise within. They break the truce, and sally out by night.