Speak it again!-let me be sure of it, Alv. She is yours! Hem. Which of you shall I kneel to? let me press Your rev'rend knees within my straining armsI shall grow wild with rapture; men will say The madd'ning planet smote me with its power. Florinda, thou art mine! my wife! my joy![Crosses to c. Thou exquisite perfection!-thou fair creature! Who now shall part us? As he embraces her, PESCARA enters, L. Pes. I!-speak, Count Alvarez. What is it I behold ?-don't look upon me I am Pescara-you have not to learn What Count Pescara is ?-who ever wronged me Of some wild dotard vow, some graybeard's folly ;- And dashed him to the earth for the vile falsehood. Pes. What do I hear? Hem. What you shall hear again. [Crosses to Pescara. Pes. Moor, not from thee; I would not let thee speak a Spaniard's shame. [Crosses to Florinda.] You, madam, will inform me; you, whose eyes Are bent upon the ground-whose yielding form Doth seem like sculptured modesty; nay, tell me, For I have tidings for your ear. Flor. My lord, I do confess, my father's will Unites me to the Moor. Pes. And you obey him; For here obedience is an easy virtue. Flor. Yes; where my heart swells with the glowing sense Of tender, thrilling gratitude!-my being Owns in its deep recess the consciousness Alv. By heaven, I see thy mother in thy face! Hem. I am rewarded. Alv. Brave, generous man! Hem. Nay, good my lord, you overpay My poor desert, and grow my creditor :But you forget me— -I am most unworthyI am the Moor. Alv. No:-I remember well; Thou art hateful to the Christian.-Yesterday Flor. Oh, my dear father, Florinda can be wretched, if you please, But not ungrateful, too! Alv. Give me thy hand:-you love the Moor? Alv. Come, you confess it; Your looks reveal your heart: and Count Pescara When first I bade you wed him. Flor. Let my grave, Oh! let a couch of lead, let the cold shroud, Pescara is Grenada's governor, And bears the sway of Philip ;-long he loved And wooed Florinda with her father's sanction. Thou art a Moor-thy nation is a slave: And, though from Moorish kings thou art descended, I give Florinda's hand. Flor. What do I hear? Hem. Am I in heaven ?-Oh, speak, speak, Count Al Speak it again!-let me be sure of it, Alv. She is yours! Hem. Which of you shall I kneel to? let me press [Crosses to c. Thou exquisite perfection!-thou fair creature! Who now shall part us? As he embraces her, PESCARA enters, L. Pes. I!-speak, Count Alvarez. What is it I behold ?-don't look upon me I am Pescara- -you have not to learn What Count Pescara is ?-who ever wronged me Of some wild dotard vow, some graybeard's folly ;- And dashed him to the earth for the vile falsehood. Pes. What do I hear? Hem. What you shall hear again. [Crosses to Pescara. Pes. Moor, not from thee;— I would not let thee speak a Spaniard's shame. [Crosses to Florinda.] You, madam, will inform me; you, whose eyes Are bent upon the ground-whose yielding form Doth seem like sculptured modesty; nay, tell me, For I have tidings for your ear. Flor. My lord, I do confess, my father's will Unites me to the Moor. Pes. And you obey him; For here obedience is an easy virtue. Flor. Yes; where my heart swells with the glowing sense Of tender, thrilling gratitude!-my being Owns in its deep recess the consciousness Can I behold his face, and not exclaim, E'en now I place my hand upon my heart, He gave that life Hemeya did preserve; Pes. I thank you, madam ; And, since it seems that gratitude's the fashion, Be wedded to a Moor; nay, do not start- Hem. My lord! Pes. No!-never! Alv. Count Pescara! what is it that Pes. I mean, my lord, you mean That others have more care of your nobility Than you From empire's height, and crushed-a damned Morisco, Proscribed and branded.-What, you choose a Moor To swell the stream of your nobility With his polluted blood?-in sooth, 'tis pleasant! Hem. You have forgot me; you forget yourself.— Through centuries of glory, on the heads Of my great ancestors, the diadem Shone through the world, and from each royal brow Came down with gath'ring splendour;-and if here It shines no more- 'tis fate! but what art thou? [Crosses to Pescara. The frown of fortune could not make me base; Pes. My birth!-confusion And must I ever feel the reptile crawl, And with a blow strike life from out his heart? [Draws a roll of parchment from his bosom. [Gives the parchment to Hemeya, and exit, L. Alv. As Philip's will!-rumour went late abroad, Spain's gloomy sovereign had decreed to crush Your race to deeper servitude.-Florinda, Be not so terrified. Flor. Can I behold The quick convulsive passions o'er his face, A terror in my heart? [Crosses to Hemeya.] Tell me, What heavy blow relentless fortune strikes What other misery is still in store To fall upon our heads. Hem. A Christian !-no! Flor. Wilt thou not speak to me? wilt thou not chase The dreadful fears that throng about my soul? Wilt thou not speak to me? Hem. Accursed tyrant! Florinda, wilt thou leave me ?-can my fate Can kings and priests-e'er pluck thee from my soul? |