Speak it again!-let me be sure of it,
For I misdoubt my senses.

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
As if you never had beheld my face.

I am Pescara-you have not to learn

What Count Pescara is ?-who ever wronged me
That did not perish? I had come to greet you,
And, as I passed, the rascal rabble talked

Of some wild dotard vow, some graybeard's folly ;-
I seized a wretch that dared to slander you,

And dashed him to the earth for the vile falsehood.
Alv. If gratitude be crime-

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
That it is all his own: nay, think, my lord,

Alv. By heaven, I see thy mother in thy face!
Thou god-like man, what shall I say to thee?
Oh! let my tears fall on this noble hand,
And speak a burning soul!

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
I did command Florinda, on the pain
Of heaviest imprecation, ne'er to gaze
Upon thy face again.

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?
Flor. My lord!

Alv. Come, you confess it;

Your looks reveal your heart: and Count Pescara
Interpreted the silent tear aright,

When first I bade you wed him.

Flor. Let my grave,

Oh! let a couch of lead, let the cold shroud,
And the earth's grass, be all my place of rest,
Ere Count Pescara, at heaven's awful shrine,
Claims from these lips the perjured oath to love
The man from whom my sinking heart recoils.
Hem. Howe'er you deal with me, let not
Florinda be wedded to that villain!-
Alv. Hear me, Moor!

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,
The Christian spurns thee; yet it is to thee

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,
For I misdoubt my senses.

Alv. She is yours!

Hem. Which of you shall I kneel to? let me press
Your rev'rend knees within my straining arms-
I 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
As if you never had beheld my face.

I am Pescara- -you have not to learn

What Count Pescara is ?-who ever wronged me
That did not perish? I had come to greet you,
And, as I passed, the rascal rabble talked

Of some wild dotard vow, some graybeard's folly ;-
I seized a wretch that dared to slander you,

And dashed him to the earth for the vile falsehood.
Alv. If gratitude be crime-

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
That it is all his own: nay, think, my lord,

Can I behold his face, and not exclaim,
"This is the man who saved me!" can I feel
The pleasures of existence-can I breathe
The morning air, or see the dying day
Sink in the western sky-can I inhale
The rose's perfume, or behold the lights
That shine forever in yon infinite heaven
Or can I taste one joy that nature gives
To this, our earthly tarrying-place-nor think
That 'tis to him I owe each little flower
I tread on in life's bleakness?

E'en now I place my hand upon my heart,
And, as it throbs, there is a voice within
That tells this throbbing heart it would be still,
Were not Hemeya brave.-This is my father-
[Crosses to Alvarez.

He gave that life Hemeya did preserve;
And when he gives my hand in recompense,
I cannot but obey.

Pes. I thank you, madam ;

And, since it seems that gratitude's the fashion,
Your pains shall be requited.-Know, fair maid,
The daughter of Alvarez never shall

Be wedded to a Moor; nay, do not start-
Never!

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
have ta'en yourself.-Ha! ha! a Moor!
One of that race that we have trodden down

From empire's height, and crushed-a damned Morisco,
Accursed of the church, and by the laws

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;
The smile of fortune could not make thee noble.-
Who knows not that Pescara once, within
The Inquisition's dungeons, toiled at torture ?-
There Philip found you, and his kindred soul
Owned the soft sympathy.

Pes. My birth!-confusion

And must I ever feel the reptile crawl,
And see it pointed at ?—what if I rush,

And with a blow strike life from out his heart?
No-no! my dagger is my last resource.

[Draws a roll of parchment from his bosom.
Here, Moor, within thy grasp I plant a serpent,
And, as it stings, think 'tis Pescara's answer-
This very night it reached me from Madrid,
And thou art first to hear it. Look you here:
If Caucasus were heaped between you both,
With all his snows-his snows have not the pow'r
To freeze your amorous passion half so soon
As Philip's will.-Farewell-but not forever!

[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,
And read his soul's deep agony, nor feel

A terror in my heart? [Crosses to Hemeya.] Tell me,
Hemeya,

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?