No More Learning

_Alm. _ Better may be made,
These cannot: I abhor the tyrant's race,--
My parents' murderers, my throne's usurpers.
But, at one blow, to cut off all dispute,
Know this, thou busy, old, officious man,--
I am a Christian; now be wise no more;
Or, if thou wouldst be still thought wise, be silent.

_Alv. _ O, I perceive you think your interest touched:
'Tis what before the battle I observed;
But I must speak, and will.

_Seb. _ I pr'ythee, peace;
Perhaps she thinks they are too near of blood.

_Alv. _ I wish she may not wed to blood more near.

_Seb. _ What if I make her mine?

_Alv. _ Now heaven forbid!

_Seb. _ Wish rather heaven may grant;
For, if I could deserve, I have deserved her:
My toils, my hazards, and my subjects' lives,
Provided she consent, may claim her love;
And, that once granted, I appeal to these,
If better I could chuse a beauteous bride.

_Ant. _ The fairest of her sex.

_Mor. _ The pride of nature.

_Dor. _ He only merits her, she only him;
So paired, so suited in their minds and persons,
That they were framed the tallies for each other.
If any alien love had interposed,
It must have been an eye-sore to beholders,
And to themselves a curse.

_Alv. _ And to themselves
The greatest curse that can be, were to join.

_Seb. _ Did not I love thee past a change to hate,
That word had been thy ruin; but no more,
I charge thee, on thy life, perverse old man!

_Alv. _ Know, sir, I would be silent if I durst:
But if, on shipboard, I should see my friend
Grown frantic in a raging calenture,
And he, imagining vain flowery fields,
Would headlong plunge himself into the deep,--
Should I not hold him from that mad attempt,
Till his sick fancy were by reason cured?

_Seb. _ I pardon thee the effects of doting age,
Vain doubts, and idle cares, and over-caution;
The second nonage of a soul more wise,
But now decayed, and sunk into the socket;
Peeping by fits, and giving feeble light.

_Alv. _ Have you forgot?

_Seb. _ Thou mean'st my father's will,
In bar of marriage to Almeyda's bed.
Thou seest my faculties are still entire,
Though thine are much impaired. I weighed that will,
And found 'twas grounded on our different faiths;
But, had he lived to see her happy change,
He would have cancelled that harsh interdict,
And joined our hands himself.

_Alv. _ Still had he lived and seen this change,
He still had been the same.

_Seb. _ I have a dark remembrance of my father:
His reasonings and his actions both were just;
And, granting that, he must have changed his measures.

_Alv. _ Yes, he was just, and therefore could not change.

_Seb. _ 'Tis a base wrong thou offer'st to the dead.

_Alv. _ Now heaven forbid,
That I should blast his pious memory!
No, I am tender of his holy fame;
For, dying, he bequeathed it to my charge.
Believe, I am; and seek to know no more,
But pay a blind obedience to his will;
For, to preserve his fame, I would be silent.

_Seb. _ Crazed fool, who would'st be thought an oracle,
Come down from off the tripos, and speak plain.
My father shall be justified, he shall:
'Tis a son's part to rise in his defence,
And to confound thy malice, or thy dotage.

_Alv. _ It does not grieve me, that you hold me crazed;
But, to be cleared at my dead master's cost,
O there's the wound! but let me first adjure you,
By all you owe that dear departed soul,
No more to think of marriage with Almeyda.

_Seb. _ Not heaven and earth combined can hinder it.

_Alv. _ Then witness heaven and earth, how loth I am
To say, you must not, nay, you cannot, wed:
And since not only a dead father's fame,
But more, a lady's honour, must be touched,
Which, nice as ermines, will not bear a soil,
Let all retire, that you alone may hear
What even in whispers I would tell your ear. [_All are going out. _

_Alm. _ Not one of you depart; I charge you, stay!
And were my voice a trumpet loud as fame,
To reach the round of heaven, and earth, and sea,
All nations should be summoned to this place,
So little do I fear that fellow's charge:
So should my honour, like a rising swan,
Brush with her wings the falling drops away,
And proudly plough the waves.

_Seb. _ This noble pride becomes thy innocence;
And I dare trust my father's memory,
To stand the charge of that foul forging tongue.

_Alv. _ It will be soon discovered if I forge.
Have you not heard your father in his youth,
When newly married, travelled into Spain,
And made a long abode in Philip's court?

_Seb. _ Why so remote a question, which thyself
Can answer to thyself? for thou wert with him,
His favourite, as I oft have heard thee boast,
And nearest to his soul.

_Alv. _ Too near, indeed; forgive me, gracious heaven,
That ever I should boast I was so near,
The confident of all his young amours! --
And have not you, unhappy beauty, heard, [_To ALM. _
Have you not often heard, your exiled parents
Were refuged in that court, and at that time?

_Alm. _ 'Tis true; and often since my mother owned,
How kind that prince was to espouse her cause;
She counselled, nay enjoined me on her blessing,
To seek the sanctuary of your court;
Which gave me first encouragement to come,
And, with my brother, beg Sebastian's aid.

_Seb. _ Thou helpst me well to justify my war:
[_To ALM. _] My dying father swore me, then a boy,
And made me kiss the cross upon his sword,
Never to sheath it, till that exiled queen
Were by my arms restored.

_Alm. _ And can you find
No mystery couched in this excess of kindness?
Were kings e'er known, in this degenerate age,
So passionately fond of noble acts,
Where interest shared not more than half with honour?

_Seb. _ Base grovelling soul, who know'st not honour's worth,
But weigh'st it out in mercenary scales!
The secret pleasure of a generous act
Is the great mind's great bribe.

_Alv. _ Show me that king, and I'll believe the Phoenix.
But knock at your own breast, and ask your soul,
If those fair fatal eyes edged not your sword
More than your father's charge, and all your vows?
If so,--and so your silence grants it is,--
Know king, your father had, like you, a soul,
And love is your inheritance from him.
Almeyda's mother, too, had eyes, like her,
And not less charming; and were charmed no less
Than yours are now with her, and hers with you.

_Alm. _ Thou liest, impostor! perjured fiend, thou liest!

_Seb. _ Was't not enough to brand my father's fame,
But thou must load a lady's memory?
O infamous! O base, beyond repair!
And to what end this ill-concerted lie,
Which palpable and gross, yet granted true,
It bars not my inviolable vows?

_Alv. _ Take heed, and double not your father's crimes;
To his adultery do not add your incest.
Know, she's the product of unlawful love,
And 'tis your carnal sister you would wed.

_Seb. _ Thou shalt not say thou wer't condemned unheard;
Else, by my soul, this moment were thy last.

_Alm. _ But think not oaths shall justify thy charge,
Nor imprecations on thy cursed head;
For who dares lie to heaven, thinks heaven a jest.
Thou hast confessed thyself the conscious pandar
Of that pretended passion;
A single witness infamously known,
Against two persons of unquestioned fame.

_Alv. _ What interest can I have, or what delight,
To blaze their shame, or to divulge my own?
If proved, you hate me; if unproved, condemn.
Not racks or tortures could have forced this secret,
But too much care to save you from a crime,
Which would have sunk you both. For, let me say,
Almeyda's beauty well deserves your love.

_Alm. _ Out, base impostor! I abhor thy praise.

_Dor. _ It looks not like imposture; but a truth,
On utmost need revealed.

_Seb. _ Did I expect from Dorax this return?
Is this the love renewed?

_Dor. _ Sir, I am silent;
Pray heaven my fears prove false!

_Seb. _ Away! you all combine to make me wretched.

_Alv. _ But hear the story of that fatal love,
Where every circumstance shall prove another;
And truth so shine by her own native light,
That, if a lie were mixt, it must be seen.

_Seb. _ No; all may still be forged, and of a piece.
No; I can credit nothing thou canst say.

_Alv. _ One proof remains, and that's your father's hand,
Firmed with his signet; both so fully known,
That plainer evidence can hardly be,
Unless his soul would want her heaven awhile,
And come on earth to swear.

_Seb. _ Produce that writing.

_Alv. _ [_To DORAX. _] Alonzo has it in his custody;
The same, which, when his nobleness redeemed me,
And in a friendly visit owned himself
For what he is, I then deposited,
And had his faith to give it to the king.

_Dor. _ Untouched, and sealed, as when intrusted with me,
[_Giving a sealed Paper to the King. _
Such I restore it with a trembling hand,
Lest aught within disturb your peace of soul.

_Seb. _ Draw near, Almeyda; thou art most concerned,
For I am most in thee. -- [_Tearing open the Seals. _
Alonzo, mark the characters;
Thou know'st my father's hand, observe it well;
And if the impostor's pen have made one slip
That shews it counterfeit, mark that, and save me.

_Dor. _ It looks indeed too like my master's hand:
So does the signet: more I cannot say;
But wish 'twere not so like.

_Seb. _ Methinks it owns
The black adultery, and Almeyda's birth;
But such a mist of grief comes o'er my eyes,
I cannot, or I would not, read it plain.

_Alm. _ Heaven cannot be more true, than this is false.

_Seb. _ O couldst thou prove it with the same assurance!
Speak, hast thou ever seen my father's hand?

_Alm. _ No; but my mother's honour has been read
By me, and by the world, in all her acts,
In characters more plain and legible
Than this dumb evidence, this blotted lie. --
Oh that I were a man, as my soul's one,
To prove thee traitor, and assassinate
Of her fame! thus moved, I'd tear thee thus,-- [_Tearing the Paper. _
And scatter o'er the field thy coward limbs,
Like this foul offspring of thy forging brain.
[_Scattering the Paper. _

_Alv. _ Just so shalt thou be torn from all thy hopes;
For know, proud woman, know, in thy despite,
The most authentic proof is still behind,--
Thou wear'st it on thy finger: 'Tis that ring,
Which, matched to that on his, shall clear the doubt.
'Tis no dumb forgery, for that shall speak,
And sound a rattling peal to either's conscience.

_Seb. _ This ring, indeed, my father, with a cold
And shaking hand, just in the pangs of death,
Put on my finger, with a parting sigh;
And would have, spoke, but faultered in his speech,
With undistinguished sound.

_Alv. _ I know it well,
For I was present. --Now, Almeyda, speak,
And truly tell us how you came by yours.

_Alm. _ My mother, when I parted from her sight
To go to Portugal, bequeathed it to me,
Presaging she should never see me more.
She pulled it from her finger, shed some tears,
Kissed it, and told me 'twas a pledge of love,
And hid a mystery of great importance,
Relating to my fortunes.

_Alv. _ Mark me now,
While I disclose that fatal mystery:--
Those rings, when you were born and thought another's,
Your parents, glowing yet in sinful love,
Bid me bespeak: a curious artist wrought them.
With joints so close, as not to be perceived,
Yet are they both each other's counterpart;
Her part had _Juan_ inscribed, and his had _Zayda_,
(You know those names are theirs,) and in the midst
A heart divided in two halves was placed.
Now, if the rivets of those rings inclosed
Fit not each other, I have forged this lie;
But, if they join, you must for ever part.
[SEBASTIAN _pulling off his Ring,_ ALMEYDA
_does the same, and gives it to_ ALVAREZ,
_who unscrews both the Rings, and fits
one half to the other[10]. _

_Seb. _ Now life, or death.

_Alm. _ And either thine, or ours. --
I'm lost for ever. [_Swoons. The Women and_ MORAYMA _take her up,
and carry her off. _ SEBASTIAN _here stands
amazed without motion, his eyes fixed upward. _

_Seb. _ Look to the queen, my wife; for I am past
All power of aid to her, or to myself.

_Alv. _ His wife! said he, his wife! O fatal sound!
For, had I known it, this unwelcome news
Had never reached their ears:
So they had still been blest in ignorance,
And I alone unhappy.

_Dor. _ I knew it, but too late, and durst not speak.

_Seb. _ [_Starting out of his amazement. _]
I will not live, no not a moment more;
I will not add one moment more to incest;
I'll cut it off, and end a wretched being:
For, should I live, my soul's so little mine,
And so much hers, that I should still enjoy. --
Ye cruel powers,
Take me, as you have made me, miserable;
You cannot make me guilty; 'twas my fate,
And you made that, not I. [_Draws his Sword. _ ANTONIO _and_ ALVAREZ
_lay hold on him, and_ DORAX _wrests the
Sword out of his hand. _

_Ant. _ For heaven's sake hold, and recollect your mind!

_Alv.
_ Consider whom you punish, and for what;
Yourself unjustly; you have charged the fault
On heaven, that best may bear it.
Though incest is indeed a deadly crime,
You are not guilty, since unknown 'twas done,
And, known, had been abhorred.

_Seb. _ By heaven, you're traitors all, that hold my hands.
If death be but cessation of our thought,
Then let me die, for I would think no more.
I'll boast my innocence above,
And let them see a soul they could not sully,
I shall be there before my father's ghost,
That yet must languish long in frosts and fires,
For making me unhappy by his crime. --
Stand oft, and let me take my fill of death; [_Struggling again. _
For I can hold my breath in your despite,
And swell my heaving soul out when I please.

_Alv. _ Heaven comfort you!

_Seb. _ What, art thou giving comfort!
Wouldst thou give comfort, who hast given despair?
Thou seest Alonzo silent; he's a man.
He knows, that men, abandoned of their hopes,
Should ask no leave, nor stay for sueing out
A tedious writ of ease from lingering heaven,
But help themselves as timely as they could,
And teach the Fates their duty.

_Dor. _ [_To_ ALV. _and_ ANT. ] Let him go;
He is our king, and he shall be obeyed.

_Alv. _ What, to destroy himself? O parricide!

_Dor. _ Be not injurious in your foolish zeal,
But leave him free; or, by my sword, I swear
To hew that arm away, that stops the passage
To his eternal rest.

_Ant. _ [_Letting go his hold. _] Let him be guilty of his own death, if
he pleases; for I'll not be guilty of mine, by holding him.
[_The King shakes off_ ALV.

_Alv. _ [_To_ DOR. ] Infernal fiend,
Is this a subject's part?

_Dor. _ 'Tis a friend's office.
He has convinced me, that he ought to die;
And, rather than he should not, here's my sword,
To help him on his journey.

_Seb. _ My last, my only friend, how kind art thou,
And how inhuman these!

_Dor. _ To make the trifle, death, a thing of moment!

_Seb. _ And not to weigh the important cause I had
To rid myself of life!

_Dor. _ True; for a crime
So horrid, in the face of men and angels,
As wilful incest is!

_Seb. _ Not wilful, neither.

_Dor. _ Yes, if you lived, and with repeated acts
Refreshed your sin, and loaded crimes with crimes,
To swell your scores of guilt.

_Seb. _ True; if I lived.

_Dor. _ I said so, if you lived.

_Seb. _ For hitherto was fatal ignorance,
And no intended crime.

_Dor. _ That you best know;
But the malicious world will judge the worst.

_Alv. _ O what a sophister has hell procured,
To argue for damnation!

_Dor. _ Peace, old dotard.
Mankind, that always judge of kings with malice,
Will think he knew this incest, and pursued it.
His only way to rectify mistakes,
And to redeem her honour, is to die.

_Seb. _ Thou hast it right, my dear, my best Alonzo!
And that, but petty reparation too;
But all I have to give.

_Dor. _ Your, pardon, sir;
You may do more, and ought.

_Seb. _ What, more than death?

_Dor. _ Death! why, that's children's sport; a stage-play death;
We act it every night we go to bed.
Death, to a man in misery, is sleep.
Would you,--who perpetrated such a crime,
As frightened nature, made the saints above
Shake heavens eternal pavement with their trembling
To view that act,--would you but barely die?
But stretch your limbs, and turn on t'other side.
To lengthen out a black voluptuous slumber,
And dream you had your sister in your arms?

_Seb. _ To expiate this, can I do more than die?

_Dor. _ O yes, you must do more, you must be damned;
You must be damned to all eternity;
And sure self-murder is the readiest way.

_Seb. _ How, damned?

_Dor. _ Why, is that news?

_Alv. _ O horror, horror!

_Dor. _ What, thou a statesman,
And make a business of damnation
In such a world as this! why, 'tis a trade;
The scrivener, usurer, lawyer, shopkeeper,
And soldier, cannot live but by damnation.
The politician does it by advance,
And gives all gone beforehand.

_Seb. _ O thou hast given me such a glimpse of hell,
So pushed me forward, even to the brink
Of that irremeable burning gulph,
That, looking in the abyss, I dare not leap.
And now I see what good thou mean'st my soul,
And thank thy pious fraud; thou hast indeed
Appeared a devil, but didst an angel's work.

_Dor. _ 'Twas the last remedy, to give you leisure;
For, if you could but think, I knew you safe.

_Seb. _ I thank thee, my Alonzo; I will live,
But never more to Portugal return;
For, to go back and reign, that were to show
Triumphant incest, and pollute the throne.

_Alv. _ Since ignorance--

_Seb. _ O, palliate not my wound;
When you have argued all you can, 'tis incest.
No, 'tis resolved: I charge you plead no more;
I cannot live without Almeyda's sight,
Nor can I see Almeyda, but I sin.
Heaven has inspired me with a sacred thought,
To live alone to heaven, and die to her.

_Dor. _ Mean you to turn an anchorite?

_Seb. _ What else?
The world was once too narrow for my mind,
But one poor little nook will serve me now,
To hide me from the rest of human kind.
Africk has deserts wide enough to hold
Millions of monsters; and I am, sure, the greatest.

_Alv. _ You may repent, and wish your crown too late.

_Seb. _ O never, never; I am past a boy:
A sceptre's but a plaything, and a globe
A bigger bounding stone. He, who can leave
Almeyda, may renounce the rest with ease.

_Dor. _ O truly great!
A soul fixed high, and capable of heaven.
Old as he is, your uncle cardinal
Is not so far enamoured of a cloister,
But he will thank you for the crown you leave him.

_Seb. _ To please him more, let him believe me dead,
That he may never dream I may return.
Alonzo, I am now no more thy king,
But still thy friend; and by that holy name
Adjure thee, to perform my last request;--
Make our conditions with yon captive king;
Secure me but my solitary cell;
'Tis all I ask him for a crown restored.

_Dor. _ I will do more:
But fear not Muley-Zeydan; his soft metal
Melts down with easy warmth, runs in the mould,
And needs no further forge. [_Exit_ DORAX.

_Re-enter_ ALMEYDA _led by_ MORAYMA, _and followed by her
Attendants. _

_Seb. _ See where she comes again!
By heaven, when I behold those beauteous eyes,
Repentance lags, and sin comes hurrying on.

_Alm. _ This is too cruel!

_Seb. _ Speak'st thou of love, of fortune, or of death,
Or double death? for we must part, Almeyda.

_Alm. _ I speak of all,
For all things that belong to us are cruel;
But, what's most cruel, we must love no more.
O 'tis too much that I must never see you,
But not to love you is impossible.
No, I must love you; heaven may bate me that,
And charge that sinful sympathy of souls
Upon our parents, when they loved too well.

_Seb. _ Good heaven, thou speak'st my thoughts, and I speak thine!
Nay, then there's incest in our very souls,
For we were formed too like.

_Alm. _ Too like indeed,
And yet not for each other.
Sure when we part, (for I resolved it too,
Though you proposed it first,) however distant,
We shall be ever thinking of each other,
And the same moment for each other pray.

_Seb. _ But if a wish should come athwart our prayers!

_Alm. _ It would do well to curb it, if we could.

_Seb. _ We cannot look upon each other's face,
But, when we read our love, we read our guilt:
And yet, methinks, I cannot chuse but love.

_Aim. _ I would have asked you, if I durst for shame,
If still you loved? you gave it air before me.
Ah, why were we not born both of a sex?
For then we might have loved without a crime.
Why was not I your brother? though that wish
Involved our parents' guilt, we had not parted;
We had been friends, and friendship is no incest.

_Seb. _ Alas, I know not by what name to call thee!
Sister and wife are the two dearest names,
And I would call thee both, and both are sin.
Unhappy we! that still we must confound
The dearest names into a common curse.

_Alm. _ To love, and be beloved, and yet be wretched!

_Seb. _ To have but one poor night of all our lives;
It was indeed a glorious, guilty night;
So happy, that--forgive me, heaven! --I wish,
With all its guilt, it were to come again.
Why did we know so soon, or why at all,
That sin could be concealed in such a bliss?
_Alm. _ Men have a larger privilege of words,
Else I should speak; but we must part, Sebastian,--
That's all the name that I have left to call thee;--
I must not call thee by the name I would;
But when I say Sebastian, dear Sebastian,
I kiss the name I speak.

_Seb. _ We must make haste, or we shall never part.
I would say something that's as dear as this;
Nay, would do more than say: One moment longer,
And I should break through laws divine and human,
And think them cobwebs spread for little man,
Which all the bulky herd of nature breaks.
The vigorous young world was ignorant
Of these restrictions; 'tis decrepit now;
Not more devout, but more decayed, and cold. --
All this is impious, therefore we must part;
For, gazing thus, I kindle at thy sight,
And, once burnt down to tinder, light again
Much sooner than before.

_Re-enter_ DORAX.

_Alm. _ Here comes the sad denouncer of my fate,
To toll the mournful knell of separation;
While I, as on my deathbed, hear the sound,
That warns me hence for ever.

_Seb. _ [_To_ DOR. ] Now be brief,
And I will try to listen,
And share the minute, that remains, betwixt
The care I owe my subjects, and my love.

_Dor. _ Your fate has gratified you all she can;
Gives easy misery, and makes exile pleasing.
I trusted Muley-Zeydan as a friend,
But swore him first to secrecy: He wept
Your fortune, and with tears not squeezed by art,
But shed from nature, like a kindly shower:
In short, he proffered more than I demanded;
A safe retreat, a gentle solitude,
Unvexed with noise, and undisturbed with fears.
I chose you one--

_Alm. _ O do not tell me where;
For, if I knew the place of his abode,
I should be tempted to pursue his steps,
And then we both were lost.

_Seb. _ Even past redemption;
For, if I knew thou wert on that design,
(As I must know, because our souls are one,)
I should not wander, but by sure instinct
Should meet thee just half-way in pilgrimage,
And close for ever; for I know my love
More strong than thine, and I more frail than thou.

_Alm. _ Tell me not that; for I must boast my crime,
And cannot bear that thou should'st better love.

_Dor. _ I may inform you both; for you must go,
Where seas, and winds, and deserts will divide you.
Under the ledge of Atlas lies a cave,
Cut in the living rock by Nature's hands,
The venerable seat of holy hermits;
Who there, secure in separated cells,
Sacred even to the Moors, enjoy devotion;
And from the purling streams, and savage fruits.
Have wholesome beverage, and unbloody feasts.

_Seb. _ 'Tis penance too voluptuous for my crime[11].

_Dor. _ Your subjects, conscious of your life, are few;
But all desirous to partake your exile,
And to do office to your sacred person.
The rest, who think you dead, shall be dismissed.
Under safe convoy, till they reach your fleet.

_Alm. _ But how am wretched I to be disposed? --
A vain enquiry, since I leave my lord;
For all the world beside is banishment.

_Dor. _ I have a sister, abbess in Terceras,
Who lost her lover on her bridal day.