No More Learning

_Seb. _ What had been, is unknown; what is, appears.
Confess, he justly was preferred to thee.

_Dor. _ Had I been born with his indulgent stars,
My fortune had been his, and his been mine. --
O worse than hell! what glory have I lost,
And what has he acquired, by such a death!
I should have fallen by Sebastian's side,
My corps 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. _ O, 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. _ [_More calmly. _]
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 can'st be grieved, thou can'st repent;
Thou could'st not be a villain, though thou would'st:
Thou own'st too much, in owning thou hast erred;
And I too little, who provoked thy crime.

_Dor. _ O 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. -- [_Falls at his feet. _
Now spurn this rebel, this proud renegade;
'Tis just you should, nor will I more complain.

_Seb. _ Indeed thou should'st not ask forgiveness first;
But thou prevent'st me still, in all that's noble. [_Taking him up. _
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 heaven, while heaven blest me?
I shall run mad with extacy 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; [_Embracing him. _
And all our quarrels be but such as these,
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. _ 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. [_Exeunt. _


ACT V. SCENE I.

_The Scene is, a Room of State. _

_Enter_ DORAX _and_ ANTONIO.

_Dor. _ Joy is on every face, without a cloud;
As, in the scene of opening paradise,
The whole creation danced at their new being,
Pleased to be what they were, pleased with each other,
Such joy have I, both in myself and friends;
And double joy that I have made them happy.

_Ant. _ Pleasure has been the business of my life;
And every change of fortune easy to me,
Because I still was easy to myself.
The loss of her I loved would touch me nearest;
Yet, if I found her, I might love too much,
And that's uneasy pleasure.

_Dor. _ If she be fated
To be your wife, your fate will find her for you:
Predestinated ills are never lost.

_Ant. _ I had forgot
To inquire before, but long to be informed,
How, poisoned and betrayed, and round beset,
You could unwind yourself from all these dangers,
And move so speedily to our relief?

_Dor. _ The double poisons, after a short combat,
Expelled each other in their civil war,
By nature's benefit, and roused my thoughts
To guard that life which now I found attacked.
I summoned all my officers in haste,
On whose experienced faith I might rely;
All came resolved to die in my defence,
Save that one villain who betrayed the gate.
Our diligence prevented the surprise
We justly feared: So Muley-Zeydan found us
Drawn up in battle, to receive the charge.

_Ant. _ But how the Moors and Christian slaves were joined,
You have not yet unfolded.

_Dor. _ That remains.
We knew their interest was the same with ours:
And, though I hated more than death Sebastian,
I could not see him die by vulgar hands;
But, prompted by my angel, or by his,
Freed all the slaves, and placed him next myself,
Because I would not have his person known.
I need not tell the rest, the event declares it.

_Ant. _ Your conquests came of course; their men were raw,
And yours were disciplined. --One doubt remains,
Why you industriously concealed the king,
Who, known, had added courage to his men?

_Dor. _ I would not hazard civil broils betwixt
His friends and mine; which might prevent our combat.
Yet, had he fallen, I had dismissed his troops;
Or, if victorious, ordered his escape. --
But I forgot a new increase of joy
To feast him with surprise; I must about it:
Expect my swift return. [_Exit. _

_Enter a Servant. _

_Serv. _ Here's a lady at the door, that bids me tell you, she is come
to make an end of the game, that was broken off betwixt you.

_Ant. _ What manner of woman is she? Does she not want two of the four
elements? has she any thing about her but air and fire?

_Serv. _ Truly, she flies about the room as if she had wings instead of
legs; I believe she's just turning into a bird:--A house bird I
warrant her:--And so hasty to fly to you, that, rather than fail of
entrance, she would come tumbling down the chimney, like a swallow.

_Enter_ MORAYMA.

_Ant. _ [_Running to her, and embracing her. _] Look, if she be not here
already! --What, no denial it seems will serve your turn? Why, thou
little dun, is thy debt so pressing?

_Mor. _ Little devil, if you please: Your lease is out, good master
conjurer, and I am come to fetch your soul and body; not an hour of
lewdness longer in this world for you.

_Ant. _ Where the devil hast thou been? and how the devil didst thou
find me here?

_Mor. _ I followed you into the castle-yard, but there was nothing but
tumult and confusion: and I was bodily afraid of being picked up by
some of the rabble; considering I had a double charge about me,--my
jewels, and my maidenhead.

_Ant. _ Both of them intended for my worship's sole use and property.

_Mor. _ And what was poor little I among them all?

_Ant. _ Not a mouthful a-piece: 'Twas too much odds, in conscience!

_Mor. _ So, seeking for shelter, I naturally ran to the old place of
assignation, the garden-house; where, for the want of instinct, you
did not follow me.

_Ant. _ Well, for thy comfort, I have secured thy father; and I hope
thou hast secured his effects for us.

_Mor. _ Yes, truly, I had the prudent foresight to consider, that, when
we grow old, and weary of solacing one another, we might have, at
least, wherewithal to make merry with the world; and take up with a
worse pleasure of eating and drinking, when we were disabled for a
better.

_Ant. _ Thy fortune will be even too good for thee; for thou art going
into the country of serenades and gallantries, where thy street will
be haunted every night with thy foolish lovers, and my rivals, who
will be sighing and singing, under thy inexorable windows, lamentable
ditties, and call thee cruel, and goddess, and moon, and stars, and
all the poetical names of wicked rhime; while thou and I are minding
our business, and jogging on, and laughing at them, at leisure
minutes, which will be very few; take that by way of threatening.

_Mor. _ I am afraid you are not very valiant, that you huff so much
beforehand. But, they say, your churches are fine places for
love-devotion; many a she-saint is there worshipped.

_Ant. _ Temples are there, as they are in all other countries, good
conveniences for dumb interviews. I hear the protestants are not much
reformed in that point neither; for their sectaries call their
churches by the natural name of meeting-houses. Therefore I warn thee
in good time, not more of devotion than needs must, good future
spouse, and always in a veil; for those eyes of thine are damned
enemies to mortification.

_Mor. _ The best thing I have heard of Christendom is, that we women
are allowed the privilege of having souls; and I assure you, I shall
make bold to bestow mine upon some lover, whenever you begin to go
astray; and, if I find no convenience in a church, a private chamber
will serve the turn.

_Ant. _ When that day comes, I must take my revenge, and turn gardener
again; for I find I am much given to planting.

_Mor. _ But take heed, in the mean time, that some young Antonio does
not spring up in your own family; as false as his father, though of
another man's planting.

_Re-enter_ DORAX, _with_ SEBASTIAN _and_ ALMEYDA, SEBASTIAN _enters
speaking to_ DORAX, _while in the mean time_ ANTONIO _presents_
MORAYMA _to_ ALMEYDA.

_Seb. _ How fares our royal prisoner, Muley-Zeydan?

_Dor. _ Disposed to grant whatever I desire,
To gain a crown, and freedom. Well I know him,
Of easy temper, naturally good,
And faithful to his word.

_Seb. _ Yet one thing wants,
To fill the measure of my happiness;
I'm still in pain for poor Alvarez' life.

_Dor. _ Release that fear, the good old man is safe;
I paid his ransom,
And have already ordered his attendance.

_Seb. _ O bid him enter, for I long to see him.

_Enter_ ALVAREZ _with a Servant, who departs when_ ALVAREZ _is
entered. _

_Alv. _ Now by my soul, and by these hoary hairs,
[_Falling down, and embracing the King's knees. _
I'm so o'erwhelmed with pleasure, that I feel
A latter spring within my withering limbs,
That shoots me out again.

_Seb. _ Thou good old man, [_Raising him. _
Thou hast deceived me into more, more joys,
Who stood brim-full before.

_Alv. _ O my dear child,--
I love thee so, I cannot call thee king,--
Whom I so oft have dandled in these arms!
What, when I gave thee lost, to find thee living!
'Tis like a father, who himself had 'scaped
A falling house, and, after anxious search,
Hears from afar his only son within;
And digs through rubbish, till he drags him out,
To see the friendly light.
Such is my haste, so trembling is my joy,
To draw thee forth from underneath thy fate.

_Seb. _ The tempest is o'erblown, the skies are clear,
And the sea charmed into a calm so still,
That not a wrinkle ruffles her smooth face.

_Alv. _ Just such she shows before a rising storm;
And therefore am I come with timely speed,
To warn you into port.

_Alm. _ My soul forebodes
Some dire event involved in those dark words,
And just disclosing in a birth of fate. [_Aside. _

_Alv. _ Is there not yet an heir of this vast empire,
Who still survives, of Muley-Moluch's branch?

_Dor. _ Yes, such a one there is a captive here,
And brother to the dead.

_Alv. _ The powers above
Be praised for that! My prayers for my good master,
I hope, are heard.

_Seb. _ Thou hast a right in heaven.
But why these prayers for me?

_Alv. _ A door is open yet for your deliverance. --
Now you, my countrymen, and you, Almeyda,
Now all of us, and you, my all in one,
May yet be happy in that captive's life.

_Seb. _ We have him here an honourable hostage
For terms of peace; what more he can contribute
To make me blest, I know not.

_Ah. _ Vastly more;
Almeyda may be settled in the throne,
And you review your native clime with fame.
A firm alliance and eternal peace,
The glorious crown of honourable war,
Are all included in that prince's life.
Let this fair queen be given to Muley-Zeydan,
And make her love the sanction of your league.

_Seb. _ No more of that; his life's in my dispose,
And prisoners are not to insist on terms;
Or, if they were, yet he demands not these.

_Alv. _ You should exact them.

_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.