The Complete Works of William Shakespeare - Israel Gollancz William Shakespeare [1286]
The loose Escapes of youthful Nature known,
Must wink at mine, indulgent to their own.
[Exit Henriquez.
Lop. This Man is certainly mad, and may be mischievous. Pr’ythee, Neighbour, let’s follow him; but at some Distance, for fear of the worst.
[Exeunt, after Henr.
Scene II. An Apartment.
Enters Violante alone.
Viol. Whom shall I look upon without a Blush?
There’s not a Maid, whose Eye with Virgin Gaze
Pierces not to my Guilt. What will’t avail me,
To say I was not willing;
Nothing; but that I publish my Dishonour,
And wound my Fame anew. — O Misery,
To seem to all one’s Neighbours rich, yet know
One’s Self necessitous and wretched.
Enter Maid, and afterwards Gerald with a Letter.
Maid. Madam, here’s Gerald, Lord Henriquez’ Servant;
He brings a Letter to you.
Viol. A Letter to me! How I tremble now!
Your Lord’s for Court, good Gerald, is he not?
Ger. Not so, Lady.
Viol. O my presaging Heart! When goes he then?
Ger. His Business now steers him some other Course.
Viol. Whither, I pray you? — How my Fears torment me!
Ger. Some two Months Progress.
Viol. Whither, whither, Sir,
I do beseech you? Good Heav’ns, I lose all Patience.
Did he deliberate this? or was the Business
But then conceiv’d, when it was born?
Ger. Lady, I know not That; nor is it in the Command I have to wait your Answer. For the perusing the Letter I commend you to your Leisure.
[Exit Gerald.
Viol. To Hearts like mine Suspence is Misery.
Wax, render up thy Trust: Be the Contents
Prosp’rous, or fatal, they are all my Due.
Reads.] Our Prudence should now teach us to forget,
what our Indiscretion has committed. I
have already made one Step towards this
Wisdom, by prevailing on Myself to bid you
Farewell.
O, Wretched and betray’d! Lost Violante!
Heart-wounded with a thousand perjur’d Vows,
Poison’d with studied Language, and bequeath’d
To Desperation. I am now become
The Tomb of my own Honour: a dark Mansion,
For Death alone to dwell in. I invite thee,
Consuming Desolation, to this Temple,
Now fit to be thy Spoil: the ruin’d Fabrick,
Which cannot be repair’d, at once o’er-throw.
What must I do? — But That’s not worth my Thought:
I will commend to Hazard all the Time
That I shall spend hereafter: Farewel, my Father,
Whom I’ll no more offend: and Men, adieu,
Whom I’ll no more believe: and Maids, adieu,
Whom I’ll no longer shame. The Way I go,
As yet I know not. — Sorrow be my Guide.
[Exit Violante.
Scene III. Prospect of a Village, before Don Bernard’s House.
Enters Henriquez.
Henr. Where were the Eyes, the Voice, the various Charms,
Each beauteous Particle, each nameless Grace,
Parents of glowing Love? All These in Her,
It seems, were not: but a Disease in Me,
That fancied Graces in her. — Who ne’er beheld
More than a Hawthorne, shall have Cause to say
The Cedar’s a tall Tree; and scorn the Shade,
The lov’d Bush once had lent him. Soft! mine Honour
Begins to sicken in this black Reflection.
How can it be, that with my Honour safe
I should pursue Leonora for my Wife?
That were accumulating Injuries,
To Violante first, and now to Julio;
To her a perjur’d Wretch, to him perfidious;
And to myself in strongest Terms accus’d
Of murth’ring Honour wilfully, without which
My Dog’s the Creature of the nobler Kind. —
But Pleasure is too strong for Reason’s Curb;
And Conscience sinks o’er-power’d with Beauty’s Sweets.
Come, Leonora, Authress of my Crime,
Appear, and vindicate thy Empire here;
Aid me to drive this ling’ring Honour hence,
And I am wholly thine.
Enter to him, Don Bernard and Leonora.
D. Bern. Fye, my good Lord; why would