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.
Pages:
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493