_Otti._ Nay mark--"Receive, proud fair,"--thus ran the letter-- "This scarf, forced on me by a hand I loath, With many an amorous word and tasteless kiss! As I for thee, so burns for me the wanton; To me as thine, cold is my heart to her; Nor canst thou more despise the gift than I Scorn the fond fool who gave it!"---- _Amel._ Oh! my heart! _Inis._ Look to the Princess. _Otti._ [_Starting._] Ha! _Estel._ She faints! _Amel._ No, no, 'Tis nothing--mid-day's heat--the o'erpowering sun-- I'll in and rest. _Otti._ Princess, permit---- _Amel._ No lady! I need no aid of thine--In, in, Estella. Oh! cruel, false Caesario! [_Exit with_ Estella, Inis, _and Ladies_.] _Otti._ [_Alone._] Ha! is't so? And flies my falcon at so high a lure? The princess! 'tis the princess that he loves!-- And shall I calmly see her bear away This dear-bought prize, my secret crime's reward, My lord, my love, my life, my all?----She dies! [_Exit._ _End of Act I._ ACT II. SCENE I. _A hall in_ Caesario's _palace_. [_Shouts heard without._] _Enter_ Caesario [_a general's staff in his hand_] _followed by_ Henriquez, _citizens and soldiers_. _Caesa._ Thanks, worthy friends! No further!--Pleased I hear These shouts, which thank me for Alfonso's safety! But though _my_ arms have quelled the Moors, your love Alone can shield him from a foe more dangerous, From his proud rebel son!--Farewell, assured I live but for your use! _First Citi._ Long live Caesario! _Sec. Citi._ Long live the conqueror of the Moors! _All._ Huzza! [_Exeunt._ _Manent_ Caesario _and_ Henriquez. _Caesa._ Kind friends, farewell!--Ay, shout, ye brawlers, shout! Pour out unmeaning praise till the skies ring! 'Twill school your deep-toned throats to roar tomorrow, --"Long live Caesario! Sovereign of Castile!"-- Mark you, Henriquez, how the royal dotard Hung on my neck, termed me his kingdom's angel, His friend, his saviour, his----Oh! my tongue burned To thunder in his startled ear----"The man Who raised this war, and fired your son's ambition, Your daughter's husband, and your mortal foe, That man am I!"---- _Hen._ Then absence has not cooled, It seems, your hatred---- _Caesa._ Could'st thou think it? thou, Who know'st a secret to all else unknown! Know'st me no stranger-youth, no chance-adventurer, Whose sword's his fortune, as Castile believes me; But one of mightiest views and proudest hopes, Galled by injustice, panting for revenge, Son of a hero! wronged Orsino's son! _Hen._ Yet might your wealth and power--yon general's staff-- Alfonso's countless favours---- _Caesa._ Favours? Insults! Curses when proffered by a hand I hate! Bright seems ambition to my eye, and sure To reign is glorious; yet such fixed aversion I bear this man, and such my thirst for vengeance, I would not sell his head, once in my power, Though the price tendered were the crown that decks it! Yet that, too, shortly shall be mine!--Say, Marquis, How speeds our plot?