_Orsi._ Deeply, boy, most deeply. But in his whole wide kingdom none but me. Look through Castile; see all smile, bloom, and flourish. No peasant sleeps ere he has breathed a blessing On his good king; no thirst of power, false pride, Or martial rage he knows; nor would he shed One drop of subject-blood to buy the title Of a new Mars! E'en broken hearted widows And childless mothers, while they weep the slain, Cursing the wars, confess his cause was just. Such is Alfonso, such the man whose virtues Now fill thy throne, Castile, to bliss thy children! What shows the adverse scale! What find we there? _My_ sufferings, mine alone! And what am _I_, That I should weigh me 'gainst the public welfare? What are my wrongs against a monarch's rights? What is my curse against a nation's blessings? _Caesa._ Yet hear me. _Orsi._ I assist your plots! I injure One hair that's nourished with Alfonso's blood! No! The wronged subject hates the ungrateful master; But the world's friend must love the patriot king. _Caesa._ Amazement! Can it be Orsino speaking? 'Tis some court minion sure, some tool of office, Some threadbare muse pensioned to praise the throne; This cannot be the man whose burning vengeance, Whose fixed aversion---- _Or._ Boy, 'Tis fixed as ever. Alfonso's sight, his name, his very goodness, Forcing my praise, torture my soul to madness. I hate him, hate him; but still own his virtues; And though I hate, Oh bless the good king, Heaven! _Caesa._ Oh most strange patience! most rare stretch of temper! What! bless the man who thought you treacherous, base, Ungrateful! _Orsi._ And because he thought me such, (Remembering only what his fault deserves, Forgetting all that's due to mine own honour) Shall I become the wretched thing he thought me? Prove his suspicions just? quit the proud station Where injured Virtue towers and sink me down to His level who oppressed me? Oh, not so! When hostile arms strain every nerve to crush me, Pang follows pang, and wrong to wrong succeeds, Piled like the Alps, each loftier than the last one, To pay those wrongs with good, those pangs with kindness, To raise the foe once fallen, bind his gored breast, And heap, with generous zeal, favours on favours, Till his repentant spirit melts and bleeds To think he ever pained a heart like mine, Such is _my_ hate! such my proud soul's whole object. The only vengeance noble minds should take. _Caesa._ Farewell, then, since far other hate is mine, And asks for other vengeance. I'll to seek it. _Orsi._ Stay, youth, and hear me. Ere you quit this spot. Since virtue has no power to chain or awe thee, Swear to forgo thy traitorous schemes, or straight I'll seek the king----