_Orsi._ Not so: thy faithful nobles, By me apprized, now haste to give thee succour. Ere night, Caesario falls; and piercing his, Thy just revenge shall print a mortal wound On his proud father's heart. _Alfon._ His father's? _Orsi._ Ay, On his, who paid thy love this morn with curses, Spurning thy proffered friendship--Know'st thou not Caesario is Orsino's son? _Alfon._ Just Heaven! And does Orsino love him? _Orsi._ Dearly, dearly, Loves him to madness; loves him with like fury. As hates he thee.--Oh! glorious field for vengeance: Think how 'twill writhe his haughty soul to hear, This son, this darling, perished on the scaffold, Branded, disgraced, a traitor, a foiled traitor. Joy, joy, Alfonso; ere 'tis night thy wrath Shall gorge itself with blood. _Alfon._ Now blessings on thee, Who giv'st me more than all my foes can take. Come, come, my friend; where are these troops? Away, Forward to Burgos. _Orsi._ (_Detaining him._) Whither now? _Alfon._ To Burgos. Down with the walls: make once Caesario mine-- _Orsi._ And then----? _Alfon._ I'll seek his father, grasp his hand, And say,--"This stripling stole my darling daughter, Betrayed my confidence, usurped my throne, Aimed at my life, and almost broke my heart: But he's Orsino's son; Orsino loves him, And all's forgiven."----(Orsino _kneels, takes the king's hand, and presses it to his lips._)--How now? _Orsi._ (_Raising his vizor._) All is forgiven. _Alfon._ 'Tis he:--Orsino's self. _Orsi._ My pride is vanquished: My king--Thy hand, my king. _Alfon._ My heart, my heart; There find thy place, and never leave it more. Oh, from my joy again to name thee friend, Judge of my grief to think thou wert my foe; How could I doubt thee? how commit an error So gross. _Orsi._ No more; e'en now thou pay'st its penance: In this long chain of present woes, that error (Which seems at first so light) was the first link. It tore me from my son: else, reared by me, Formed in thy court, and schooled by my example, My son must sure have proved thy truest subject, Oh! learn from this, how weighty is the charge, A monarch bears; how nice a task to guide His power aright, to guide it wrong, how fatal. If subjects sin, with them the crime remains, With them the penance; but when monarchs err, The mischief spreads swift as their kingdom's rivers, Strong as their power, and wide as their domains. _Enter_ Ricardo. _Orsi._ Now friend? _Ricar._ From yonder height I caught distinctly The gleam of arms. _Orsi._ 'Tis well--Away, my sovereign, And join your troops; then shape your march tow'rds Burgos, Nor doubt the event, for who that loves his country. To save his king shall fear to die himself? None, surely none! The patriot glow shall catch From heart to heart throughout Castile, as swiftly As sparks of fire disperse through summer forests; Till all in care of thee forget themselves, And every good man's bosom bucklers thine! Forward, my king!--Lead on! [_Exeunt._