_Alph._ You know what reasons urged me; But now, I have accomplished my designs, I should be glad he knew them. His wild riots Disturb my soul; but they would sit more close, Did not the threatened downfal of our house, In Torrismond, o'erwhelm my private ills. _Enter_ BERTRAN, _attended, and whispering with a Courtier, aside._ _Bert._ I would not have her think, he dared to love her; If he presume to own it, she's so proud, He tempts his certain ruin. _Alph._ [_To_ PED.] Mark how disdainfully he throws his eyes on us. Our old imprisoned king wore no such looks. _Ped._ O! would the general shake off his dotage to the usurping queen, And re-enthrone good venerable Sancho, I'll undertake, should Bertran sound his trumpets, And Torrismond but whistle through his fingers, He draws his army off. _Alph._ I told him so; But had an answer louder than a storm. _Ped._ Now, plague and pox on his smock-loyalty! I hate to see a brave bold fellow sotted, Made sour and senseless, turned to whey by love; A drivelling hero, fit for a romance.-- O, here he comes! what will their greetings be? _Enter_ TORRISMOND, _attended;_ BERTRAN _and he meet and jostle._ _Bert._ Make way, my lords, and let the pageant pass. _Tor._ I make my way, where'er I see my foe; But you, my lord, are good at a retreat. I have no Moors behind me. _Bert._ Death and hell! Dare to speak thus when you come out again. _Tor._ Dare to provoke me thus, insulting man! _Enter_ TERESA. _Ter._ My lords, you are too loud so near the queen; You, Torrismond, have much offended her. 'Tis her command you instantly appear, To answer your demeanour to the prince. [_Exit_ TERESA; BERTRAN, _with his company, follow her._ _Tor._ O, Pedro, O, Alphonso, pity me! A grove of pikes, Whose polished steel from far severely shines, Are not so dreadful as this beauteous queen. _Alph._ Call up your courage timely to your aid, And, like a lion, pressed upon the toils, Leap on your hunters. Speak your actions boldly; There is a time when modest virtue is Allowed to praise itself. _Ped._ Heart! you were hot enough, too hot, but now; Your fury then boiled upward to a foam; But since this message came, you sink and settle, As if cold water had been poured upon you. _Tor._ Alas! thou know'st not what it is to love! When we behold an angel, not to fear, Is to be impudent: No, I am resolved, Like a led victim, to my death I'll go, And, dying, bless the hand, that gave the blow. [_Exeunt._ _The_ SCENE _draws, and shews the Queen sitting in state;_ BERTRAN _standing next to her; then_ TERESA, _&c. She rises, and comes to the front._