_Tor._ Mark that, inexorable Raymond, mark! 'Twas fatal ignorance, that caused his death. _Raym._ What! if she did not know he was your father, She knew he was a man, the best of men; Heaven's image double-stamped, as man and king. _Leo._ He was, he was, even more than you can say; But yet-- _Raym._ But yet you barbarously murdered him. _Leo._ He will not hear me out! _Tor._ Was ever criminal forbid to plead? Curb your ill-mannered zeal. _Raym._ Sing to him, syren; For I shall stop my ears: Now mince the sin, And mollify damnation with a phrase; Say, you consented not to Sancho's death, But barely not forbade it. _Leo._ Hard-hearted man, I yield my guilty cause; But all my guilt was caused by too much love. Had I, for jealousy of empire, sought Good Sancho's death, Sancho had died before. 'Twas always in my power to take his life; But interest never could my conscience blind, Till love had cast a mist before my eyes, And made me think his death the only means Which could secure my throne to Torrismond. _Tor._ Never was fatal mischief meant so kind, For all she gave has taken all away. Malicious powers! is this to be restored? 'Tis to be worse deposed than Sancho was. _Raym._ Heaven has restored you, you depose yourself. Oh, when young kings begin with scorn of justice, They make an omen to their after reign, And blot their annals in the foremost page. _Tor._ No more; lest you be made the first example, To show how I can punish. _Raym._ Once again: Let her be made your father's sacrifice, And after make me hers. _Tor._ Condemn a wife! That were to atone for parricide with murder. _Raym._ Then let her be divorced: we'll be content With that poor scanty justice; let her part. _Tor._ Divorce! that's worse than death, 'tis death of love. _Leo._ The soul and body part not with such pain, As I from you; but yet 'tis just, my lord: I am the accurst of heaven, the hate of earth, Your subjects' detestation, and your ruin; And therefore fix this doom upon myself. _Tor._ Heaven! Can you wish it, to be mine no more? _Leo._ Yes, I can wish it, as the dearest proof, And last, that I can make you of my love. To leave you blest, I would be more accurst Than death can make me; for death ends our woes, And the kind grave shuts up the mournful scene: But I would live without you, to be wretched long; And hoard up every moment of my life, To lengthen out the payment of my tears, Till even fierce Raymond, at the last, shall say,-- Now let her die, for she has grieved enough. _Tor._ Hear this, hear this, thou tribune of the people! Thou zealous, public blood-hound, hear, and melt! _Raym._ [_Aside._] I could cry now; my eyes grow womanish, But yet my heart holds out.