_All other ills, though sharp they prove, Serve to refine, and perfect love: In absence, or unkind disdain, Sweet hope relieves the lover's pain. But, ah! no cure but death we find, To set us free From Jealousy: O Jealousy! Thou tyrant, tyrant Jealousy, Thou tyrant of the mind._ _False in thy glass all objects are, Some set too near, and some too far; Thou art the fire of endless night, The fire that burns, and gives no light. All torments of the damned we find In only thee, O Jealousy! Thou tyrant, tyrant Jealousy, Thou tyrant of the mind!_ [_Exeunt Musicians._ _Alph._ 'Tis true, my tyrant father has confined me; But love, who traverses the world at will, Who knows not awe, nor law, nor parentage, Has broke my tedder, and enlarged my bounds. _Vict._ Retire betimes; the court is full of eyes, As eagles sharp, fatal as basilisks, Who live on looking, and who see no death[58]. _Alph._ I come but to depart, and go for ever, Because denied the common rights of nature, Which the first brother and first sister had. Why were not you and I that happy pair? But nature doats with age. _Vict._ Whate'er it be, 'tis past redress, Alphonso. _Alph._ But, then, shall Garcia take thee in his arms, Glutted with joys which I would die to taste! No, let me stab the wretch in every vein, And leave him dry of pleasure, ere we part. _Vict._ Alphonso, no; you cannot kill Don Garcia, But you declare the cause, and own your love. _Alph._ And what care I, what after ages say Alphonso did, to make Alphonso happy? But oh, you love! and would preserve his life To be for ever his. _Vict._ My dearest brother, I hate your rival, and I die for you: All but my spotless honour shall be yours. _Alph._ By heaven!--but that word heaven comes cross my thoughts-- _Vict._ Beware: for by my own I guess your passion. You would, I fear-- _Alph._ Enjoy my heaven one moment-- _Vict._ And part with it for ever: Think on that. _Alph._ That moment were eternity in little: A mighty sum, but taken on content, To save the tedious telling o'er and o'er. _Vict._ Oh, we are too long together. _Alph._ Fear you that? _Vict._ I ought to fear it, but I trust my virtue. Depart, my soul,--I will not ask you whither, For fear I should repent of my repentance, And follow you to death. _Alph._ I go, Victoria, For love's cold fit of jealousy returns. You must not be Don Garcia's; swear you will not. _Vict._ I swear I will not, by my own consent. _Alph._ You may be forced;--oh, cursed jealousy, Thou bastard son of Love, unlike thy father, Why dost thou still torment me? _Vict._ Trust my honour.