_Alph._ That may be chafed into a warmth, Victoria. Talk, seeing, touching, are incendiaries; And these may mount your young desires like straw, To meet the jett that draws you. _Vict._ Trust my love. _Alph._ I swear I trust it, but I fear your beauty: 'Tis a fair fruit that hangs upon the bough, Tempts, and is tempted. _Vict._ 'Tis indeed a fruit. Seen and desired by all, while yet unpulled, But can be gathered by one only hand. _Alph._ That one is Garcia;--still the fit returns: I wish my jealousy could quench my love. _Vict._ It cannot, if I measure yours by mine; Or, if extinguished, like a trail of smoke From a wax taper, soon would light again. _Alph._ 'Tis so; for when I say I will not love, Then I love most. Farewell, my only joy! I go to hide me from the world and you. _Vict._ As, when the sun is down, His light is clipt into a thousand stars, So your sweet image, though you shine not on me, Will gild the horror of the night, and make A pleasing scene of solitary grief. _Enter_ VERAMOND _and_ XIMENA, _he with an Ovid in his hand_. _Vera._ How darest thou, rebel, thus provoke my patience Beyond all sufferance, and transgress thy bounds? _Alph._ When kings and fathers, on their sons and subjects Exact intolerable things to bear, Nature and self-defence dispense with duty. _Vera._ Oh, heaven! what horrid sin have I committed That I was punished to beget this son? _Alph._ I could ask heaven another question too, But that 'tis not so decent. In few words; Hither I came to take my latest leave Of dear Victoria, then depart for ever; And, buried in some solitary cave, Forgetting and forgotten, end my days. _Vera._ 'Tis what thou hast deserved: perform thy penance. _Xim._ So hard a sentence for so small a fault? Are you a father, sir! _Vera._ Is he a son? Thou knowest not his offence. But mark the glowing blood, the guilty flush Upon Victoria's face, and read it there. _Xim._ I know not what you mean. _Vera_ Victoria, speak, And clear yourself:--she answers not a word. Nay, then my fears are true, on both sides guilty. _Vict._ 'Tis found, and we are lost. [_Aside._ _Vera._ But what needs more conviction? know you this? [_Shewing the Ovid to_ ALPH. This book, the tutor of incestuous love? The page is doubled down, and points thee to thy crime. I feared, before, from every rolling glance, How quick they shot upon thy sister's face; And she received them all, like smoking flax; Confessed the fire, and answered to the flame.