_Vera._ Whether to heaven's justice, or thy choice, I owe this happy hour of sweet revenge, I'll not be wanting to the wished occasion. _Vict._ You shall not die alone, my dear Alphonso, Though much I blame this desperate enterprize. You should have staid, to see The event of what I promised to perform; For, had I been so base to be another's, That baseness might have cured your ill-placed love. But this untimely rashness makes you guilty, Both of your fate, and mine. _Alph._ While I believed My life was precious to my dear Victoria, I valued and preserved it for her sake: But when you broke from your deliverer's arms. To put yourself into a tyrant's power, I threw a worthless, wretched being from me. Abandoned first by you. _Vict._ Oh cruel man! Where, at what moment did that change begin, With which you tax my violated vows? I left your lawless power, to put myself Into a father's chains, my lawful tyrant. If this be my upbraided crime, even this, On that occasion, would I do once more: But could I, with my honour, safe have staid In your dear arms, bear witness, heaven and earth, Nor threats, nor force, nor promises, nor fears, Should take me from your love. _Alph._ Oh, I believe you.-- Vanish my fears, and causeless jealousies! Live, my Victoria, for yourself, not me, But let the unfortunate Alphonso die; My death will glut your cruel father's rage. When I am gone, and his revenge complete, Pity, perhaps, may seize a parent's mind, To free you from a hated lover's arms. _Cel._ [_To_ XIM.] Speak, mother, speak; my father gives you time; He stands amazed, irresolute, and dumb, Like the still face of heaven before a storm;-- Speak and arrest the thunder, ere it rolls. _Xim._ I stand suspected; but you, Celidea, The favourite of his heart, his darling child, May speak, and ought: your interest is concerned; For, if Alphonso die, your hopes are lost. I see your father's soul, like glowing steel, Is on the anvil; strike, while yet he's hot: Turn him, and ply him; set him strait betimes, Lest he for ever warp. _Cel._ I fear, and yet would speak; but will he hear me? _Xim._ For what is all this silence, but to hear? Bring him but to calm reasoning, and he's gained. _Cel._ Then heaven inspire my tongue!---- Sir, royal sir!---- He hears me not; he lifts not up his eyes, But, fixed upon the pavement, looks the way That points to death.-- [_She pulls him._ Oh hear me, hear me, father! Have you forgot that dear indulgent name, Never before in vain pronounced by me? _Vera._ Ha! who disturbs my thoughts?