ZISCO

—Hell, and furies!— Perfect. The King. It's as soon done as thought of. The groans of whose sunk house, are herd To affright strangers; while Naples yet Stained with the purple tied, his soul swam forth in, Do's blush at it's own gilded: his son Frederico (You know) was lost at Sicily in a crowd. First won to his embraces By volleys of false oaths, her virgin honour Rifled, her chased womb swollen with the imposthume Of his salt lust, then torn with spite from's bosom, Ravished, murdered, and by whom? (I could hate my self, For taking birth amongst such,) cursed Moors: Were she your enemy, her cause, and sex Would challenge pity; but you loved her dearly, The Mistress you adored; who then can think But that your soul is black, and stained as his, That are thus tame? I am in heaven too soon. Thus far I'm safe, heaven is just, and smiles On my design, now all that's powerful To move my spirits, to incite revenge Appear, if not to sighed, to memory; Alberto: father: and my deer, deer sister, Poor lost Felicia! — Would! he groans, I hear him; She sighs poor maid, wrings her hands, cries alas, Look look I see they, there, there, sacred shades — Vanished, and I'm deluded; no they're angry At my delay: I'll hast,—for that revenge must needs be just Which punishes two sins, murder, and lust. I'm prepared. Sure? puh! would you know? I my self Am the More he caused to ravish her. Bravely. Resolved. Stay your hand—be innocent in your revenge, Let me bear all the gilded. How? or when arrived this your knowledge Madame? My sister! ravished: And murdered by! me, incestuous villain! To incense you the more against him; I told you What I only did imagine, because at my return From Sicily, report whispered her lost, Lost in the ruins of my Father, Which made me think her murdered. Ho! Charon, more company, lie farther there jolthead, what quarreling you dogs? thy oar, thy oar ferryman: clap they o'th sconce with't, there, there. Are you there fury, Megaera, Tisiphone, Alecto, Howl, howl, furies, I'll lash you. This day my Lord — —Of my stout service done against the Turks In the Lepanto battle, where I turned Christian, And was baptized in mine own blood. Unmoved as destiny. —Could you have told me of it in that minute I should have acted it, I'de owe you for The glory of a sin, I might have boasted of; What we intend, never rises to that height As what we act, because t'may prove abottive, And perish in the thought, and for such crimes, I only have repentance. Why there's the honour on't, Killing the head, I kill the body too, And at one blow lay a whole Kingdom gasping. Now your rage becomes you: When Princes put off their humanity, Murders, a holy sin, you may be good, And fallen Like him, whose aged head lies low, Low in the dust. My Lord. The night comes on apace, straight every thing Will be as black as I, and alike terrible, Nay outdo me too: each leaf that stirs Affrights the fearful, makes the guilty tremble, And yet this night, what is it but a shadow? Yet I am less than that, for I do less: I that have purposed so much, act nothing! Horror! could but my thoughts be seen, they own Murders, more than the basilisk could commit, Were he all eye, more than revenge has acted, Or than the trivial spite of plague, and war Produce, in their full heat. — Ʋ rsini be speedy Or I'll outrun design. — My Lord. And she were my mother. Death hangs upon her lids, it's eternal night with her. hoa, sister, stay, take me along with you; I'll fol low you. Fancy, fancy this, I'm proof against it; I'll take him in's cups When he's drunk, betray him to a rape, Or fouler sin, then kill him in the act. And dare encounter lightning, stand a thunderbolt, Or enraged winds; contend with that high influence By which you flourish, yet never fear a blasting: His favour is a tyranny; it is The pride of Princes, to be thought Gods here On earth, daring to mock omnipotence, To create them favourites, set them aloft In their own sphere, till remote Kingdoms gaze At their prodigious height, then in and instant Shoot them from thence, Like falling meteors: Had he not loved you first, you could not be The object of his hate, you were too poor, And safe, when 'twas, to have him glory in Your ruins: innocence below enjoys Security, and quiet sleeps, murder's not herd of, Treachery is a stranger there, they enjoy Their friends, and loves, without ravishment, They are all equal, every one's a Prince, And rules himself, they speak not with their eyes, Or brows, but with the tongue, & that too dwells i'th heart: Were it but thus at Court, Why start you Sir? Your honours are no more your own than his: 'Twas the same favour that conferred them both, And the same frown may take they both away: He lets you only grow till you are envied, And then you'll fallen unpitied. It's done. Pardon me Sir, I've a little bufinesse to dispatch first — This for Felicia, thus Alberto fell. Would! do'e know me Prince? Thus, thus I'll wake you:— Here I am his murderer. Felicia! sister! your brother Frederico call's, She's gone, cold, cold! and pale, and yet methinks She smiles, look up, Felicia — My strength decays, I reel and totter Like a cracked reed that leans against the winds. Perhaps and by a slave. Felicia too, unhappy maid —