CIMENA

How now Elvira? What in conclusion must I hope or fear? What must become of me? what says my father? Prithee speak truth Elvira, the excess of this my happiness does stagger My faith in it; may I believe thy words? I cannot tell, but yet me thinks my soul Does not receive this joy; but all confounded Expects what moment will present to me A diverse face from this my happiness, And cross my present fortune. Well, let us go then, and attend the issue. What can I hope now, but continual troubles, A storm so sudden coming over this calm Threatens a certain shipwreck to our loves: It's passed all doubt, I perish in the haven. I loved, was loved again, our friends agreed, And I no sooner had told you the news, But in and ill hour sprung their fatal quarrel, Which when I herd, I knew my Hope's were ruined: Cursed ambition, honour pitiless, Under whose tyranny the bravest souls Do ever suffer: how many tears and sighs Must I pay for you? This business will admit no composition, the affronts to honour never are repaired, Wisdom or power can prevail little here; This wound will not be healed, it may be covered, And stifled hate nourishes secret fires Within the breast, but such as burn more fiercely. rath e r do desire, than hope it, Madam, Done Diego is too haughty, and I know My father well, of what a spirit he is. I feel my tears run, which I would retain: What's passed, torments me, and I fear the sequel. Roderigo is not weak. Valiant young men are ever very sudden. If he do not obey, how great's my grief? And if he do, what will men say of him, That being a Gentleman, he could put up Such and affront? so that if he resist, Or else give way to his affection, I cannot but be troubled, orasham'd At his too much respect, or just denial. Ah, Madam, in this case I have no such thought. Good God, I tremble! Ay me, my fear's, they be fighting by this time. Justice, Sir, Justice, I ask it on my knees. Revenge my father's death. Roderigo, Sir, Has killed my father. A King owes justice to his Subject's blood. My father's slain, Sir, and these eyes have seen His blood gush out in bubbles; that deer blood Which has so oft preserved your walls, so oft Been fired to gain you battles, and which yet Reaks with just anger, to have been spilled for any But you the King, which war durst never draw, Roderigo in your Court has made to flow Upon the earth, and for his first essay, Has taken away the firm prop of your State, Breathless, and pale, I came unto the place, And found him dead! Dead! pardon Sir, my grief, My voice does fail me, let my tears speak the rest. You'ave done my Misery's, Sir, too much honour. Thither I came amazed, and found him dead, He spoke nought to me, but the more to move me, His spilled blood wrote my duty on the dust. Rather his worth reduced to that poor State, Spoke to me through his wound and hastened me To this pursuit, and to be herd the better, Of the most just of Kings, borrowed my voice. Suffer not Sir, such rage to pass unpunished Before your eyes, and let not heady youth, Lave themselves in the blood of your best Soldiers, And brave their memories. If you permit it, You'll have, but few that will desire to serve you, In fine my Father's dead, I demand justice Rather for yours, than my own interest, You are engaged in the lose of such a man, Revenge it then, and require blood for blood. Sacrifice Worser. Diego, and his family To your self, to the people, to Castille, What can be deer enough to satisfy For my dead Father? It's just great Sir to cut off murderers. To give them truce, is to increase them more. Oh me unfortunate! I shall offend the King then who has promised To do me Justice. It's the last remedy, but if it must Arrive at that, and this your noble pity Of my misfortunes do continue with you, I shall then give you the freedom you desire. AT length I find I'm free to open to thee The fadnesse of my soul, and to give way to my deep sighs, which else would stifle me. My father's dead, Elvira, the first sword That Roderigo used has cut his thread, Weep, weep mine eyes, melt into tears my brain Half of my life, the other half has slain, And ty's me to revenge on what is left, That partly of which by this I am bereft. How unfitly Thou biddest me to be quiet, when at once I must bewail my lose, and hand that made it, Or what is't I can hope for in this life But torments, near to be redres'd by time, If loving the Author, I pursue the crime. Love him, Elvira? more than that I adore him, My love stands up against the sense, I should have Of a slain father, and would quite o're-beare it. I find my lover in mine enemy, And spite of all my anger, in my heart Roderigo makes his partly good against my father: Yet though my love has these advantages, I'll not advice with it about my duty. Nothing is dearer to me than Roderigo, My heart would take his partly, but then my honour Tells me I had a father, which he slew. Oh cruel meaning! cruel prosecution! To which I'm forced. I ask his head, and yet Fear to obtain it. I would would him punished, And yet my death, I know, must wait on his. Shall I see My father die between my arms? his blood Crying vengeance to me, and shan't I hear him? Shall my heart think, because it's charmed by love, That nothing's endue unto a father's death But childish tears? or shall I suffer love To steal into my heart, and thrust out honour? Then is my glory lost; no, it behooves I be revenged. No I'll swear he can't. To save mine honour, and to put and end To all my griefs at once, I am resolved First to pursue him unto death, and then To die my self. What place is this, Elvira? who is this? Roderigo in my house! before my face! Aye me! I die. Away and let me die. That sword be fmear'd with the blood of my dead father. Fie, take away that object Which to mine eyes upbraids thy crime, and life. It's died in my own blood. What cruelty is this, which in one day Father and daughter both deprives of life, One by the sword, the other by the sighed? Remove that object of my hate, thy sword, Thou wouldst be herd of her thou meanest to kill. True Roderigo, (though thine enemy) That thou didst shun disgrace, I cannot blame thee, And whatsoever face my griefs put on I not accuse thee, but my own misfortune. I know what honour, after such and out rage, Demaund's of any brave and generous spirit. Thou didst thy duty but in doing it Thou t'aught'st me mine. The same regard thou hadst To vindicate thine own, and father's honour Fall's now one me, and the more afflict me Of thee I must require, what I have lost; It is thy interest makes me despair, Had any other hand, or sad misfortune Deprived me of my father, I had found My comfort in thy sighed, the only charm Against my griefs: When by so deer a hand My tears had been wiped off: but now I must Loose him and thee too, and what's more cruel, I'm bound my self to labour thy destruction, For never look from my affection The least resentment for thy punishment; For though our love would speak in favour of thee, Mine honour yet must go as high as thine; Thou in my wrong showdest thy self worthy me, I in thy death will appear worthy thee. Away, I'm thy accuser, not thy headsman, Is't fit for me to take the head thou offerest? It's of another that I must obtain it; I must pursue thy crime, not punish it. Cruel! to be so obstinate in this, If without help thou didst revenge thy self, Why dost thou offer't me? I'll follow thee, My courage is too great to let thee bear The least partly in my glory, neither shall Mine, or my father's honour stoop so low As to thy love, or thy despair to owe. Away, I hate thee not. I can't. It will live better, if I let thee live; I'll have the voice of the most black mouthed envy Admire my glory, and pity my hard sufferings, When they shall know, that though I love thy person, I prosecute thy crime. Go Roderigo, And let the darkness of the night conceal Thy parting hence, mine honour cannot run A greater hazard, than if men shall know That I have kept thee company so long. Away. Spite of this loving fire which would restrain That of my anger, I shall do my best To have full vengeance for my father's death, And yet in spite of this so cruel honour, My desire is to have my desires crossed. But heaped with griefs. Who would have thought it Roderigo? Who That our joys Should be so nigh us and so quickly lost. Go Roderigo, And think I cannot, dare not, hear thee longer. If I obtain the effect, I sadly vow Not to draw breath one minute after thee, Adieu, and have a care thou be not seen. B Ut is this true, Elvira? art thou sure on't? And was't Roderigo's hand that did these wonders. Whence couldst thou gather this strange news, Elvira? How does the King look, upon this his valour? But has he God no wound? Let me resume my anger, which my love Has so enfeebled; must my care for him Make me forget my self? peace, peace my love, And let my anger work; though he have vanquished Two kings, he has not overcome my duty. These mourning habits, where I read my Misery's, Are the first fruits his valour did produce, And though all tongues should speak in his defence All objects here do represent his crime. Veil, Cypress, and these blacks sad memories Of my dead Father, keep a little up Mine honour against my passion, and when love Shall get the power of me, tell my heart I owe a duty to a Father slain. Nay rather, Madame, Share in the common joy, and fully taste The happiness, kind heaven has sent to you, I only am designed for grief; the dangers From which you are rescued by Rodcrigo's hand, And all your safeties purchased by his arms. To me alone bequeathe these tears and sighs, It's he has saved the City, served his King, And only ruined me. Yes the unwelcome news, Has pierced my ears already, I can hear How the voice goes, and that he's famed no less A Valiant Soldier, than a luckless lover. I needs must say His honours are but endue, and yet to me Each p raise of him, is a new punishment, For I can't chosen but know how great my lose is, Finding the valve of the thing I loose The more his merit, and my love increases, The more my duty gets advantage of me, And spite of my affection puts me on To prosecute his crime. Not to obey you were a sin unpardonable. Ah, Madam, give my spirit its full course, Though my heart make a faction against me, Though he be loved by the King, adored by the people, Though he be compassed with the stoutest Soldiers, He overwhelm his Laurel, with my Cypress. He may. Refuse me if he please, but I must speak. Is Roderigo dead then? Sir, we as often faint with joy as sadness, And when excess of that surprises us, It soon confounds our senses. Well, Sir, you may Add this too, if you please, to my misfortunes, And call my swoonings the effects of grief, I must confess, I grieved to see my self Robbed of the life I sue for. If he die Of wounds he has received for is Countries good, My vengeance is lost, and my designs betrayed, I ask his death, but not a glorious one; I would not have him die ith' bed of honour, But on a Scaffold, that his name may rot, And his memorial perish, It's no shame To say I love his victory, by it He has assured the State, and rendered me A noble sacrifice, in stead of Flowers Crowned with victorious bays, and such a one, As I'de have offered to my Father's ghost. But why, alas, am I transported so? Roderigo needs not fear what I can do. What can a Virgins tears despised and scorned. Your Kingdom is to him a place of free Security, and he shall triumph over me As over his enemies, the blood oth' Moors Shall choke up justice here, which must be made A Trophy to the Victor's crimes; Whilst I Amongst the rest, adorn his victory. For me! my Enemy the Author of My miscries, the murderer of my father. Is my just suit so slighted that I'm thought To be obliged because I am not herd? Sir, since my tears cannot obtain it of you, Let the sword, I beseech you, give me justice By that I'm injured and by that I crave To be revenged. Of all your Cavaliers I ask his head, to him that brings it me, As to the Conqueror I give my self, The Combat ended, he shall be my husband, This, I beseech your Majesty may be published By your authority. Sir, I have promised him. That were t'impose too hard a law upon me. W Hat Roderigo, in the open day! Whence comes this boldness? do you mean t'undoe Me, and mine honour? Fie, retire your self. You go to die? You go to die! And is Done Sancho then A man so terrible, that you needs fear him? Who has made you so weak? or him so valiant? Roderigo goes to fight, and thinks himself Already dead. He that nor feared the Moors, Nor yet my Father, going to encounter Done Sancho, trembles at it. Does your spirit Fail you at greatest needs? If the just violence of a fatal duty, Which makes me to pursue thee against my will, Prescribe unto thy love so hard a law, That thou wilt not defend thy self against him That fights for me. Take head least thou forget That both thy life, and glory fallen together, And howsoever Roderigo has lived Being slain, he will be thought a vanquished man. Honour was dearer once then I was to you, When in my Father's blood you imbrued your hands, It made you then in spite of your affection Renounce the hope of ere enjoying me; But now you valve it so little that You care not who it is that conquers you. See how unseasonable your virtue is, Why were you valiant once & are not now? Were you so only to do me and outrage? Or will you be so cruel to my father, That having conquered him, you will submit Your self to any hand. No Roderigo Defend thy honour, though thou slight thy life. Since nor thy love, nor honour can prevail To hold thee from thy ruin, deer Roderigo, If ere I loved thee, I conjure thee now To do thy best, if for no other end To free me from Done Sancho, let me not Be given up to the object of my loathing. What shall I say more? go defend thy self, And if thy love be not congealed to ice, Be Victor where Cimena is the price, Adieu! this last word makes me blush for shame. WHat shall I do Elvira? all my Hope's Are lost, and I have nothing left but fears, I dare not give consent to my own wishes, I've caused two Rivals to take arms for me, What ever happens. Sorrow is my lot; For think the best, I can of fate obtain, My Father's unrevenged or lover slain. What? the object of my hate, or of my anger? Roderigo's, or my Father's murderer, From this or that, I must expect a husband Died in the blood of him I held most deer, I fear the issue worse than any death. Go vengeance, or my love that troublest me, Thou hast not sweets I'm sure to make me amends, And thou the powerful mover of that fate Which does me all this violence, determine This Combat equally, without advantage, That neither be the Victor, or the Vanquished. Dost think though he be Conqueror that I will Yield my self his? my duty is too strong, And my lose over great. He may overcome Done Sancho easily, but not so soon The glory of Cimena. Though a Monarch Have promised me unto his victory Mine honour, (rather than I'll be his prize) Shall raise him up a thousand enemies. The griefs Elvira, I sustain already, Needs not thy fatal augury to augment they, I would, if possible, avoid them both, If not, Roderigo has my best of wishes. Not that my love inclines me more to him, But lest he failing, I should be Done Sancho's. The thought of that, makes me to wish him well. What's this Elvira? See it's done already. What that yet reaking with Roderigo's blood? Traitor, how darest thou come into my sighed, When thou hast ravished from me, all I loved? Shine now at full my love, thou needest not fear, My Father's satisfied. One only blow, as to mine honour given security, To my soul despair, to my love liberty. Darest thou yet Speak to me? Cursed murderer of that Heros Which I do most adore. Go, thou hast slain him Perfidiously, for otherwise that man Could never fallen by such a hand as thine. What wouldst thou have me hear? Can I doubt, when my eyes are satisfied, I have obtained the mischief which I sought for, And my just suit has had too good success, Pardon deer love, its bloody cruelty. Think though a lover, yet I was a daughter. If on thy blood I have revenged my Father. For thy revenge I will exhaust my own, My soul has nothing now, that should retain it, It shall go after thine, to ask it pardon. And thou that thinkest obtain me by his death, Disloyal minister of my cruel fate, Hope nothing at my hands. Thou hast done me No service, only hastened on my death. What wouldst thou have me hear thee, while with boasting Thou paintest out to me my own fatal crime, And his misfortunes, that thy cruel story May kill me in thy sighed. No, I can die Without thy help. My soul can find out death, Instructed by no aid but her own mischiefs. Sir, I needs not now dissemble any longer What never art of mine could hide from you I loved, you know, yet to revenge my Father I would proscribe the head I held so deer, By that your Majesty might easily see, I meant my love should give place to my duty. In fine Roderigoe's dead. His death has changed Her, who was once his mortal enemy To and afflicted lover. That revenge I to my Father ought, and to my love These tears which now I shed; Done Sancho has In taking of my partly quite ruined me, And yet for doing so I'm made his prize. Sir, if kind pity ever moved a King, Now of your grace revoke this cruel law, Though he have slain the man I loved so dearly, I'll give him all I have for his reward, So he will leave me to my self, and that I may bewail (the time I have to live) My Father, and my Lover, in a Cloister. Rise Roderigo. Sir, I must needs say My love has showed it self too much, for me Now to deny it. Roderigo has Such virtues, as I know not how to hate. And you're my King. I cannot but obey you, But is there here any appearance of A Marriage, if it be, it is a sad one, That one day should begin, and end my mourning, That having laid my Father in his grave, I should lay Roderigo in my bed: That were to hold intelligence with's murderer, And soil my honour with eternal shame.