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Dor. If I'm a traitor, think, and blush, thou tyrant, Whose injuries betrayed me into treason.
Seb. Thy old presumptuous arrogance again,
Where, like a statue, thou hast stood besieged
And the gross flattery of a gaping crowd,
Thy hungry minions thought their rights invaded,
To save his king's, the boon was begged before.
Thou mov'st me more by barely naming him,
Dor. And therefore 'twas to gall thee, that I nam'd him, That thing, that nothing but a cringe and smile.
Seb. I meant thee a reward of greater worth.
When justice wanted, could reward be hoped?
Sacred to peace, and safe from all affronts ;
To strike the man I lov'd! So was I forced
Thou hast dared
All my long avarice of honour lost,
Heaped up in youth, and hoarded up for age;
Seb. Now by this honoured order which I wear,
Be urged to shield me from thy bold appeal.
Dor. Thou know'st I have:
If thou disown'st that imputation, draw,
Seb. No; to disprove that charge I must not draw:
Be conscious to thy worth, and tell thy soul
What thou hast done this day in my defence;
I'll cut that isthmus : Thou know'st I meant not to preserve thy life,
But to reprieve it for my own revenge.
I saved thee out of honourable malice:
Now draw; I should be loth to think thou dar'st not:
Seb. O, patience!
Beware of patience too!
That's a suspicious word; it had been proper,
Before thy foot had spurned me; now 'tis base:
I have thy oath for my security:
The only boon I begg'd was this fair combat;
Fight, or be perjur'd now; that's all thy choice.
Seb. Now can I thank thee as thou wouldst be thank'd:
Never was vow of honour better paid,
If my true sword but hold, than this shall be.
Dor. His ghost! then is my hated rival dead? Seb. The question is beside our present purpose. Thou seest me ready; we delay too long.
Dor. A minute is not much in either's life, When there's but one betwixt us; throw it in, And give it him of us who is to fall.
Seb. He's dead make haste, and thou may'st yet o'ertake him.
When I was hasty, thou delay'st me longer.
Be kind and tell me how that rival died,
Whose death, next thine, I wished.
Seb. If it would please thee, thou shouldst never know : But thou, like jealousy, inquir'st a truth,
Which found, will torture thee: he died in fight;
(For I will have it from thy very mouth)
That better he deserved my love than thou.
Dor. For you he fought and died; I fought against you: Through all the mazes of the bloody field
Hunted your sacred life; which that I miss'd
Was the propitious error of my fate,
Not of my soul; my soul's a regicide.
Seb. Thou might'st have given it a more gentle name : Thou mean'st to kill a tyrant, not a king.
Speak, didst thou not, Alonzo?
Can I speak?
Alas, I cannot answer to Alonzo:
Then, when I fought and conquer'd with your arms,
Till rage and pride debased me into Dorax ;
And lost, like Lucifer, my name above.
Yet twice this day I owed my life to Dorax. Dor. I saved you but to kill you: there's my grief.
Seb. Nay, if thou canst be grieved, thou canst repent: Thou couldst not be a villain, tho' thou would'st: Thou own'st too much in owning thou hast erred: And I too little, who provoked thy crime.
Dor. O, stop this headlong torrent of your goodness! It comes too fast upon a feeble soul,
Half-drown'd in tears before; spare my confusion,
For yet I have not dar'd, through guilt and shame,
What, my Alonzo, said you? my Alonzo! my tears thank you, for I cannot speak ; And if I could,
Words were not made to vent such thoughts as mine.
Sir, I love
I would be private leave me.
And therefore will not leave you.
Ant. Will not leave me?
Where have you learnt that answer? Who am I?
Ven. My emperor: the man I love next Heaven. If I said more, I think 'twere scarce a sin
You're all that's good and noble.
You will not leave me, then?
All that's wretched.
'Twas too presuming
Ven. Look, emperor, this is no common dew,
My mother comes afresh into my eyes;
I cannot help her softness.
Ant. Sure there's contagion in the tears of friends; See, I have caught it too. Believe me, 'tis not For my own griefs, but thine-nay, father
Ven. Emperor !
Ant. Emperor! why that's the style of victory. The conqu'ring soldier, red with unfelt wounds, Salutes his general so: but never more
Shall that sound reach my ears.
Ant. Thou favour'st me, and speak'st not half thou
For Julius fought it out, and lost it fairly:
Nay, stop not.
(Well, thou wilt have it)—like a coward fled,
Fled while his soldiers fought; fled first, Ventidius.
I know thou cam'st prepared to rail.
I know thy meaning.
Ven. You are too sensible already
Of what you've done, too conscious of your failings;