Gar. I would oblige him, but he shuns my kindness;

And with a haughty mien, and stern civility,
Dumbly declines all offers. If he speak,
'Tis scarce above a word; as he were born
Alone to do, and did disdain to talk;
At least to talk where he must not command.
King. Such sullenness, and in a man so brave,
Must have some other cause than his captivity.
Did Zara, then, request he might attend her?
Gar. My lord, she did.

King. That, joined with his behaviour, Begets a doubt. I'd have them watched; perhaps

Her chains hang heavier on him than his own. Enter ALONZO, ZARA, and OSMYN bound, conducted by PEREZ and a guard, and attended by SELIM and several mutes and eunuchs in a train.

Zara. Such favours, so conferred, though when

unsought,

Deserve acknowledgment from noble minds.
Such thanks, as one hating to be obliged-
Yet hating more ingratitude, can pay,
I offer.

King. Born to excel, and to command!
As by transcendent beauty to attract
All eyes; so, by pre-eminence of soul,
To rule all hearts!

Garcia, what's he, who, with contracted brow,
[Beholding Osmyn, as they unbind him.
And sullen port, glooms downwards with his eyes,
At once regardless of his chains, or liberty?

Gar. That, sir, is he of whom I spoke; that's
Osmyn.

King. He answers well the character you gave him.

Whence comes it, valiant Osmyn, that a man
So great in arms, as thou art said to be,
So hardly can endure captivity,
The common chance of war?
Osm. Because captivity

beauteous Zara,

A king and conqueror can give, are yours.
A conqueror indeed, where you are won;
Who with such lustre strike admiring eyes,
That had our pomp been with your presence
graced,

The expecting crowd had been deceived; and seen
The monarch enter, not triumphant, but,
In pleasing triumph led, your beauty's slave.
Zara. If I on any terms could condescend
To like captivity, or think those honours,
Which conquerors in courtesy bestow,
Of equal value with unborrowed rule
And native right to arbitrary sway,

I might be pleased, when I beheld this train
With usual homage wait: but when I feel
These bonds, I look with loathing on myself,
And scorn vile slavery, though doubly hid
Beneath mock praises, and dissembled state.
King. Those bonds! 'Twas my command you
should be free.

How durst you, Perez, disobey?

Per. Great sir,

Your order was she should not wait your triumph,
But at some distance follow, thus attended.
King. 'Tis false; 'twas more; I bid she should
be free;

If not in words, I bid it by my eyes.
Her eyes did more than bid-Free her and her's,
With speed-yet stay-my hands alone can make
Fit restitution here. Thus I release you,

King. I understand not that.
Osm. I would not have you.

Zara. That gallant Moor in battle lost a friend,
Whom more than life he loved; and the regret,
Of not revenging on his foes that loss,
Has caused this melancholy and despair.

King. She does excuse him; 'tis as I suspected. [To Gon.

Gon. That friend might be herself; seem not to heed

His arrogant reply: she looks concerned.
King. I'll have enquiry made; perhaps his
friend

Yet lives, and is a prisoner. His name?
Zara. Heli.

King. Garcia, that search shall be your care:
It shall be mine to pay devotion here;
At this fair shrine to lay my laurels down,
And raise love's altar on the spoils of war.
Conquest and triumph, now, are mine no more;
Nor will I victory in camps adore :

For, lingering there, in long suspence she stands,
Shifting the prize in unresolving hands;
Unused to wait, I broke through her delay,
Fixed her by force, and snatched the doubtful
day.

Now late I find that war is but her sport;
In love the goddess keeps her awful court;
Fickle in fields, unsteadily she flies,.
But rules with settled sway in Zara's eyes.

[Exeunt.

GARCIA, HELI, Perez.

Gar. THIS way, we're told, Osmyn was seen to walk;

Chusing this lonely mansion of the dead,
To mourn, brave Heli, thy mistaken fate.
Heli. Let Heaven with thunder to the centre
strike me,

If to arise in very deed from death,
And to revisit, with my long-closed eyes,
This living light, could to my soul or sense
Afford a thought, or shew a glimpse of joy,
In least proportion to the vast delight

I feel, to hear of Osmyn's name; to hear
That Osmyn lives, and I again shall see him.
Gar. I've heard, with admiration, of your
friendship.

Per. Yonder, my lord, behold the noble Moor.
Hel. Where? Where?

Gar. I saw him not, nor any like him-
Per. I saw him when I spoke, thwarting my view,
And striding with distempered haste; his eyes
Seemed flame, and flashed upon me with a glance;
Then forward shot their fires which he pursued,
As to some object frightful, yet not feared.
Gar. Let's haste to follow him, and know the

cause.

Hel. My lord, let me intreat you to forbear: Leave me alone, to find and cure the cause. I know his melancholy, and such starts Are usual to his temper. It might raise him To act some violence upon himself, So to be caught in an unguarded hour, And when his soul gives all her passion way, Secure and loose in friendly solitude.

I know his noble heart would burst with shame, To be surprised by strangers in its frailty.

Gar. Go, generous Heli, and relieve your friend. Far be it from me officiously to pry Or press upon the privacies of others.

[Exit Heli.

Perez, the king expects, from our return,
To have his jealousy confirmed, or cleared,
Of that appearing love which Zara bears
To Osmyn; but some other opportunity
Must make that plain.

Per. To me 'twas long since plain,
And every look from him and her confirms it.
Gar. If so, unhappiness attends their love,
And I could pity them. I hear some coming.
The friends, perhaps, are met; let us avoid them.

[Exeunt.

Enter ALMERIA and LEONORA. Alm. It was a fancied noise, for all is hushed. Leon. It bore the accent of a human voice. Alm. It was thy fear, or else some transient wind

We'll listen

Leon. Hark!

Alm. No, all is hushed, and still as death-'tis dreadful!

How reverend is the face of this tall pile,
Whose ancient pillars rear their marble heads,
To bear aloft its arched and ponderous roof,
By its own weight made stedfast and immoveable,
Looking tranquillity. It strikes an awe
And terror on my aching sight; the tombs
And monumental caves of death look cold,
And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart.
Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice;
Nay, quickly speak to me, and let me hear
Thy voice-my own affrights me with its echoes.
Leon. Let us return; the horror of this place,
And silence, will encrease your melancholy.

Alm. It may my fears, but cannot add to that.
No, I will on; shew me Anselmo's tomb,
Lead me o'er bones and skulls, and mouldering
earth,

Of human bodies; for l'il mix with them,
Or wind me in the shroud of some pale corpse,
Yet green in earth, rather than be the bride
Of Garcia's more detested bed: that thought
Exerts my spirits, and my present fears
Are lost in dread of greater ill. Then shew me,
Lead me, for I am bolder grown: lead me
Where I may kneel, and pay my vows again,
To him, to Heaven, and my Alphonso's soul.
Leon. I go; but Heaven can tell with what re-
gret.
[Exeunt.

Enter HELI.

Heli. I wander through this maze of monu

ments,

Yet cannot find him-Hark! sure 'tis the voice Of one complaining-There it sounds!—I'll follow it. [Exit.

SCENE II.-Opening, discovers a place of Tombs: one Monument, fronting the view, greater than the rest.

Enter ALMERIA and LEONORA.

Leon. Behold the sacred vault, within whose womb

The poor remains of good Anselmo rest,
Yet fresh and unconsumed by time or worms.
What do I see? Oh, Heaven! either my eyes
Are false, or still the marble door remains
Unclosed; the iron gates, that lead to death
Beneath, are still wide stretched upon their hinge,
And staring on us with unfolded leaves!

Alm. Sure 'tis the friendly yawn of death for

Shall rest; shews me the grave, where nature,

weary

And long oppresed with woes and bending cares,
May lay the burthen down, and sink in slumbers
Of peace eternal. Death, grim death, will fold
Me in his leaden arms, and press me close
To his cold clayey breast: My father, then,
Will cease his tyranny; and Garcia, too,
Will fly my pale deformity with loathing.
My soul, enlarged from its vile bonds, will mount,
And range the starry orbs, and milky ways,
Of that refulgent world, where I shall swim
In liquid light, and float, on seas of bliss,
To my Alphonso's soul. Oh, joy too great!
Oh, ecstacy of thought! Help me, Anselmo ;
Help me, Alphonso; take me, reach thy hand;
To thee, to thee I call; to thee, Alphonso :
Oh, Alphonso!

OSMYN ascending from the tomb.
Osm. Who calls that wretched thing that was
Alphonso?

Alm. Angels, and all the host of heaven, support me!

Osm. Whence is that voice, whose shrillness, from the grave,

And growing to his father's shroud, roots up
Alphonso?

Alm. Mercy! Providence! Oh, speak,
Speak to it quickly, quickly; speak to me,
Comfort me, help me, hold me, hide me, hide me,
Leonora, in thy bosom, from the light,
And from my eyes!

Osm. Amazement and illusion!

Rivet and nail me where I stand, ye powers,

[Coming forward. That, motionless, I may be still deceived. Let me not stir, nor breathe, lest I dissolve That tender, lovely form of painted air, So like Almeria. Ha! it sinks, it falls; I'll catch it ere it goes, and grasp her shade! Tis life! 'tis warm! 'tis she, 'tis she herself! Nor dead, nor shade, but breathing and alive! It is Almeria, it is my wife!

Alm. I have sworn I'll not wed Garcia: why do ye force me?

Is this a father?

Osm. Look on thy Alphonso.

Thy father is not here, my love, nor Garcia :
Nor am I what I seem, but thy Alphonso.
Wilt thou not know me? Hast thou then forgot

me?

Hast thou thy eyes, yet canst not see Alphonso?
Am I so altered, or art thou so changed,
That, seeing my disguise, thou seest not me?

Alm. It is, it is Alphonso! 'tis his face,
His voice-I know him now, I know him all.
Oh, take me to thy arms, and bear me hence,
Back to the bottom of the boundless deep,
To seas beneath, where thou so long hast dwelt.
Oh, how hast thou returned? How hast thou
charined

The wildness of the waves and rocks to this; That, thus relenting, they have given thee back To earth, to light and life, to love and me?

Osm. Oh, I'll not ask, nor answer, how or why We both have backward trod the paths of fate, To meet again in life; to know I have thee, Is knowing more than any circumstance, Or means, by which I have thee— To fold thee thus, to press thy balmy lips, And gaze upon thy eyes, is so much joy, I have not leisure to reflect, or know, Or trifle time in thinking.

It is too much! too much to bear and live!
To see thee thus again is such profusion
Of joy, of bliss-I cannot bear-I must
Be mad-I cannot be transported thus.
Osm. Thou excellence, thou joy, thou heaven
of love!

Alm. Where hast thou been? and how art thou alive?

How is all this? All-powerful Heaven, what are we?

Oh, my strained heart-let me again behold thee, For I weep to see thee-Art thou not paler? Much, much; how thou art changed!

Osm. Not in my love.

Alm. No, no! thy griefs, I know, have done this to thee.

Thou hast wept much, Alphonso; and, I fear, Too much, too tenderly, lamented me.

Osm. Wrong not my love, to say too tenderly, No more, my life; talk not of tears or grief; Affliction is no more, now thou art found. Why dost thou weep, and hold thee from my

arms,

To pay some part, some little of this debt,
This countless sum of tenderness and love,
For which I stand engaged to this all-excellence:
Then bear me in a whirlwind to my fate,
Snatch me from life, and cut me short unwarned:
Then, then, 'twill be enough-I shall be old,
I shall have passed all æras then

Of yet unmeasured time; when I have made
This exquisite, this most amazing goodness,
Some recompence of love and matchless truth.

Alm. 'Tis more than recompence to see thy face: If heaven is greater joy, it is no happiness, For 'tis not to be borne-What shall I say? I have a thousand things to know and ask, And speak-That thou art here beyond all hope, All thought; that all at once thou art before me, And with such suddenness hast hit my sight, Is such surprise, such mystery, such extasy, It hurrics all my soul, and stuns my sense. Sure from thy father's tomb thou didst arise? Osm. I did; and thou, my love, didst call me; thou.

Alm. True; but how cam'st thou there? Wert thou alone?

Osm. I was, and lying on my father's lead,
When broken echoes of a distant voice
Disturbed the sacred silence of the vault,
In murmurs round my head. I rose and lis-
tened,

And thought I heard thy spirit call Alphonso;
I thought I saw thee too; but, Oh, I thought not
That I indeed should be so blest to see thee—
Alm. But still, how cain'st thou thither? How
thus?-Ha!

What is he, who, like thyself, is started here
Ere seen?

Osm. Where? Ha! What do I see, Antonio!
I am fortunate indeed--my friend, too, safe!
Heli. Most happily, in finding you thus blessed.
Alm. More miracles! Antonio escaped!
Osm. And twice escaped; both from the rage
of seas
And war for in the fight I saw him fall.

Heli. But fell unhurt, a prisoner as yourself,

Heli. I saw you on the ground, and raised you

up,

When with astonishment I saw Almeria.

Osm. I saw her too, and therefore saw not

thee.

Alm. Nor I; nor could I, for my eyes were

yours.

Osm. What means the bounty of all-gracious
Heaven,

That persevering still, with open hand,
It scatters good, as in a waste of mercy!
Where will this end? But Heaven is infinite
In all, and can continue to bestow,

When scanty number shall be spent in telling. Leon. Or I am deceived, or I beheld the glimpse

Of two in shining habits cross the aisle;
Who by their pointing, seem to mark this place.
Al. Sure I have dreamnt, if we must part so

Osm. She's the reverse of thee; she's my un-
happiness.

Harbour no thought that may disturb thy peace;
But gently take thyself away, lest she
Should come, and sce the straining of my eyes
To follow thee.

Retire, my love, I'll think how we may meet
To part no more; my friend will tell thee all;
How I escaped, how I am here, and thus ;
How I am not called Alphonso now, but Osmyn;
And he Heli. All, all he will unfold,
Ere next we meet-

Alm. Sure we shall meet again

Osm. We shall; we part not but to meet again. Gladness and warmth of ever-kindling love Dwell with thee, and revive thy heart in absence. [Exeunt Alm. Leon. and Heli. Yet I behold her-yet-and now no more. Turn your lights inward, eyes, and view my thoughts,

So shall you still behold her-'twill not be.
Oh, impotence of sight! Mechanic sense!
Which to exterior objects ow'st thy faculty,
Not seeing of election, but necessity.
Thus do our eyes, as do all common mirrors,
Successively reflect succeeding images :
Not what they would, but must; a star, or toad;
Just as the hand of chance administers.
Not so the mind, whose undetermined view
Resolves, and to the present adds the past;