eek; enjoy it while thou may'st;
Anguish, and groans, and death, bespeak to-morrow.

_Enter Isabella._

My Isabella!

_Isa._ What commands my Moor?

_Zan._ My fair ally! my lovely minister!
'Twas well, Alvarez, by my arts impell'd
(To plunge don Carlos in the last despair,
And so prevent all future molestation),
Finish'd the nuptials soon as he resolv'd them;
This conduct ripen'd all for me and ruin.
Scarce had the priest the holy rites perform'd,
When I, by sacred inspiration, forg'd
That letter which I trusted to thy hand;
That letter, which in glowing terms conveys,
From happy Carlos to fair Leonora,
The most profound acknowledgement of heart,
For wondrous transports which he never knew.
This is a good subservient artifice,
To aid the nobler workings of my brain.

_Isa._ I quickly dropp'd it in the bride's apartment,
As you commanded.

_Zan._ With a lucky hand;
For soon Alonzo found it; I observ'd him
From out my secret stand. He took it up;
But scarce was it unfolded to his sight,
When he, as if an arrow pierc'd his eye,
Started, and trembling dropp'd it on the ground.
Pale and aghast awhile my victim stood,
Disguis'd a sigh or two, and puff'd them from him;
Then rubb'd his brow and took it up again.
At first he look'd as if he meant to read it;
But check'd by rising fears he crush'd it thus,
And thrust it, like an adder, in his bosom.

_Isa._ But if he read it not, it cannot sting him,
At least not mortally.

_Zan._ At first I thought so;
But farther thought informs me otherwise,
And turns this disappointment to account.
This, Isabella, is don Carlos' picture;
Take it, and so dispose of it, that found,
It may raise up a witness of her love;
Under her pillow, in her cabinet,
Or elsewhere, as shall best promote our end.

_Isa._ I'll weigh it as its consequence requires,
Then do my utmost to deserve your smile. [_exit._

_Zan._ Is that Alonzo prostrate on the ground?--
Now he starts up like flame from sleeping embers,
And wild distraction glares from either eye.
If thus a slight surmise can work his soul,
How will the fulness of the tempest tear him?

_Enter Don Alonzo._

_Alon._ And yet it cannot be--I am deceiv'd--
I injure her: she wears the face of heaven.

_Zan._ He doubts. [_aside._

_Alon._ I dare not look on this again.
If the first glance, which gave suspicion only,
Had such effect, so smote my heart and brain,
The certainty would dash me all in pieces.
It cannot-