to
accuse him of having wanted spirit: without being considered as
conquered, without enduring a conqueror. They will say only: "He adored
Chimene; he would not live and merit her hatred; he yielded himself to
the severity of his fate, which compelled his mistress to seek his
death; she wished for his life [_lit._ head], and his magnanimous heart,
had that been refused to her, would have considered it a crime. To
avenge his honor, he lost his love; to avenge his mistress, he forsook
life, preferring (whatever hope may have enslaved his soul) his honor to
Chimene, and Chimene to his existence." Thus, then, you will see that my
death in this conflict, far from obscuring my glory, will increase its
value; and this honor will follow my voluntary death, that no other than
myself could have satisfied you [for the death of your father].

_Chimene._ Since, to prevent thee from rushing to destruction, thy life
and thine honor are [but] feeble inducements, if ever I loved thee, dear
Rodrigo, in return [for that love], defend thyself now, to rescue me
from Don Sancho. Fight, to release me from a compact which delivers me
to the object of my aversion. Shall I say more to thee? Go, think of thy
defence, to overcome my sense of duty, to impose on me silence; and if
thou feelest thine heart still enamored for me, come forth, as a
conqueror, from a combat of which Chimene is the reward. Adieu; this
thoughtlessly uttered [_lit._ let slip] word causes me to blush for
shame!

[_Exit Chimene._]

_Don Rodrigo._ Where is the foe I could not now subdue? Come forth,
[warriors] of Navarre, Morocco, and Castile! and all the heroes that
Spain has produced; unite together and form an army, to contend against
one hand thus nerved [to action]. Unite all your efforts against a hope
so sweet--you have too little power to succeed in destroying it!

Scene II.--THE INFANTA.

Shall I listen to thee still, pride of my birth, that makest a crime out
of my passions? Shall I listen to thee, love, whose delicious power
causes my desires to rebel against this proud tyrant? Poor princess! to
which of the two oughtest thou to yield obedience? Rodrigo, thy valor
renders thee worthy of me; but although thou art valiant, thou art not
the son of a king.

Pitiless fate, whose severity separates my glory and my desires! Is it
decreed [_lit._ said], that the choice of [a warrior of] such rare merit
should cost my passion such great anguish? O heaven! for how