this last poor pleasure? Go Sir! go,
Regain your court; resume your pomp and splendour!
Drink deep of luxury's cup! be gay, be flattered,
Pampered and proud, and, if thou canst, be happy.
I'll to my cave, and curse thee!

_Alfon._ Stay, Orsino!
If ever friendship warmed, or pity melted
Thy heart, I charge thee----

_Orsi._ Pity? In thy dungeons,
Sir, I forgot the meaning of that word.
For ten long years no gentle accents soothed me,
No tears with mine were mixed--no bosom sighed
That anguish tortured mine! King, king, thou know'st not,
How solitude makes the soul stern and savage!

_Alfon._ Yet were thy soul than adamantine rocks
More hard, these deep-drawn sighs----

_Orsi._ My wife's last groan
Rings in my ear, and drowns them.

_Alfon._ And these tears
Might touch thy heart----

_Orsi._ My heart is dead, King! dead!
'Tis yonder buried in Victoria's Grave!

_Alfon._ Could prayers, unfeigned remorse, ceaseless affection,
And influence as my own unbounded----

_Orsi._ Hold!
I'll try thee, and make two demands! But first,
Swear by all hopes of happiness hereafter,
And Heaven's best gift on earth, thine angel-daughter,
Whate'er I ask shall be fulfilled.

_Alfon._ I swear!
And Heaven so treat my prayers, as I shall thine.

_Orsi._ 'Tis well: now mark, and keep thine oath. My first
Request is--Leave me instantly! my second,
Ne'er let me see thee more.--Thou hast heard, begone! [_Exit into the cave._

_Alfon._ 'Tis well, proud man,--Alas! my heart's too humbled
To chide e'en him who spurns it.

_Inis._ Nay my liege,
Despair not----Sure the princess.

_Alfon._ Right, I'll seek her;
To her he owes his freedom, and her prayers
Shall win me back this dear obdurate heart
Oh! did he know how sweet 'tis to forgive,
And raise the wounded soul, which, crushed and humbled
Sinks in the dust, and owns that it has erred:
To quench all wrath, and cancel all offences,
Sure he would need no motive but self love.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE III.----_A garden._

_Amel._ [_Alone_] And are ye all then vanished, sylphs of bliss?
All fled in air, and not one trace, one shadow
Left of my bright day-visions? Is not rather
All this some fearful dream?----Caesario false!
I _know_ 'tis so, yet scarce can _think_ 'tis so!
Gods! when last night, after long absence meeting,
What looks!--what joy!--and was then all deceit?
Did he but mock me, when with tears of rapture
He bathed my hand; knelt; sighed; as had his voice
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