wise head shake, each good heart shudder.
Thy impious vow----

_Caesa._ Impious or just, once sworn,
To break it sure were shame.

_Orsi._ My son, 'twere virtue,
When to perform it were the worst of crimes,
'Twas wrong to swear; be with that wrong contented.
A second fault cannot make right the first;
And acts of guilt absolve no act of folly.

_Caesa._ Guilt! Then we jar for words. I see but glory
Where thou seest guilt: yet call it what thou wilt.
I _may_ be guilty, but I _must_ be great.

_Orsi._ A dreadful word!

_Caesa._ A crown, a crown invites me!
A glorious crown!

_Orsi._ Glorious! Oh no! True glory
Is not to _wear_ a crown but to _deserve_ one.
The peasant swain who leads a good man's life,
And dies at last a good man's death, obtains
In Wisdom's eye wreaths of far brighter splendour
Than he whose wanton pride and thirst for empire
Make kings his captives, and lay waste a world.

_Caesa._ And is't not glorious then to bless my country
By just and gentle ruling; fight her battles;
Preserve her laws----

_Orsi._ Thou, thou preserve her laws----
Thou fight her battles! thou--I tell thee, boy,
The hand which serves its country should be pure.
Ambition, selfish love, vain lust of power
Ravage thy head and heart! and would'st thou hold
The judgment balance with a hand still red
With royal blood? Would'st thou dare speak a penance
On guilt, thyself so guilty? Canst thou hope
Castile will trust her to thee? God forbid!
Mad is that nation, mad past thought of cure,
Past chains and dungeons, whips, spare food, and fasting,
Who yields the immortal man a patriot's name,
And looks in private vice for public virtue.
Thou play the patriot's part! Away, away!
Who _wounds_ his country is the worst of monsters;
But good men only should _presume_ to _serve_ her.
Thy guilt once seen----

_Caesa._ And who shall see that guilt
When wrapt in purple, and the world's eye dazzled
By the o'erpowering blaze a crown emits?
What pilgrim, gazing on some awful torrent,
Thinks through what roads it passed? Let golden fortune
But smile propitious on my daring crimes,
And all my crimes are virtues! Mark this, father,
The world ne'er holds those guilty who succeed. [_Exit._

_Orsi._ (_alone._) How shall I act? He said within two nights----
Whate'er is done must be done soon--Oh! how,
How shall I tread this labyrinth; how contrive
To save my king, yet not destroy my son?
The princess! Ha! well thought! It shall be