drives!
You ought not to think of her.

_Torr._ So I say too,
I ought not; madmen ought not to be mad;
But who can help his frenzy?

_Bert._ Fond young man!
The wings of your ambition must be clipt:
Your shame-faced virtue shunned the people's praise,
And senate's honours: But 'tis well we know
What price you hold yourself at. You have fought
With some success, and that has sealed your pardon.

_Torr._ Pardon from thee!--O, give me patience, heaven!--
Thrice vanquished Bertran, if thou dar'st, look out
Upon yon slaughtered host, that field of blood;
There seal my pardon, where thy fame was lost.

_Ped._ He's ruined, past redemption!

_Alph._ [_To_ TORR.] Learn respect
To the first prince of the blood.

_Bert._ O, let him rave!
I'll not contend with madmen.

_Torr._ I have done:
I know, 'twas madness to declare this truth:
And yet, 'twere baseness to deny my love.
'Tis true, my hopes are vanishing as clouds;
Lighter than children's bubbles blown by winds:
My merit's but the rash result of chance;
My birth unequal; all the stars against me:
Power, promise, choice, the living and the dead;
Mankind my foes; and only love to friend:
But such a love, kept at such awful distance,
As, what it loudly dares to tell a rival,
Shall fear to whisper there. Queens may be loved,
And so may gods; else why are altars raised?
Why shines the sun, but that he may be viewed?
But, oh! when he's too bright, if then we gaze,
'Tis but to weep, and close our eyes in darkness. [_Exit._

_Bert._ 'Tis well; the goddess shall be told, she shall,
Of her new worshipper. [_Exit._

_Ped._ So, here's fine work!
He has supplied his only foe with arms
For his destruction. Old Penelope's tale
Inverted; he has unravelled all by day,
That he has done by night. What, planet struck!

_Alph._ I wish I were; to be past sense of this!

_Ped._ Would I had but a lease of life so long,
As 'till my flesh and blood rebelled this way,
Against our sovereign lady;--mad for a queen?
With a globe in one hand, and a sceptre in t'other?
A very pretty moppet!

_Alph._ Then to declare his madness to his rival!
His father absent on an embassy;
Himself a stranger almost; wholly friendless!
A torrent, rolling down a precipice,
Is easier to be stopt, than is his ruin.

_Ped._ 'Tis fruitless to complain; haste to the court;
Improve your interest there for pardon from the queen.

_Alph._ Weak remedies