uccess?
These might, perhaps, be found in other men:
'Twas that respect, that awful homage, paid me;
That fearful love, which trembled in his eyes,
And with a silent earthquake shook his soul.
But, when he spoke, what tender words he said!
So softly, that, like flakes of feathered snow,
They melted as they fell.--

_Enter_ TERESA _with_ TORRISMOND.

_Ter._ He waits your pleasure.

_Leo._ 'Tis well; retire.--Oh heavens, that I must speak
So distant from my heart!-- [_Aside._
[_To_ TOR.] How now! What boldness brings you back again?

_Tor._ I heard 'twas your command.

_Leo._ A fond mistake,
To credit so unlikely a command;
And you return, full of the same presumption,
To affront me with your love!

_Tor._ If 'tis presumption, for a wretch condemned,
To throw himself beneath his judge's feet:
A boldness more than this I never knew;
Or, if I did, 'twas only to your foes.

_Leo._ You would insinuate your past services,
And those, I grant, were great; but you confess
A fault committed since, that cancels all.

_Tor._ And who could dare to disavow his crime,
When that, for which he is accused and seized,
He bears about him still! My eyes confess it;
My every action speaks my heart aloud:
But, oh, the madness of my high attempt
Speaks louder yet! and all together cry,--
I love and I despair.

_Leo._ Have you not heard,
My father, with his dying voice, bequeathed
My crown and me to Bertran? And dare you,
A private man, presume to love a queen?

_Tor._ That, that's the wound! I see you set so high,
As no desert or services can reach.--
Good heavens, why gave you me a monarch's soul,
And crusted it with base plebeian clay?
Why gave you me desires of such extent,
And such a span to grasp them? Sure, my lot
By some o'er-hasty angel was misplaced
In fate's eternal volume!--But I rave,
And, like a giddy bird in dead of night,
Fly round the fire that scorches me to death.

_Leo._ Yet, Torrismond, you've not so ill deserved,
But I may give you counsel for your cure.

_Tor._ I cannot, nay, I wish not to be cured.

_Leo._ [_Aside._] Nor I, heaven knows!

_Tor._ There is a pleasure, sure,
In being mad, which none but madmen know!
Let me indulge it; let me gaze for ever!
And, since you are too great to be beloved,
Be greater, greater yet, and be adored.

_Leo._ These are the words which I must only hear
From Bertran's mouth; they should displease from you:
I say they sho