, and more forlorn than they.

_Leo._ 'Tis terrible! it shakes, it staggers me;
I knew this truth, but I repelled that thought.
Sure there is none, but fears a future state;
And, when the most obdurate swear they do not,
Their trembling hearts belie their boasting tongues.

_Enter_ TERESA.

Send speedily to Bertran; charge him strictly
Not to proceed, but wait my farther pleasure.

_Ter._ Madam, he sends to tell you, 'tis performed. [_Exit._

_Tor._ Ten thousand plagues consume him! furies drag him,
Fiends tear him! blasted be the arm that struck,
The tongue that ordered!--only she be spared,
That hindered not the deed! O, where was then
The power, that guards the sacred lives of kings?
Why slept the lightning and the thunder-bolts,
Or bent their idle rage on fields and trees,
When vengeance called them here?

_Leo._ Sleep that thought too;
'Tis done, and, since 'tis done, 'tis past recal;
And, since 'tis past recal, must be forgotten.

_Tor._ O, never, never, shall it be forgotten!
High heaven will not forget it; after-ages
Shall with a fearful curse remember ours;
And blood shall never leave the nation more!

_Leo._ His body shall be royally interred,
And the last funeral-pomps adorn his hearse;
I will myself (as I have cause too just,)
Be the chief mourner at his obsequies;
And yearly fix on the revolving day
The solemn marks of mourning, to atone,
And expiate my offence.

_Tor._ Nothing can,
But bloody vengeance on that traitor's head,--
Which, dear departed spirit, here I vow.

_Leo._ Here end our sorrows, and begin our joys:
Love calls, my Torrismond; though hate has raged,
And ruled the day, yet love will rule the night.
The spiteful stars have shed their venom down,
And now the peaceful planets take their turn.
This deed of Bertran's has removed all fears,
And given me just occasion to refuse him.
What hinders now, but that the holy priest
In secret join our mutual vows? and then
This night, this happy night, is yours and mine.

_Tor._ Be still my sorrows, and be loud my joys.
Fly to the utmost circles of the sea,
Thou furious tempest, that hast tossed my mind,
And leave no thought, but Leonora there.--
What's this I feel, a boding in my soul,
As if this day were fatal? be it so;
Fate shall but have the leavings of my love:
My joys are gloomy, but withal are great.
The lion, though he sees the toils are set,
Yet, pinched with raging hunger, scowers away,
Hunts in the face