But only smelt, and cheaply thrown aside,
To wither on the ground.

_Ter._ For heaven's sake, madam, moderate your passion!

_Leo._ Why namest thou heaven? there is no heaven for me.
Despair, death, hell, have seized my tortured soul!
When I had raised his grovelling fate from ground,
To power and love, to empire, and to me;
When each embrace was dearer than the first;
Then, then to be contemned; then, then thrown off!
It calls me old, and withered, and deformed,
And loathsome! Oh! what woman can bear loathsome?
The turtle flies not from his billing mate,
He bills the closer; but, ungrateful man,
Base, barbarous man! the more we raise our love,
The more we pall, and kill, and cool his ardour.
Racks, poison, daggers, rid me of my life;
And any death is welcome.

_Tor._ Be witness all ye powers, that know my heart,
I would have kept the fatal secret hid;
But she has conquered, to her ruin conquered:
Here, take this paper, read our destinies;--
Yet do not; but, in kindness to yourself,
Be ignorantly safe.

_Leo._ No! give it me,
Even though it be the sentence of my death.

_Tor._ Then see how much unhappy love has made us.
O Leonora! Oh!
We two were born when sullen planets reigned;
When each the other's influence opposed,
And drew the stars to factions at our birth.
Oh! better, better had it been for us,
That we had never seen, or never loved.

_Leo._ There is no faith in heaven, if heaven says so;
You dare not give it.

_Tor._ As unwillingly,
As I would reach out opium to a friend,
Who lay in torture, and desired to die. [_Gives the Paper._
But now you have it, spare my sight the pain
Of seeing what a world of tears it costs you.
Go, silently, enjoy your part of grief,
And share the sad inheritance with me.

_Leo._ I have a thirsty fever in my soul;
Give me but present ease, and let me die. [_Exeunt Queen and_ TERESA.

_Enter_ LORENZO.

_Lor._ Arm, arm, my lord! the city bands are up;
Drums beating, colours flying, shouts confused;
All clustering in a heap, like swarming hives,
And rising in a moment.

_Tor._ With design to punish Bertran, and revenge the king;
'Twas ordered so.

_Lor._ Then you're betrayed, my lord.
'Tis true, they block the castle kept by Bertran,
But now they cry, "Down with the palace, fire it,
Pull out the usurping queen!"

_Tor._ The queen, Lorenzo! durst they name the queen?

_Lor._ If railing and reproaching be to name her.

_Tor._ O sacrilege! sa