Mine had been of a piece,
Spent in your service, dying at your feet.

_Seb._ The more effeminate and soft his life,
The more his fame, to struggle to the field,
And meet his glorious fate. Confess, proud spirit,
(For I will have it from thy very mouth)
That better he deserved my love than thou?

_Dor._ O, whither would you drive me? I must grant,--
Yes, I must grant, but with a swelling soul,--
Henriquez had your love with more desert.
For you he fought, and died: I fought against you;
Through all the mazes of the bloody field,
Hunted your sacred life; which that I missed
Was the propitious error of my fate,
Not of my soul: My soul's a regicide.

_Seb._ [_More calmly._]
Thou might'st have given it a more gentle name.
Thou meant'st to kill a tyrant, not a king:
Speak, didst thou not, Alonzo?

_Dor._ Can I speak!
Alas, I cannot answer to Alonzo!--
No, Dorax cannot answer to Alonzo;
Alonzo was too kind a name for me.
Then, when I fought and conquered with your arms,
In that blest age, I was the man you named:
Till rage and pride debased me into Dorax,
And lost, like Lucifer, my name above.

_Seb._ Yet twice this day I owed my life to Dorax.

_Dor._ I saved you but to kill you: There's my grief.

_Seb._ Nay, if thou can'st be grieved, thou can'st repent;
Thou could'st not be a villain, though thou would'st:
Thou own'st too much, in owning thou hast erred;
And I too little, who provoked thy crime.

_Dor._ O stop this headlong torrent of your goodness!
It comes too fast upon a feeble soul,
Half drowned in tears before: Spare my confusion;
For pity spare; and say not first, you erred;
For yet I have not dared, through guilt and shame,
To throw myself beneath your royal feet.-- [_Falls at his feet._
Now spurn this rebel, this proud renegade;
'Tis just you should, nor will I more complain.

_Seb._ Indeed thou should'st not ask forgiveness first;
But thou prevent'st me still, in all that's noble. [_Taking him up._
Yes, I will raise thee up with better news.
Thy Violante's heart was ever thine;
Compelled to wed, because she was my ward,
Her soul was absent when she gave her hand;
Nor could my threats, or his pursuing courtship,
Effect the consummation of his love:
So, still indulging tears, she pines for thee,
A widow, and a maid.

_Dor._ Have I been cursing heaven, while heaven blest me?
I shall run mad with extacy of joy:
What! in one moment, to be reconciled
To heaven, and to my king, and to