-Ha! it must, it must be true. [_starts._

_Zan._ Hold there, and we succeed. He has descry'd me.
And (for he thinks I love him) will unfold
His aching heart, and rest it on my counsel.
I'll seem to go, to make my stay more sure. [_aside._

_Alon._ Hold, Zanga, turn.

_Zan._ My lord.

_Alon._ Shut close the doors,
That not a spirit find an entrance here.

_Zan._ My lord's obey'd.

_Alon._ I see that thou art frighted.
If thou dost love me, I shall fill thy heart
With scorpions' stings.

_Zan._ If I do love, my lord?

_Alon._ Come near me, let me rest upon thy bosom;
(What pillow like the bosom of a friend?)
For I am sick at heart.

_Zan._ Speak, sir, O, speak,
And take me from the rack.

_Alon._ I am most happy: mine is victory,
Mine the king's favour, mine the nation's shout,
And great men make their fortunes of my smiles.
O curse of curses! in the lap of blessing
To be most curst!--My Leonora's false!

_Zan._ Save me, my lord!

_Alon._ My Leonora's false! [_gives him the letter._

_Zan._ Then heaven has lost its image here on earth.

[_while Zanga reads the letter, he trembles, and
shows the utmost concern._

_Alon._ Good-natur'd man! he makes my pains his own.
I durst not read it; but I read it now
In thy concern.

_Zan._ Did you not read it then?

_Alon._ Mine eye just touch'd it, and could bear no more.

_Zan._ Thus perish all that gives Alonzo pain! [_tears the letter._

_Alon._ Why didst thou tear it?

_Zan._ Think of it no more.
'Twas your mistake, and groundless are your fears.

_Alon._ And didst thou tremble then for my mistake?
Or give the whole contents, or by the pangs
That feed upon my heart, thy life's in danger.

_Zan._ Is this Alonzo's language to his Zanga?
Draw forth your sword, and find the secret here.
For whose sake is it, think you, I conceal it?
Wherefore this rage? Because I seek your peace?
I have no interest in suppressing it,
But what good-natur'd tenderness for you
Obliges me to have. Not mine the heart
That will be rent in two. Not mine the fame
That will be damn'd, though all the world should know it.

_Alon._ Then my worst fears are true, and life is past.

_Zan._ What has the rashness of my passion utter'd?
I know not what; but rage is our destruction,
And all its words are wind--Yet sure, I think,
I nothing own'd--but grant I did confess,
What is a letter? letters may be forg'd.
For heav'n's sweet sake, my lord, lift up your