heart.
Some foe to your repose--

_Alon._ So, heaven look on me,
As I can't find the man I have offended.

_Zan._ Indeed! [_aside_]--Our innocence is not our shield.
They take offence, who have not been offended;
They seek our ruin too, who speak us fair,
And death is often ambush'd in their smiles.
'Tis certain
A letter may be forg'd, and in a point
Of such a dreadful consequence as this,
One would rely on nought that might be false--
Think, have you any other cause to doubt her?
Away, you can find none. Resume your spirit;
All's well again.

_Alon._ Oh that it were!

_Zan._ It is;
For who could credit that, which, credited,
Makes hell superfluous by superior pains,
Without such proofs as cannot be withstood?
Has she not ever been to virtue train'd?
Is not her fame as spotless as the sun,
Her sex's envy, and the boast of Spain?

_Alon._ O, Zanga! it is that confounds me most,
That, full in opposition to appearance--

_Zan._ No more, my lord, for you condemn yourself.
What is absurdity, but to believe
Against appearance!--You can't yet, I find,
Subdue your passion to your better sense;--
And, truth to tell, it does not much displease me.
'Tis fit our indiscretions should be check'd
With some degree of pain.

_Alon._ What indiscretion?

_Zan._ Come, you must bear to hear your faults from me.
Had you not sent don Carlos to the court
The night before the battle, that foul slave,
Who forg'd the senseless scroll which gives you pain,
Had wanted footing for his villany.

_Alon._ I sent him not.

_Zan._ Not send him!--Ha!--That strikes me.
I thought he came on message to the king.
Is there another cause could justify
His shunning danger, and the promis'd fight?
But I perhaps may think too rigidly;
So long an absence, and impatient love--

_Alon._ In my confusion, that had quite escap'd me.
By heaven, my wounded soul does bleed afresh;
'Tis clear as day--for Carlos is so brave,
He lives not but on fame, he hunts for danger,
And is enamour'd of the face of death.
How then could he decline the next day's battle,
But for the transports?--Oh, it must be so--
Inhuman! by the loss of his own honour,
To buy the ruin of his friend!

_Zan._ You wrong him;
He knew not of your love.

_Alon._ Ha!--

_Zan._ That stings home. [_aside._

_Alon._ Indeed, he knew not of my treacherous love--
Proofs rise on proofs, and still the last the strongest.
Love is my torture, love was first my crime;
For s