e native country thou hast laid in blood,
Whose sacred person (oh!) thou hast profan'd,
Whose reign extinguish'd--what was left to me,
So highly born? No kingdom, but revenge;
No treasure, but thy tortures and thy groans.
If men should ask who brought thee to thy end,
Tell them, the Moor, and they will not despise thee.
If cold white mortals censure this great deed,
Warn them, they judge not of superior beings,
Souls made of fire, and children of the sun,
With whom revenge is virtue. Fare thee well--
Now, fully satisfied, I should take leave:
But one thing grieves me, since thy death is near,
I leave thee my example how to die.

_As he is going to stab himself, Alonzo rushes upon him to prevent him.
In the mean time, enter Don Alvarez, attended. They disarm and seize
Zanga, Alonzo puts the dagger in his bosom._

_Alon._ No, monster, thou shalt not escape by death.
Oh, father!

_Alv._ Oh, Alonzo!--Isabella,
Touch'd with remorse to see her mistress' pangs,
Told all the dreadful tale.

_Alon._ What groan was that?

_Zan._ As I have been a vulture to thy heart,
So will I be a raven to thine ear,
As true as ever snuff'd the scent of blood,
As ever flapp'd its heavy wing against
The window of the sick, and croak'd despair.
Thy wife is dead. [_Alvarez goes aside, and returns._

_Alv._ The dreadful news is true.

_Alon._ Prepare the rack; invent new torments for him.

_Zan._ This too is well. The fix'd and noble mind
Turns all occurrence to its own advantage;
And I'll make vengeance of calamity.
Were I not thus reduc'd, thou wouldst not know,
That, thus reduc'd, I dare defy thee still.
Torture thou may'st, but thou shall ne'er despise me.
The blood will follow where the knife is driven,
The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear,
And sighs and cries by nature grow on pain.
But these are foreign to the soul: not mine
The groans that issue, or the tears that fall;
They disobey me; on the rack I scorn thee,
As when my falchion clove thy helm in battle.

_Alv._ Peace, villain!

_Zan._ While I live, old man, I'll speak.
And, well I know, thou dar'st not kill me yet;
For that would rob thy blood-hounds of their prey.

_Alon._ Who call'd Alonzo?

_Alv._ No one call'd, my son.

_Alon._ Again!--'Tis Carlos' voice, and I obey.
Oh, how I laugh at all that this can do! [_shows dagger._
The wounds that pain'd, the wounds that murder'd me,
Were giv'n before; I am already dead;
This only marks my body