and your mortal foe,
That man am I!"----

_Hen._ Then absence has not cooled,
It seems, your hatred----

_Caesa._ Could'st thou think it? thou,
Who know'st a secret to all else unknown!
Know'st me no stranger-youth, no chance-adventurer,
Whose sword's his fortune, as Castile believes me;
But one of mightiest views and proudest hopes,
Galled by injustice, panting for revenge,
Son of a hero! wronged Orsino's son!

_Hen._ Yet might your wealth and power--yon general's staff--
Alfonso's countless favours----

_Caesa._ Favours? Insults!
Curses when proffered by a hand I hate!
Bright seems ambition to my eye, and sure
To reign is glorious; yet such fixed aversion
I bear this man, and such my thirst for vengeance,
I would not sell his head, once in my power,
Though the price tendered were the crown that decks it!
Yet that, too, shortly shall be mine!--Say, Marquis,
How speeds our plot?

_Hen._ 'Tis ripe: beneath his chambers
The vaults are ours, the sleeping fires disposed;
The mine waits but your word.

_Caesa._ Tonight it springs then,
And hurls my foe in burning clouds to heaven--
O! rapturous sight!

_Hen._ And can that sight give rapture
Which wrings with anguish Amelrosa's bosom?
She loves her father----

_Caesa._ Loves she not her husband?

_Hen._ She'll hate him, when she knows----

_Caesa._ She ne'er shall know it!
All shall be held her rebel brother's deed;
And while contending passions shake the rabble,
(Grief for the sire, resentment 'gainst the son;
And pity for the princess) forth I'll step,
Avow our marriage, claim the crown her right,
And, when she mounts the throne, ascend it with her.

_Hen._ Oh! she will drown that bloody throne with tears!
And should she learn who bade them flow----

_Caesa._ Say on----

_Hen._ She'll loath you!

_Caesa._ [_With a scornful smile_] She'll forgive me.

_Hen._ Never, never!
I know the princess; know a daughter's love,
A daughter's grief----

_Caesa._ And are not daughters women?
By nature tender, trustful, kind, and fickle,
Prone to forgive, and practised in forgetting?
Let the fair things but rave their hour at ease,
And weep their fill, and wring their pretty hands,
Faint between whiles, and swear by every saint
They'll never, never, never see you more!
Then when the larum's hushed, profess repentance,
Say a few kind false words, drop a few tears,
Force a fond kiss or two, and all's forgiven.
Away! I know her sex!

_Hen._ But know not