No More Learning

For Chimene shows readily by her action,
That hate no longer fuels his prosecution.
She's granted combat, and for combatant
Accepted the first offer made that instant.
She'd no recourse to that nobility,
Who by their exploits won themselves glory.
Don Sanche suits her choice, and he'll suffice
Since this duel will be the first he fights;
His lack of experience pleases her;
Since he lacks renown she lacks all fear;
And her calm reveals to us readily
She seeks a duel to discharge her duty,
One that will give Rodrigue swift victory,
And render him no more her enemy.

Infanta
I have seen all this, my heart however,
As Chimene's, adores this conqueror.
A sorry lover, how can I be resigned?

Leonor
By keeping your noble rank in mind;
Heaven owes you a king, you love a subject!

Infanta
My inclination has changed its object.
I no longer love Rodrigue the gentleman;
No my love names him to another plan;
If I love, I love he who wrought fine things,
The valorous Cid who has mastered kings.
Yet I'll draw back, not from fear of blame,
But so as not to harm their loving flame;
And when to oblige me he is crowned,
The gift I gave shall never be disowned.
Since his victory in this duel is certain,
Let me grant him to Chimene again.
And you who know my suffering spirit,
Will see me end this thing as I began it.


Act V Scene IV (Chimene, Elvire)

Chimene
Elvire, how I suffer! Pity me here!
I have no hope, and everything to fear;
No prayer escapes to which I can consent;
Of every wish I form I soon repent.
Two rivals now will duel for me as prize:
Yet the happiest end will fuel my sighs;
Whatever fate determines in my honour
I fail my father, or I lose my lover.

Elvire
One way or the other, you're satisfied,
You are avenged, or Rodrigue has not died;
And whatever destiny ordains for you
You've honour, glory and a husband too.

Chimene
What! The object of my hate, or anger!
Rodrigue's killer or that of my father!
In either case they will make me wed
One stained with the blood of my dear dead;
Against that fate I'll fight with every breath:
I fear the quarrel's ending worse than death.
Flee, Love and Vengeance, that so trouble me,
The price too great of your sweet victory;
And you, prime mover of my destiny,
In this duel, let none have mastery,
Let there be no loser and no winner.

Elvire
Then you'll be hurt in too harsh a manner.
This duel will yield you yet more distress,
If you're forced to seek justice afresh,
Ever to nourish your noble anger,
And still seek the death of your lover.
Madame, better that his rare valour now,
Gains your silence, as it crowns his brow,
That this duel should stifle all your sighs,
And the King your heart's hope yet realise.

Chimene
You think if he's the victor I'll surrender?
My duty is too great, my loss is greater;
This duel, and the wishes of the King,
Will never bind me with their law-making.
He may conquer Sanche with little pain,
But not that honour sacred to Chimene.
Whatever the King may grant the victor
He makes a greater enemy of my honour.

Elvire
Beware lest Heaven punishes your pride
And sees you avenged, though he has died.
What!