No More Learning

Rodrigue
Yet I only seek the judge's penalty.
Do not gaze at me in such surprise;
I seek death, having dealt it likewise,
My judge is my love, my judge Chimene,
I merit death for bringing her such pain,
And I come to receive, as sovereign good,
The sentence, from her lips, that seeks my blood.

Elvire
Rather flee her eyes, and flee her violence;
At her first transports, leave her presence.
Go: don't expose yourself to the tremor
That will fuel the first ardour of her anger.

Rodrigue
No, that dear object to whom I brought terror,
Cannot in punishing show too fierce an anger;
I'd evade a thousand deaths that threaten pain,
If I'd die the sooner by angering her again.

Elvire
Chimene is at the palace, bathed in tears,
She'll be accompanied when she appears.
Rodrigue, fly, I beg you, spare us worry.
What will they say if they see you with me?
Do you wish her named by some slanderer
As receiving the murderer of her father?
She returns; she comes, there, I see her:
Rodrigue, hide, for the sake of honour.


Act III Scene II (Don Sanche, Chimene, Elvire)

Sanche
Yes, Madame, you must have sacrifice:
Your anger's valid, your tears justified;
And I will not attempt, by vain oration,
To soften you, or give you consolation.
But if of serving you I'm capable,
Employ my blade to strike the culpable;
Employ my love to avenge this death:
My arm will be strong, should you say yes.

Chimene
Oh, woe!

Sanche
Pray you, accept my service.

Chimene
It would offend the King who promised justice.
Sanche
You know how justice moves, with what slowness,
How often the crime fails to meet redress;
That slow and doubtful course provokes more tears.
Allow a knight to avenge you, not the years:
His way is surer, swiftly it will punish.

Chimene
Such is my last recourse; if thus it finish,
And if for my plight you still feel pity,
You will be free to avenge my injury.

Sanche
It would be happiness if you'd consent;
Granting me hope, I take my leave, content.


Act III Scene III (Chimene, Elvire)

Chimene
At last I'm free, now without constraint,
I can reveal my grief, void of restraint;
I can grant passage to my woeful sighs;
Open my heart, give voice to my cries.
Elvire, my father's dead; and the first blade
With which Rodrigue fought, made him a shade.
Weep, weep, my eyes, dissolve in water!
Half of my life has entombed the other,
I must revenge myself, this fatal blow,
For one no more, on one still here below.

Elvire
Rest, Madame.

Chimene
Ah! Unfortunate at best
In the midst of such woe to talk of rest!
How will my sorrow ever now be lessened
If I cannot hate the cause, his fatal hand?
And what can I hope for, save pain eternal,
If I hate the crime, but love the criminal?

Elvire
He robs you of your father, yet you love him!

Chimene
Love is too slight, Elvire, I adore him;
My passion contends with my anger;
Deep in my enemy I find the lover;
I feel that despite resentment's dart,
Rodrigue still fights my father in my heart.
He attacks, presses on, yields, defends,
Now strong, now weak, again it ends:
Yet in this harsh struggle of the whole,
He tears apart my heart but not my soul;
And whatever power love has over me,
I shall not hesitate to do my duty;
I pass, unwavering, where honour leads,
Rodrigue is dear to me, his merit grieves;
My heart takes his part; yet, there's the head,
I know what I am, and that my father's dead.