No More Learning

By this affront my father's the offended,
And the offender is the father of Chimene!

What fierce conflict I feel!
My love takes sides against my honour:
I must avenge a father, lose a lover.
One stirs my wrath, the other one restrains me.
Forced to the sad choice of betraying Chimene,
Or living in infamy,
In both events my pain is infinite.
O God, fresh agony!
Can I let this offender go free?
Can I punish the father of Chimene?

Father, lover, honour, or beloved,
Noble and harsh constraint, sweet tyranny,
All my delight is dead, or honour dulled.
One makes me sad, the other unworthy.
Dear and cruel hope of a generous mind
In love, at the same time
Worthy foe of my greatest pleasure,
Blade that creates my pain,
Were you given me to retain my honour?
Were you given me to lose my Chimene?

Better not to have been born.
I owe as much to my lover as my father;
Avenging myself I earn her hate and anger;
By not taking revenge I earn his scorn.
One of my sweetest hope makes an end,
The other robs me of her hand.
My misfortune grows with the wish to cure it;
All things increase my pain.
Come, my soul; and since we must end it,
Let us die without offending Chimene.

Die without satisfaction!
Seek a death so fatal to my name!
Suffer Spain to denigrate my fame
For having failed the honour of my station!
Defend a love in which my dazed being
Sees but certain ruin!
Listen not to that seductive murmur,
That only swells my pain.
Come, my arm; at least save our honour,
Since after all we must lose Chimene.

Yes, my spirit was deceived,
I must defend my father before my lover:
Whether I die of combat or this torture,
I'll shed blood as pure as it was received.
I accuse myself already of negligence;
Let me now rush to vengeance;
Ashamed I am of having hesitated,
Let me end this pain,
For my father was the one offended,
Though the offender's father to Chimene.

End of Act I


Act II Scene I (Don Arias, The Count)

Count
Between us, I admit my anger was too harsh,
Stirred by a word, I carried things too far;
Yet the deed is done, there's no remedy.

Arias
Bend your pride to the king's authority:
He takes an interest, and his irritation
Will be displayed in no uncertain fashion.
Nor do you have a viable defence.
The man's rank, the magnitude of the offence,
Demand your concession and submission,
Beyond the customary reparation.

Count
The King may dispose of my life, as he will.


Arias
You are possessed by too much anger, still.