No More Learning

I pity her pain, her lover enchants me;
Peace vanishes, and desire inflames me.
What separates Rodrigue from Chimene
At once rekindles all my hope and pain;
Their separation I regret: its treasure
Floods my charmed mind with secret pleasure.

Leonor
Is the lofty virtue reigning in your soul
So swift to pursue this ignoble goal?

Infanta
Not ignoble, now, since here within me,
Great and triumphant, it is judge and jury.
Show it respect, it proves itself so dear.
Despite virtue and myself, I hope and fear;
My fragile heart, by folly crazed almost,
Follows the lover whom Chimene has lost.

Leonor
Will you thus know the quenching of all courage,
Abandoning within you reason's usage?

Infanta
Ah! How weak is the effect of reason,
When the heart is touched by subtle poison!
And if the sufferer loves the malady,
There's scarcely call for any remedy!

Leonor
Your hope seduces, your malaise proves sweet;
Rodrigue's not great enough to clasp your feet.

Infanta
I know it well; though virtue seems to fade,
How love flatters the heart it does invade.
If Rodrigue should emerge as victor,
If that great soldier yields to his valour,
I may esteem him, love him without shame.
If he defeats the Count, there's endless fame.
I dare to imagine that his slightest deeds
Will bring entire kingdoms to their knees;
And then love's flattery persuades, I own,
That he shall occupy Grenada's throne,
The Moors defeated, trembling and adoring,
Aragon open to its conqueror, welcoming,
Portugal yielding, and his noble gaze
Bearing his destiny beyond the wave,
The blood of Africa drenching his laurels;
And everything writ of famous mortals
I'll expect of my Rodrigue in victory,
Making his love a subject for my glory.
Leonor
But Madame, how far your thoughts leap apace
From a duel which perhaps may not take place.

Infanta
Rodrigue the offended, the Count the offender;
What more is needed? They have left together.

Leonor
Well! Let them fight, as you wish: but then,
Will Rodrigue be as you've imagined him?

Infanta
What would you have? I'm mad, my mind strays;
You see with what ills love will fill my days.
Come to my room, console me within;
Don't leave me in the misery I'm in.


Act II Scene VI (King Ferdinand, Don Arias, Don Sanche)

King
The Count then is still proud, unreasonable!
Does he still think his error pardonable?

Arias
I addressed him from you, about the insult.
I did what I could, Sire, with no result.

King
Heavens! Is this how the presumptuous subject
Shows his consideration, and respect?
He scorns his king, insults Diegue, I see!
Before my court lays down the law to me!