No More Learning

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.

Elvire
Will you pursue this?

Chimene
Ah! Cruel thought!
And cruel pursuit to which I'm forced!
I demand his head, and fear to win it:
My death will follow his, yet I must punish!

Elvire
Reject, Madame, so tragic a design;
Reject this law, tyrannical and blind.

Chimene
What! My father, in my arms there, dying,
His blood seeks vengeance, and I unhearing!
My heart, shamefully lost, it now appears,
Shall owe him only vain and useless tears!
And the power of a seductive lover
Stifle with craven silence all my honour!

Elvire
Madame, believe me, you'll be forgiven
If you show less ire against a loved one;
Against such a suitor, you've done enough,
You've seen the King; don't press too much,
Don't persist in this strange act of will.

Chimene
My honour's there, I must be avenged, still;
However we pride ourselves on love's merit,
Excuse is shameful to a noble spirit.