No More Learning

Rodrigue
But the infamous shall not remain above.
The dearer he is, the greater the offence.
You know the reason, the sword is vengeance,
No more. Avenge yourself, and avenge me;
Show yourself, of this your father, worthy.
Bowed by the ills fate sends to mortal men,
I'll go lament them. Go, fly: take revenge.


Act I Scene VI (Don Rodrigue)

Rodrigue
Pierced to my heart's depths, suddenly,
By a stroke as unexpected as it's mortal,
Wretched avenger in a just quarrel,
Miserable object of unjust severity,
I am transfixed, and my stricken soul
Yields to the killing blow.
So close to seeing my love rewarded,
O God, the bitter pain!
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.