No More Learning

Rodrigue's killer or that of my father!
In either case they will make me wed
One stained with the blood of my dear dead;
Against that fate I'll fight with every breath:
I fear the quarrel's ending worse than death.
Flee, Love and Vengeance, that so trouble me,
The price too great of your sweet victory;
And you, prime mover of my destiny,
In this duel, let none have mastery,
Let there be no loser and no winner.

Elvire
Then you'll be hurt in too harsh a manner.
This duel will yield you yet more distress,
If you're forced to seek justice afresh,
Ever to nourish your noble anger,
And still seek the death of your lover.
Madame, better that his rare valour now,
Gains your silence, as it crowns his brow,
That this duel should stifle all your sighs,
And the King your heart's hope yet realise.

Chimene
You think if he's the victor I'll surrender?
My duty is too great, my loss is greater;
This duel, and the wishes of the King,
Will never bind me with their law-making.
He may conquer Sanche with little pain,
But not that honour sacred to Chimene.
Whatever the King may grant the victor
He makes a greater enemy of my honour.

Elvire
Beware lest Heaven punishes your pride
And sees you avenged, though he has died.
What! You would deny the joy and sense
Of keeping an honourable silence?
What does duty then expect or hope for?
Will your lover's death bring back your father?
Is one disaster not enough for you?
Must loss bring loss, grief bring grief, too?
Come, with such capricious obstinacy,
You merit neither love nor destiny;
Heaven's just anger will see you wed
To Don Sanche when Rodrigue is dead.

Chimene
Elvire, this suffering is enough for me,
Don't multiply it with dread augury.
I wish to escape them both if I may;
If not, it's for Rodrigue that I will pray:
Not because foolish passion so decides;
But because I'll be Sanche's if he dies.
This fear gives rise to my inclination. . .

(Don Sanche enters)

Ah, what do I see? Elvire, it is done.


Act V Scene V (Don Sanche, Chimene, Elvire)

Sanche
Being forced to lay this blade before you. . .

Chimene
What! And painted with Rodrigue's blood too?
How do you dare to meet my gaze, traitor,
After slaying one who was your better?