No More Learning

Your jealous pride, this insult signifies,
Despite the King's choice, that choice belies.
And you, of my victories, glorious instrument,
But a wintry body's useless ornament,
Blade, once feared, yet, facing this offence
Serving for decoration, not defence,
Go: leave now the very least of men,
Pass into better hands, take my revenge.


Act I Scene V (Don Diegue, Don Rodrigue)

Diegue
Rodrigue, are you brave?

Rodrigue
Any but my father
Might test it at this moment.

Diegue
Righteous anger!
Noble pride to all my grief is sweet!
I recognise my blood in you complete.
My youth lives again in your fine ardour.
Come son and blood, restore my honour;
Come, avenge me.

Rodrigue
For what?

Diegue
For an affront so cruel,
It strikes our honour a blow that's fatal:
For an insult! The wretch should have died;
But age robbed me of my noble pride;
And this blade my hand can scarcely bear,
I place in yours to punish and repair.
Oppose the arrogant and prove your courage:
Only blood may redeem this outrage;
Kill, or die. And then, not to mislead,
I give you an adversary to fear indeed.
I have seen him stained with blood and powder,
To a whole army bringing pain and terror.
I've seen a hundred fine squadrons shattered
By his valour, to the four winds scattered;
More than a brave soldier, a great captain,
He is. . .

Rodrigue
Ah, tell me.

Diegue
Father to Chimene.

Rodrigue
Her. . .

Diegue
Do not repeat it, I know your love.

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.