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The Mourning Bride.
9
Upon this solemn Day, in these sad Weeds?You and yours, are all, in oppositionTo my Brightness, like Daughters of Affliction.
Alm.Forgive me, Sir, if I offend.The Year, which I have vow'd to pay to Heav'n,In Mourning and strict Life, for my DeliveranceFrom Death, and Wreck of the tempestuous Sea,Wants yet to be expired.
King.Your Zeal to Heav'n is great; so is your Debt:Yet something too is due to me, who gaveThat Life, which Heav'n preserv'd. A Day bestow'dIn Filial Duty, had atton'd and giv'nA Dispensation to your Vow- No more.'Twas weak and wilful- and a Woman's Errour.Yet- upon thought, it doubly wounds my Sight,To see that Sable worn upon the DaySucceeding that, in which our deadliest Foe,Hated Anselmo, was interr'd- By Heav'n,It looks as thou didst mourn for him: Just asThy senseless Vow appear'd to bear its Date,Not from that Hour wherein thou wert preserv'd,But that wherein the curs'd Alphonso perish'd.Ha! what? thou dost not weep to think of that?
Gons.Have Patience, Royal Sir, the Princess weepsTo have offended you. If Fate decreed,One 'pointed Hour should be Alphonso's Loss,And her Deliverance; Is she to blame?
King.I tell thee she's to blame, not to have feastedWhen my first Foe was laid in Earth, such Enmity,Such Detestation, bears my Blood to his;My Daughter should have revell'd at his Death.She should have made these Pallace Walls to shake,And all this high and ample Roof to ringWith her Rejoicings. What, to mourn, and weep;Then, then, to weep, and pray, and grieve? By Heav'n,There's not a Slave, a shackled Slave of mine,But should have smil'd that Hour, through all his Care,And shook his Chains in Transport and rude Harmony.
Gons.
