Alm. What shall I do?  O teach me to refuse! 
I would,—­and yet I tremble at the grant;
For dire presages fright my soul by day,
And boding visions haunt my nightly dreams;
Sometimes, methinks, I hear the groans of ghosts,
Thin, hollow sounds, and lamentable screams;
Then, like a dying echo, from afar,
My mother’s voice, that cries,—­Wed not, Almeyda! 
Forewarned, Almeyda, marriage is thy crime.

Seb. Some envious demon to delude our joys; Love is not sin, but where ’tis sinful love.

Alm. Mine is a flame so holy and so clear,
That the white taper leaves no soot behind;
No smoke of lust; but chaste as sisters’ love,
When coldly they return a brother’s kiss,
Without the zeal that meets at lovers’ mouths[3].

Seb. Laugh then at fond presages.  I had some;—­
Famed Nostradamus, when he took my horoscope,
Foretold my father, I should wed with incest. 
Ere this unhappy war my mother died,
And sisters I had none;—­vain augury! 
A long religious life, a holy age,
My stars assigned me too;—­impossible! 
For how can incest suit with holiness,
Or priestly orders with a princely state?

Alm. Old venerable Alvarez—­ [Sighing.

Seb. But why that sigh in naming that good man?

Alm. Your father’s counsellor and confident—­

Seb. He was; and, if he lives, my second father.

Alm. Marked our farewell, when, going to the fight,
You gave Almeyda for the word of battle. 
’Twas in that fatal moment, he discovered
The love, that long we laboured to conceal. 
I know it; though my eyes stood full of tears,
Yet through the mist I saw him stedfast gaze;
Then knocked his aged breast, and inward groaned,
Like some sad prophet, that foresaw the doom
Of those whom best he loved, and could not save.

Seb. It startles me! and brings to my remembrance,
That, when the shock of battle was begun,
He would have much complained (but had not time)
Of our hid passion:  then, with lifted hands,
He begged me, by my father’s sacred soul,
Not to espouse you, if he died in fight;
For, if he lived, and we were conquerors,
He had such things to urge against our marriage,
As, now declared, would blunt my sword in battle,
And dastardize my courage.

Alm. My blood curdles, And cakes about my heart.

Seb. I’ll breathe a sigh so warm into thy bosom,
Shall make it flow again.  My love, he knows not
Thou art a Christian:  that produced his fear,
Lest thou shouldst sooth my soul with charms so strong,
That heaven might prove too weak.

Alm. There must be more:  This could not blunt your sword.

Seb. Yes, if I drew it, with a curst intent,
To take a misbeliever to my bed: 
It must be so.