Alm. O do not tell me where;
For, if I knew the place of his abode,
I should be tempted to pursue his steps,
And then we both were lost.

Seb. Even past redemption;
For, if I knew thou wert on that design,
(As I must know, because our souls are one,)
I should not wander, but by sure instinct
Should meet thee just half-way in pilgrimage,
And close for ever; for I know my love
More strong than thine, and I more frail than thou.

Alm. Tell me not that; for I must boast my crime, And cannot bear that thou should’st better love.

Dor. I may inform you both; for you must go,
Where seas, and winds, and deserts will divide you. 
Under the ledge of Atlas lies a cave,
Cut in the living rock by Nature’s hands,
The venerable seat of holy hermits;
Who there, secure in separated cells,
Sacred even to the Moors, enjoy devotion;
And from the purling streams, and savage fruits. 
Have wholesome beverage, and unbloody feasts.

Seb. ’Tis penance too voluptuous for my crime[11].

Dor. Your subjects, conscious of your life, are few;
But all desirous to partake your exile,
And to do office to your sacred person. 
The rest, who think you dead, shall be dismissed. 
Under safe convoy, till they reach your fleet.

Alm. But how am wretched I to be disposed?—­
A vain enquiry, since I leave my lord;
For all the world beside is banishment.

Dor. I have a sister, abbess in Terceras, Who lost her lover on her bridal day.

Alm. There fate provided me a fellow-turtle, To mingle sighs with sighs, and tears with tears.

Dor. Last, for myself, if I have well fulfilled
My sad commission, let me beg the boon,
To share the sorrows of your last recess,
And mourn the common losses of our loves.

Alv. And what becomes of me? must I be left,
As age and time had worn me out of use? 
These sinews are not yet so much unstrung,
To fail me when my master should be served;
And when they are, then will I steal to death,
Silent and unobserved, to save his tears.

Seb. I’ve heard you both;—­Alvarez, have thy wish;—­
But thine, Alonzo, thine is too unjust. 
I charge thee with my last commands, return,
And bless thy Violante with thy vows.—­
Antonio, be thou happy too in thine. 
Last, let me swear you all to secrecy;
And, to conceal my shame, conceal my life.

Dor.  Ant.  Mor. We swear to keep it secret.

Alm. Now I would speak the last farewell, I cannot. 
It would be still farewell a thousand times;
And, multiplied in echoes, still farewell. 
I will not speak, but think a thousand thousand. 
And be thou silent too, my last Sebastian;
So let us part in the dumb pomp of grief. 
My heart’s too great, or I would die this moment;
But death, I thank him, in an hour, has made
A mighty journey, and I haste to meet him.
                           [She staggers, and her Women hold her up.