_Orsi._ Burgos believes thee dead. Cæsario fills Thy vacant throne.
_Alfon._ I ask not of my throne. My child! Oh! say, my child?----
_Orsi._ Is safe, is well, And hopes ere long to see her sire once more Adorned, with regal pomp, and lord of Burgos.
_Orsi._ Not so: thy faithful nobles, By me apprized, now haste to give thee succour. Ere night, Cæsario falls; and piercing his, Thy just revenge shall print a mortal wound On his proud father's heart.
_Orsi._ Ay, On his, who paid thy love this morn with curses, Spurning thy proffered friendship--Know'st thou not Cæsario is Orsino's son?
_Alfon._ Just Heaven! And does Orsino love him?
_Orsi._ Dearly, dearly, Loves him to madness; loves him with like fury. As hates he thee.--Oh! glorious field for vengeance: Think how 'twill writhe his haughty soul to hear, This son, this darling, perished on the scaffold, Branded, disgraced, a traitor, a foiled traitor. Joy, joy, Alfonso; ere 'tis night thy wrath Shall gorge itself with blood.
_Alfon._ Now blessings on thee, Who giv'st me more than all my foes can take. Come, come, my friend; where are these troops? Away, Forward to Burgos.
_Alfon._ To Burgos. Down with the walls: make once Cæsario mine--
_Alfon._ I'll seek his father, grasp his hand, And say,--"This stripling stole my darling daughter, Betrayed my confidence, usurped my throne, Aimed at my life, and almost broke my heart: But he's Orsino's son; Orsino loves him, And all's forgiven."----(Orsino _kneels, takes the king's hand, and presses it to his lips._)--How now?
_Orsi._ (_Raising his vizor._) All is forgiven.
_Orsi._ My pride is vanquished: My king--Thy hand, my king.
_Alfon._ My heart, my heart; There find thy place, and never leave it more. Oh, from my joy again to name thee friend, Judge of my grief to think thou wert my foe; How could I doubt thee? how commit an error So gross.
_Orsi._ No more; e'en now thou pay'st its penance: In this long chain of present woes, that error (Which seems at first so light) was the first link. It tore me from my son: else, reared by me, Formed in thy court, and schooled by my example, My son must sure have proved thy truest subject, Oh! learn from this, how weighty is the charge, A monarch bears; how nice a task to guide His power aright, to guide it wrong, how fatal. If subjects sin, with them the crime remains, With them the penance; but when monarchs err, The mischief spreads swift as their kingdom's rivers, Strong as their power, and wide as their domains.