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Disraeli, Benjamin, Earl of Beaconsfield, 1804-1881

"Count Alarcos; a Tragedy"


I cannot sleep -- my dreams are full of woe!
Alarcos! my Alarcos! Hah! dread sight!
Oran!
V:3:53 ORAN.
O, spare her; 'tis no sacrifice
If she be spared.
V:3:54 COUN.
Wild words! Thou dost not speak.
O, speak, Alarcos! speak!
V:3:55 ORAN.
His voice is death.
V:3:56 COUN.
Ye Saints uphold me now, for I am weak
And lost. What means this? Oran dying! Nay --
Alarcos! I'm a woman. Aid me, aid me.
Why's Oran thus? O, save him, my Alarcos!
Blood! And why shed? Why, let us staunch his wounds.
Why are there wounds? He will not speak. Alarcos,
A word, a single word! Unhappy Moor!
Where is thy hurt?
[Kneels by ORAN.]
V:3:57 ORAN.
That hand! This is not death;
'Tis Paradise.
[Dies.]
V:3:58 ALAR.
[advancing in soliloquy]

He sets me great examples.
'Tis easier than I deemed; a single blow
And his bold soul has fled. His lavish life
Enlists me in quick service. Quit that dark corpse;
He died as did become a perjured traitor.
V:3:59 COUN.
To whom, my lord?
V:3:60 ALAR.
To all Castille perchance.


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