The Cid a tragicomedy, out of French made English: and acted before their Majesties at court, and on the Cock-pit stage in Drury-lane by the servants to both their Majesties.

SCENE III.

CIMENA. ELVIRA.

CIMENA.

AT length I find I'me free to open to thee The fadnesse of my soule, and to give way to my deep sighs, which else would stifle me. My fathers dead, Eluira, the first sword That Roderigo us'd has cut his thred, Weepe, weepe mine eyes, melt into teares my braine Halfe of my life, the other halfe has slaine, And ty's me to revenge on what is left, That part of which by this I am bereft.

ELVIRA.

Quiet your selfe, sweet Madame.

CIMENA.

How unfitly Thou bid'st me to be quiet, when at once I must bewaile my losse, and th'hand that made it, Or what is't I can hope for in this life But torments, neere to be redres'd by time, If loving th' Author, I pursue the crime.

ELVIRA.

Can you then love the man that kill'd your Father?

CIMENA.

Love him, Eluira? more than that I adore him, My love stands up against the sense, I should have

Of a slaine father, and would quite o're-beare it. I finde my lover in mine enemie, And spight of all my anger, in my heart Roderigo makes his part good 'gainst my father: Yet though my love has these advantages, I'le not advise with it about my duty. Nothing is dearer to me than Roderigo, My heart would take his part, but then my honour Tels me I had a father, which he slew.

ELVIRA.

But doe you meane to prosecute him, Madam?

CIMENA.

O cruell meaning! cruell prosecution! To which I'me forc'd. I aske his head, and yet Feare to obtaine it. I would ha him punish'd, And yet my death, I know, must wait on his.

ELVIRA.

Fie, Madam, quit this tragicall designe, Be not so cruell to your selfe.

CIMENA.

Shall I see My father die betweene my armes? his bloud Crying vengeance to me, and shan't I heare him? Shall my heart thinke, because 'tis charm'd by love, That nothing's due unto a fathers death But childish teares? or shall I suffer love To steale into my heart, and thrust out honour?

ELVIRA.

Beleeve me, Madam, you may well be pardon'd, If you preserve unto your selfe a man You cannot paralell, and one you love. Y'have done enough to ha' beene with the King, Ne're presse it farther, be not obstinate.

CIMENA.

Then is my glory lost; no, it behoves I be reveng'd.

ELVIRA.

But you love Roderigo, He can't displease you.

CIMENA.

No I'le sweare he can't.

ELVIRA.

These things consider'd, Madam, what can you doe?

CIMENA.

To save mine honour, and to put an end To all my griefes at once, I am resolv'd First to pursue him unto death, and then To die my selfe.