DOMINGO.
Prince, this mistrust—
You wrong the most devoted of your servants.
CARLOS.
Then give me up at once without a thought
Thou art a holy man—the world knows that—
But, to speak plain, too zealous far for me.
The road to Peter's chair is long and rough,
And too much knowledge might encumber you.
Go, tell this to the king, who sent thee hither!
DOMINGO.
Who sent me hither?
CARLOS. Ay! Those were my words.
Too well-too well, I know, that I'm betrayed,
Slandered on every hand—that at this court
A hundred eyes are hired to watch my steps.
I know, that royal Philip to his slaves
Hath sold his only son, and every wretch,
Who takes account of each half-uttered word,
Receives such princely guerdon as was ne'er
Bestowed on deeds of honor, Oh, I know
But hush!—no more of that! My heart will else
O'erflow and I've already said too much.
DOMINGO.
The king is minded, ere the set of sun,
To reach Madrid: I see the court is mustering.
Have I permission, prince?
CARLOS. I'll follow straight.
[Exit DOMINGO.
CARLOS (after a short silence).
O wretched Philip! wretched as thy son!
Soon shall thy bosom bleed at every pore,
Torn by suspicion's poisonous serpent fang.
Thy fell sagacity full soon shall pierce
The fatal secret it is bent to know,
And thou wilt madden, when it breaks upon thee!