CARLOS.
So do I.
Like hell's grim furies, dreams of dreadful shape
Pursue me still. My better genius strives
With the fell projects of a dark despair.
My wildered subtle spirit crawls through maze
On maze of sophistries, until at length
It gains a yawning precipice's brink.
O Roderigo! should I e'er in him
Forget the father—ah! thy deathlike look
Tells me I'm understood—should I forget
The father—what were then the king to me?
MARQUIS (after a pause).
One thing, my Carlos, let me beg of you!
Whate'er may be your plans, do nothing,—nothing,—
Without your friend's advice. You promise this?
CARLOS.
All, all I promise that thy love can ask!
I throw myself entirely upon thee!
MARQUIS.
The king, I hear, is going to Madrid.
The time is short. If with the queen you would
Converse in private, it is only here,
Here in Aranjuez, it can be done.
The quiet of the place, the freer manners,
All favor you.
CARLOS.
And such, too, was my hope;
But it, alas! was vain.
MARQUIS.
Not wholly so.
I go to wait upon her. If she be
The same in Spain she was in Henry's court,
She will be frank at least. And if I can
Read any hope for Carlos in her looks—
Find her inclined to grant an interview—
Get her attendant ladies sent away——
CARLOS.
Most of them are my friends—especially
The Countess Mondecar, whom I have gained
By service to her son, my page.
MARQUIS.
'Tis well;
Be you at hand, and ready to appear,
Whene'er I give the signal, prince.
CARLOS.
I will,—
Be sure I will:—and all good speed attend thee!
MARQUIS.
I will not lose a moment; so, farewell.