carlos.
Yet I have heard
This prince o'er all his peers hereto extoll'd,
The mirror of true courtesy; embodying
The proud and chivalrous spirit of his time.—
How spake he?
bertrand.
Few his words;—but this good sword—
Bitter degradement!——Yon proud Duke, he gave—
When from this recreant hand the traitor fell!
He had disarm'd me, Carlos!
carlos.
He!—You fought?
bertrand.
Ay, with the Duke—thy mistress' paramour!
carlos.
The Duke!—Her paramour!—
'Tis fuel to my hate.
bertrand.
How fares thy wound?
carlos.
This?—where?—'tis well.—These garments I shake off,
And put on my revenge—its panoply
Shall case my bosom.—Henceforth unto all
Compunction dead, and steel'd to every touch
Of natural sympathy, mine o'ercharged hate,
As the veil'd fire, pent in yon gathering cloud,
Deep-brooding waits, in fearful silence crouching,
Or ere it strike——'Twas for this minion
She spurn'd me!
bertrand.
Such my hate to Andrea.
Together and in secret we devise—
Yet not with such precipitate haste, our counsel,
As shall defeat its own resolve—some plan
To furnish our revenge. [Exeunt.
SCENE V.
A Chamber in the Palace.