King. What's all my glory, all my pomp? how poor
Is fading greatness! or how vain is power!
Where all the mighty conquests I have seen?
I, who o'er nations have victorious been,
Now cannot quell one little foe within.
Cursed jealousy, that poisons all love's sweets!
How heavy on my heart the invader sits!
O Gomez, thou hast given my mortal wound.
Ruy-Gom. What is't does so your royal thoughts confound?
A king his power unbounded ought to have,
And, ruling all, should not be passion's slave.
King. Thou counsell'st well, but art no stranger sure
To the sad cause of what I now endure.
Know'st thou what poison thou didst lately give,
And dost not wonder to behold me live?
Ruy-Gom. I only did as by my duty tied,
And never studied any thing beside.
King. I do not blame thy duty or thy care:
Quickly, what passed between them more, declare.
How greedily my soul to ruin flies!
As he who in a fever burning lies
First of his friends does for a drop implore,
Which tasted once, unable to give o'er,
Knows 'tis his bane, yet still thirsts after more.
Oh, then—
Ruy-Gom. I fear that you'll interpret wrong;
Tis true, they gazed, but 'twas not very long.
King. Lie still, my heart! Not long, was't that you said?
Ruy-Gom. No longer than they in your presence stayed.
King. No longer? Why, a soul in less time flies
To Heaven; and they have changed theirs at their eyes.
Hence, abject fears, begone! she's all divine!
Speak, friends, can angels in perfection sin?
Ruy-Gom. Angels, that shine above, do oft bestow
Their influence on poor mortals here below.