Queen. How scornfully he is withdrawn!
Sure ere his love he'd let me know his power,
As Heaven oft thunders ere it sends a shower.
This Spanish gravity is very odd:
All things are by severity so awed,
That little Love dares hardly peep abroad.
Hen. Alas! what can you from old age expect,
When frail uneasy men themselves neglect?
Some little warmth perhaps may be behind,
Though such as in extinguished fires you'll find;
Where some remains of heat the ashes hold,
Which, if for more you open, straight are cold.
Queen. 'Twas interest and safety of the state,—
Interest, that bold imposer on our fate;
That always to dark ends misguides our wills,
And with false happiness smooths o'er our ills.
It was by that unhappy France was led,
When, though by contract I should Carlos wed,
I was an offering made to Philip's bed.
Why sigh'st thou, Henrietta?
Hen. Who is't can
Know your sad fate, and yet from grief refrain?
With pleasure oft I've heard you smiling tell
Of Carlos' love.
Queen. And did it please you well?
In that brave prince's courtship there did meet
All that we could obliging call, or sweet.
At every point he with advantage stood;
Fierce as a lion, if provoked abroad;
Else soft as angels, charming as a god.
Hen. One so accomplished, and who loved you too,
With what resentments must he part with you!
Methinks I pity him——But oh! in vain:
He's both above my pity and my pain. [Aside.
Queen. What means this strange disorder?
Hen. Yonder view
That which I fear will discompose you too.
Enter Don Carlos and Marquis of Posa.
Queen. Alas, the prince! There to my mind appears
Something that in me moves unusual fears.
Away, Henrietta— [Offers to go.