King. Good Heaven! to merit this what have I done,
That he too dares before my sight appear?
Don Car. Why, sir, where is the cause that I should fear?
Bold in my innocence, I come to know
The reason why you use this princess so.
King. Sure I shall find some way to raise this siege:
He talks as if 'twere for his privilege.
Foul ravisher of all my honour, hence!
But stay! Guards, with the queen secure the prince.
Wherefore in my revenge should I be slow?
Now in my reach, I'll dash them at a blow.
Re-enter Don John of Austria, with the Duchess of Eboli, Henrietta, and Garcia.
Don John. I come, great sir, with wonder here, to see
Your rage grow up to this extremity
Against your beauteous queen, and loyal son;
What is't that they to merit chains have done?
Or is't your own wild jealousy alone?
King. O Austria, thy vain inquiry cease,
If thou hast any value for thy peace.
My mighty wrongs so loud an accent bear,
'Twould make thee miserable but to hear.
Don Car. Father,—if I may dare to call you so,
Since now I doubt if I'm your son or no,—
As you have sealed my doom, I may complain.
King. Will then that monster dare to speak again?
Don Car. Yes, dying men should not their thoughts disguise;
And, since you take such joy in cruelties,
Ere of my death the new delight begin,
Be pleased to hear how cruel you have been.
Time was that we were smiled on by our fate,
You not unjust, nor I unfortunate:
Then, then I was your son, and you were glad
To hear my early praise was talked abroad:
Then love's dear sweets you to me would display;
Told me where this rich, beauteous treasure lay,
And how to gain't instructed me the way.
I came, and saw, and loved, and blessed you for't.
But then when love had sealed her to my heart,
You violently tore her from my side:
And, 'cause my bleeding wound I could not hide,
But still some pleasure to behold her took,
You now will have my life but for a look;
Wholly forgetting all the pains I bore,
Your heart with envious jealousy boils o'er,
'Cause I can love no less, and you no more.
Hen. Alas! how can you hear his soft complaint,
And not your hardened, stubborn heart relent?
Turn, sir; survey that comely, awful man,
And to my prayers be cruel if you can.