[Aside to Garcia.
Don Car. A banquet then of blood since you design,
Yet you may satisfy yourself with mine.
I love the queen, I have confessed, 'tis true:
Proud too to think I love her more than you;
Though she, by Heaven, is clear;—but I indeed
Have been unjust, and do deserve to bleed.
There were no lawless thoughts that I did want,
Which love had power to ask, or beauty grant;
Though I ne'er yet found hopes to raise them on,
For she did still preserve her honour's throne,
And dash the bold aspiring devils down.
If to her cause you do not credit give,
Fondly against your happiness you'll strive;
As some lose Heaven, because they won't believe.
Queen. Whilst, prince, my preservation you design,
Blot not your virtue to add more to mine.
The clearness of my truth I'd not have shown
By any other light besides its own.—
No, sir, he through despair all this has said,
And owns offences which he never made.
Why should you think that I would do you wrong?
Must I needs be unchaste because I'm young?
King. Unconstant wavering heart, why heavest thou so?
I shiver all, and know not what I do.
I who ere now have armies led to fight,
Thought war a sport, and danger a delight,
Whole winter nights stood under Heaven's wide roof,
Daring my foes, now am not beauty-proof.
Oh, turn away those basilisks, thy eyes;
The infection's fatal, and who sees them dies. [Going away.
Queen. Oh, do not fly me; I have no design
Upon your life, for you may yet save mine. [Kneels.
Or if at last I must my breath submit,
Here take it, 'tis an offering at your feet:
Will you not look on me, my dearest lord?
King. Why? wouldst thou live?
Queen. Yes, if you'll say the word.
Don Car. O Heaven! how coldly and unmoved he sees
A praying beauty prostrate on her knees!
Rise, madam— [Steps to take her up.
King. Bold encroacher, touch her not:
Into my breast her glances thick are shot.
Not true!—Stay, let me see—by Heaven, thou art—