D. of Eboli. What paradise? What pleasures can you know,
Which are not in my power to bestow?
Don Car. Love, love, and all those eager, melting charms
The queen must yield when in my father's arms.
That queen, so excellently, richly fair,
Jove, could he come again a lover here,
Would court mortality to die for her.
O madam, take not pleasure to renew
Those pains, which if you felt, you would not do.
D. of Eboli. Unkindly urged: think you no sense I have
Of what you feel? Now you may take your leave.
Something I had to say; but let it die.
Don Car. Why, madam, who has injured you? Not I.
D. of Eboli. Nay, sir, your presence I would not detain:
Alas! you do not hear that I complain.
Though, could you half of my misfortunes see,
Methinks you should incline to pity me.
Don Car. I cannot guess what mournful tale you'd tell;
But I am certain you prepare me well.
Speak, madam.
D. of Eboli. Say I loved, and with a flame
Which even melts my tender heart to name;
Loved too a man, I will not say ingrate,
Because he's far above my birth or fate;
Yet so far he at least does cruel prove,
He prosecutes a dead and hopeless love,
Starves on a barren rock, and won't be blest,
Though I invite him kindly to a feast.
Don Car. What stupid animal could senseless lie,
Quickened by beams from that illustrious eye?
D. of Eboli. Nay, to increase your wonder, you shall know
That I, alas! am forced to tell him too,
Till even I blush, as now I tell it you.
Don Car. You neither shall have cause of shame or fear,
Whose secrets safe within my bosom are.