D. of Eboli. Thy foes are tottering, and the day's thy own;
Give them but one lift now, and they go down.
Quickly to the king, and all his doubts renew;
Appear disturbed, as if you something knew
Too difficult and dangerous to relate,
Then bring him hither labouring with the weight.
I will take care that Carlos shall be here:
So for his jealous eyes a sight prepare,
Shall prove more fatal than Medusa's head,
And he more monster seem than she e'er made. [Exit.
Enter King, attended.
King. Still how this tyrant doubt torments my breast!
When shall I get the usurper dispossessed?
My thoughts, like birds when frighted from their rest,
Around the place where all was hushed before,
Flutter, and hardly settle any more— [Sees Ruy-Gomez.
Ha, Gomez! what art thou thus musing on?
Ruy-Gom. I'm thinking what it is to have a son;
What mighty cares and what tempestuous strife
Attend on an unhappy father's life;
How children blessings seem, but torments are;
When young, our folly; and when old, our fear.
King. Why dost thou bring these odd reflections here?
Thou enviest sure the quiet which I bear.
Ruy-Gom. No, sir, I joy in the ease which you possess,
And wish you never may have cause for less.
King. Have cause for less! Come nearer; thou art sad,
And look'st as thou wouldst tell me that I had.
Now, now, I feel it rising up again—
Speak quickly, where is Carlos? where the queen?
What, not a word? have my wrongs struck thee dumb?
Or art thou swollen and labouring with my doom,
Yet darest not let the fatal secret come?
Ruy-Gom. Heaven great infirmities to age allots:
I'm old, and have a thousand doting thoughts.
Seek not to know them, sir.
King. By Heaven! I must.
Ruy-Gom. Nay, I would not be by compulsion just.