King. Now ye that dwell in everlasting flame,
And keep records of all ye mean to damn,
Show me, if 'mongst your precedents there e'er
Was seen a son like him, or wife like her.
Hark, Gomez! didst not hear the infernals groan?
Hush, hell, a little, and they are thy own!
M. of Posa. Who should these be? the king and Gomez, sure:
Methinks I wish that Carlos were secure;
For Flanders his despatches I've prepared.
King. Who's there? 'Tis Posa, pander to their lust.
[Drawing near to Posa.
Now, Gomez, to his heart thy dagger thrust;
In the pursuit of vengeance drive it far;
Strike deep, and, if thou canst, wound Carlos there.
Ruy-Gom. I'll do't as close as happy lovers kiss:
May he strike mine, if of his heart I miss!
Thus, sir! [Stabs Posa.
M. of Posa. Ha, Gomez! villain! thou hast done
Thy worst: but yet I would not die alone:
Here, dog! [Stabs at him.
Ruy-Gom. So brisk! then take it once again.
[As they are struggling, the despatches fall out of Posa's bosom.
'Twas only, sir, to put you out of pain.