Queen. Cruel! inhuman! O my heart! why should
I throw away a title that's so good,
On one a stranger to whate'er was so?
Alas, I'm torn, and know not what to do.
The just resentment of my wrong's so great,
My spirits sink beneath the heavy weight.
Tyrant, stand off! I hate thee, and will try
If I have scorn enough to make me die.
Don Car. Blest angel, stay! [Takes her in his arms.
Queen. Carlos, the sole embrace
You ever took, you have before his face.
Don Car. No wealthy monarch of the plenteous East,
In all the glories of his empire dressed,
Was ever half so rich, or half so blest.
But from such bliss how wretched is the fall!
They too like us must die, and leave it all.
King. All this before my face! what soul could bear't?
Go, force her from him! [Officer approaches.
Don Car. Slave, 'twill cost thy heart.
Thou'dst better meet a lion on his way,
And from his hungry jaws reprize the prey!
She's mistress of my soul, and to prepare
Myself for death, I must consult with her.
Ruy-Gom. Have pity! [Ironically.
King. Hence! how wretchedly he rules
That's served by cowards, and advised by fools!
Oh, torture!
Don Car. Rouse, my soul! consider now
That to thy blissful mansion thou must go.
But I so mighty joys have tasted here,
I hardly shall have sense of any there:
Oh, soft as blossoms, and yet sweeter far! [Leaning on her bosom.
Sweeter than incense which to Heaven ascends,
Though 'tis presented there by angels' hands.
King. Still in his arms! Cowards, go tear her forth!