Enter Philip hastily.
Phil. I know he is not dead; I know proud death
Durst not behold such sacred majesty.
Why stand you thus distracted? Mother, brother,
My Lord Mendoza, where's my royal father?
Queen-M. Here lies the temple of his royal soul.
Fer. Here's all that's left of Philip's majesty;
Wash you his tomb with tears: Fernando's moan,
Hating a partner, shall be spent alone.
[Exit.
Phil. O happy father! miserable son!
Philip is gone to joy, Philip's forlorn:
He dies to live, my life with woe is torn.
Queen-M. Sweet son.
Phil. Sweet mother: O, how I now do shame
To lay on one so foul so fair a name:
Had you been a true mother, a true wife,
This king had not so soon been robb'd of life.
Queen-M. What means this rage, my son?
Phil. Call not me your son.
My father, whil'st he liv'd, tir'd his strong arms
In bearing Christian armour 'gainst the Turks,
And spent his brains in warlike stratagems
To bring confusion on damn'd infidels:
Whilst you, that snorted here at home, betray'd
His name to everlasting infamy;
Whilst you at home suffer'd his bedchamber
To be a brothelry; whilst you at home
Suffer'd his queen to be a concubine,
And wanton red-cheek'd boys to be her bawds;
Whilst she, reeking in that lecher's arms——