Ele. Go!
Queen-M. Soul, rejoice, to see this glorious day.
[She joins them together; they embrace.
Car. Your virtues work this wonder. I have met
At her most dear command: what's your desires?
Ele. Peace and your honour'd arms: how loathingly
I sounded the alarums, witness heaven.
'Twas not to strike your breast, but to let out
The rank blood of ambition. That Philip
Makes you his ladder, and being climb'd so high
As he may reach a diadem, there you lie.
He's base-begotten,—that's his mother's sin.
Ele. Ah! amen. But he's a bastard,
And rather than I'll kneel to him, I'll saw
My legs off by the thighs, because I'll stand
In spite of reverence: he's a bastard, he's!
And to beat down his usurpation
I have thrown about this thunder: but, Mendoza,
The people hate him for his birth;
He only leans on you, you are his pillar;
You gone, he walks on crutches, or else falls.
Then shrink from under him; are not they
Fools that, bearing others up, themselves seem low,
Because they above sit high; why, you do so.
Car. 'Tis true.
Queen-M. Behold this error with fix'd eyes.
Car. 'Tis true. Well?