KING. To something else!
The day has started wrong. I hoped to show
You houses, meadows, in the English taste,
Through which we tried to make this garden please;
We missed our aim. Dissemble not, O love!
'Tis so, and let us think of it no more.
To duty we devote what time remains,
Ere Spanish wine spice high our Spanish fare.
What, from the boundary still no messenger?
Toledo did we choose, with wise intent,
To be at hand for tidings of the foe.
And still there are none?
MANRIQUE. Sire—
KING. What is it, pray?
MANRIQUE. A messenger—
KING. Has come? What then?
MANRIQUE (pointing to the Queen).
Not now.
KING. My wife is used to council and to war,
The Queen in everything shares with the King.
MANRIQUE. The messenger himself, perhaps, more than
The message—
KING. Well, who is't?