KING. Shall my own servants then become
The sharers in the knowledge of my shame?
I'll force th' exchange myself, if it must be!
Take up the picture—I will touch it not!
[The servant has picked up the picture.]
KING. How clumsy! Hide it in your breast; but nay,
If there, it would be warmed by other's glow!
Give 't here, myself will take it; follow me—We'll
overtake them yet! But I surmise,
Since now suspicion's rife, there may some harm,
Some accident befall them unawares.
My royal escort were the safest guide.
Thou, follow me!
[He has looked at the picture, then has put it in his bosom.]
Stands there not, at the side,
The Castle Retiro, where, all concealed,
My forebear, Sancho, with a Moorish maid—!
SERVANT. Your Majesty, 'tis true!
KING. We'll imitate
Our forebears in their bravery, their worth,
Not when they stumble in their weaker hours.
The task is, first of all to conquer self—And
then against the foreign conqueror!
Retiro hight the castle?—Let me see!
Oh yes, away! And be discreet! But then—Thou
knowest nothing! All the better. Come!
[Exit with servant.]
ACT III
Garden in the royal villa. In the background flows the Tagus. A roomy arbor toward the front at the right. At the left, several suppliants in a row, with petitions in their hands. ISAAC stands near them.