He was no man for you! He knew it
Himself right well—as he, with all your crowns,
Rejected you. This holy heart was crushed
Beneath your iron hand. You could do nought
But murder him! * *
Even you he could have made
Most fortunate! His heart was rich enough
In its o'erflow to have contented you.
A fragment of his spirit would have made you
A God! * *
O you, who stand assembled here
With wonder and with terror mute, condemn not
The youth who dared reproachful words to utter
Against his father and his king. Lo, here!
For me he died! Have you yet tears? Flows blood, Not molten brass, within your veins? Look here—
Condemn me not!
(To the King.) And you, perhaps, await
The close of this unnatural history.
Here is my sword: you are my king again.
Think you I tremble at your sovereign vengeance?
Slay me, as you have slain the best and noblest.
My life is forfeited. I know it well.
What now is life to me? All I renounce
That in this world awaits me. Seek henceforth
'Mong strangers for your son. Here lies my kingdom!
A tumult is heard without, and an officer of the guard enters in haste.
Officer. Rebellion!
Where is the king?—All Madrid is in arms!
In countless crowds the raging populace
Surround the palace. They exclaim—the prince
Is in arrest, his life in mortal peril.
The people will behold him living, safe,
Or Madrid will be soon in flames!
Nobles Save—save
The king!
Alba. Fly, sire—there's danger—hasten hence;
We know not yet who arms the populace.
King. (waking from a stupor.)
Stands my throne firm? Am I yet sovereign here?
I am no longer king——These cowards weep,
Made tender by a boy. They only wait
The signal, from my side to fall away.
I am betrayed by rebels.
Alba. Sire—my king!
What dreadful fantasy——
King. Lo! yonder—haste,
Prostrate yourselves! Before a promising
And youthful king kneel down! I now am nothing
But an old powerless man!
Alba. Is't come to this?
Spaniards!
King. Go—clothe him in the royal robes!
Lead him o'er my crushed corpse!