Thomas Otway. Thomas Otway
wretched woman that I am! And you unworthy of a husband's name! Do you not blush?
King. Yes, madam, for your shame. Blush, too, my judgment e'er should prove so faint, To let me choose a devil for a saint. When first I saw and loved that tempting eye, The fiend within the flame I did not spy; But still ran on, and cherished my desires, For heavenly beams mistook infernal fires; Such raging fires as you have since thought fit Alone my son, my son's hot youth should meet. O vengeance, vengeance!
Queen. Poor ungenerous king! How mean's the soul from which such thoughts must spring! Was it for this I did so late submit To let you whine and languish at my feet; When with false oaths you did my heart beguile And proffered all your empire for a smile? Then, then my freedom 'twas I did resign, Though you still swore you would preserve it mine. And still it shall be so, for from this hour I vow to hate, and never see you more. Nay, frown not, Philip, for you soon shall know I can resent and rage as well as you.
King. By hell! her pride's as raging as her lust. A guard there! seize the queen! [Enter Guard.
Re-enter Don Carlos; he intercepts the Guards.
Don Car. Hold, sir, be just. First look on me, whom once you called your son, A title I was always proud to own.
King. Good Heaven! to merit this what have I done, That he too dares before my sight appear?
Don Car. Why, sir, where is the cause that I should fear? Bold in my innocence, I come to know The reason why you use this princess so.
King. Sure I shall find some way to raise this siege: He talks as if 'twere for his privilege. Foul ravisher of all my honour, hence! But stay! Guards, with the queen secure the prince. Wherefore in my revenge should I be slow? Now in my reach, I'll dash them at a blow.
Re-enter Don John of Austria, with the Duchess of Eboli, Henrietta, and Garcia.
Don John. I come, great sir, with wonder here, to see Your rage grow up to this extremity Against your beauteous queen, and loyal son; What is't that they to merit chains have done? Or is't your own wild jealousy alone?
King. O Austria, thy vain inquiry cease, If thou hast any value for thy peace. My mighty wrongs so loud an accent bear, 'Twould make thee miserable but to hear.
Don Car. Father—if I may dare to call you so, Since now I doubt if I'm your son or no— As you have sealed my doom, I may complain.
King. Will then that monster dare to speak again?
Don Car. Yes, dying men should not their thoughts disguise; And, since you take such joy in cruelties, Ere of my death the new delight begin, Be pleased to hear how cruel you have been. Time was that we were smiled on by our fate, You not unjust, nor I unfortunate: Then, then I was your son, and you were glad To hear my early praise was talked abroad: Then love's dear sweets you to me would display; Told me where this rich, beauteous treasure lay, And how to gain't instructed me the way. I came, and saw, and loved, and blessed you for't. But then when love had sealed her to my heart, You violently tore her from my side: And, 'cause my bleeding wound I could not hide, But still some pleasure to behold her took, You now will have my life but for a look; Wholly forgetting all the pains I bore, Your heart with envious jealousy boils o'er, 'Cause I can love no less, and you no more.
Hen. Alas! how can you hear his soft complaint, And not your hardened, stubborn heart relent? Turn, sir; survey that comely, awful man, And to my prayers be cruel if you can.
King. Away, deluder! who taught thee to sue?
D. of Eboli. Loving the queen, what is't she less can do Than lend her aid against the dreadful storm?
King. Why, can the devil dwell too in that form? This is their little engine by the bye, A scout to watch and tell when danger's nigh. Come, pretty sinner, thou'lt inform me all, How, where, and when; nay, do not fear—you shall.
Hen. Ah, sir, unkind! [Kneels.
King. Now hold thy siren's tongue: Who would have thought there was a witch so young?
Don John. Can you to suing beauty stop your ears?
[Raises up Henrietta and makes his address to her.
Heaven lays its thunder by, and gladly hears,
When angels are become petitioners.
D. of Eboli. Ha! what makes Austria so officious there? That glance seems as it sent his heart to her.
[Aside to Garcia.
Don Car. A banquet then of blood since you design, Yet you may satisfy yourself with mine. I love the queen, I have confessed, 'tis true: Proud too to think I love her more than you; Though she, by Heaven, is clear;—but I indeed Have been unjust, and do deserve to bleed. There were no lawless thoughts that I did want, Which love had power to ask, or beauty grant; Though I ne'er yet found hopes to raise them on, For she did still preserve her honour's throne, And dash the bold aspiring devils down. If to her cause you do not credit give, Fondly against your happiness you'll strive; As some lose Heaven, because they won't believe.
Queen. Whilst, prince, my preservation you design, Blot not your virtue to add more to mine. The clearness of my truth I'd not have shown By any other light besides its own.— No, sir, he through despair all this has said, And owns offences which he never made. Why should you think that I would do you wrong? Must I needs be unchaste because I'm young?
King. Unconstant wavering heart, why heavest thou so? I shiver all, and know not what I do. I who ere now have armies led to fight, Thought war a sport, and danger a delight, Whole winter nights stood under Heaven's wide roof, Daring my foes, now am not beauty-proof. Oh, turn away those basilisks, thy eyes; The infection's fatal, and who sees them dies. [Going away.
Queen. Oh, do not fly me; I have no design Upon your life, for you may yet save mine. [Kneels. Or if at last I must my breath submit, Here take it, 'tis an offering at your feet: Will you not look on me, my dearest lord?
King. Why? wouldst thou live?
Queen. Yes, if you'll say the word.
Don Car. O Heaven! how coldly and unmoved he sees A praying beauty prostrate on her knees! Rise, madam—[Steps to take her up.
King. Bold encroacher, touch her not: Into my breast her glances thick are shot. Not true!—Stay, let me see—by Heaven, thou art—
[Looks earnestly on her.
A false vile woman—O my foolish heart!
I give thee life: but from this time refrain,
And never come into my sight again:
Be banished ever.
Queen. This you must not do, At least till I've convinced you I am true. Grant me but so much time; and, when that's done, If you think fit, for ever I'll be gone.
King. I've all this while been angry, but in vain: She heats me first, then strokes me tame again. Oh, wert thou true, how happy should I be! Think'st thou that I have joy to part with thee? No, all my kingdom for the bliss I'd give— Nay, though it were not so—but to believe. Come, for I can't avoid it, cheat me quite!
Queen. I would not, sir, deceive you if I might. But if you'll take my oaths, by all above, 'Tis you, and only you, that I will love.
King. Thus as a mariner that sails along, With pleasure hears the enticing siren's song, Unable quite his strong desires to bound, Boldly leaps in, though certain to be drowned— Come to my bosom then, make no delay; [Takes her in his arms. My rage is hushed, and I have room for joy.
Queen. Again you'll think that I unjust will prove.