Читать книгу The Ladies of Castile - Mercy Otis Warren - Страница 8

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(Don Juan De Padilla and Don Francis)

Don Francis

Hast thou yet seen th' unhappy queen of Spain?The vulgar ear, forever caught by sound,Allur'd by pomp, by pageantry and show,Revere her person and adore her name;Her standard planted on the field of war,Would sanction give to every bold design.

Don Juan De Padilla

I have beheld the ruins of a queen,A sight too piteous for a soldier's eye---Whose heart, unsteel'd by scenes of human woe,Has yet a tender corner left for grief.Rob'd of her crown, authority and peace---Dethron'd, immur'd, neglected by her son,Shut up in widow'd solitude to weepUngrateful Philip, who despis'd her charms,She's but the weeping image of despair.

Don Francis

Does she yet know the miseries of Spain?The indignant wrongs and injuries we feel,Beneath the reign of her oppressive son?---

Don Juan De Padilla

She, all attentive, listen'd to the tale;And rous'd at once as from lethargic dreams,And starting, cry'd---is Ferdinand no more!---Is that great monarch slumbering in the tomb,While I, a wretched prisoner of state,Stand the sad monument of human ills?---She wept and sigh'd, till strong resentment rose,And kindled in her breast a noble flame.With all the powers of eloquence and truth,I strove to sooth her wandering mind to rest.In justice' sacred name I urg'd her aidTo counteract the cruelties of Charles,To reassume her rights, and reign again,To extricate her subjects from despair;---She gave assent with dignity and ease,And, spite of nature, seem'd to be a queen.I nam'd Calabria's injur'd noble prince,The heir of Arragon, long since depriv'dOf his paternal crown, and princely rights,Which Ferdinand, by violence, had seiz'd,And justice bade his daughter to restore;I urg'd her marriage with so brave a prince,Entitled, both by virtue and by blood,To wield the sceptre that his fathers won,And shield her person from all future wrongs;But naming love, her dormant passions wak'd,And kindled up her former flame for Philip;She sunk despondent, and refus'd to aid,To act in council, or to guide the realm.

Don Francis

Unhappy queen! thus to her people lost.In melancholy's cell, let her remain,While her son raves at large about the world,Not less a madman than the Macedon,Who kindled up the Grecian world in flame,And rear'd a pile o'er all his murder'd friends.

Don Juan De Padilla

She, rescu'd from her guards, my prisoner is,And, if we need, her signet is obtain'd.

Don Francis

But malice whispers murmurs through the camp,And half our soldiers clamour for their pay---At least a part, before they take the field.

Don Juan De Padilla

Haste to Maria, whose undaunted soulReflects a lustre on her feeble sex;By stratagem, she's gain'd an ample sumTo quiet mutiny, and pay the troops.But ere the solemn midnight clock shall strike,Return, and meet me at the gate of Toro.

(Exeunt)