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Enter Don John of Austria.

Don John. Why should dull law rule nature, who first made

That law by which herself is now betrayed?

Ere man's corruptions made him wretched, he

Was born most noble that was born most free:

Each of himself was lord, and, unconfined,

Obeyed the dictates of his god-like mind.

Law was an innovation brought in since,

When fools began to love obedience,

And called their slavery safety and defence.

My glorious father got me in his heat,

When all he did was eminently great:

When warlike Belgia felt his conquering power,

And the proud Germans owned him emperor,

Why should it be a stain then on my blood,

Because I came not in the common road,

But born obscure, and so more like a god?

No; though his diadem another wear,

At least to all his pleasures I'll be heir.

Here I should meet my Eboli, my fair.

Enter Duchess of Eboli.

She comes; as the bright Cyprian goddess moves,

When loose, and in her chariot drawn by doves,

She rides to meet the warlike god she loves.

D. of Eboli. Alas! my lord, you know not with what fear And hazard I am come to meet you here.

Don John. Oh, banish it: lovers like us should fly, And, mounted by their wishes, soar on high, Where softest ecstasies and transports are, While fear alone disturbs the lower air.

D. of Eboli. But who is safe when eyes are everywhere? Or, if we could with happiest secrecy Enjoy these sweets, oh, whither shall we fly To escape that sight whence we can nothing hide?

Don John. Alas! lay this religion now aside; I'll show thee one more pleasant, that which Jove Set forth to the old world, when from above He came himself, and taught his mortals love.

D. of Eboli. Will nothing then quench your unruly flame? My lord, you might consider who I am.

Don John. I know you're her I love, what should I more Regard?

D. of Eboli. [Aside.] By Heaven, he's brave!— But can so poor A thought possess your breast, to think that I Will brand my name with lust and infamy?

Don John. Those who are noblest born should higher prize Love's sweets. Oh! let me fly into those eyes! There's something in them leads my soul astray: As he who in a necromancer's glass Beholds his wished-for fortune by him pass, Yet still with greedy eyes Pursues the vision as it glides away.

D. of Eboli. Protect me, Heaven! I dare no longer stay; Your looks speak danger; I feel something too That bids me fly, yet will not let me go. [Half aside.

Don John. Take vows and prayers if ever I prove false. See at your feet the humble Austria falls. [Kneels.

D. of Eboli. Rise, rise. [Don John rises.] My lord, why would you thus deceive? [Sighs.

Don John. How many ways to wound me you contrive! Speak, wouldst thou have an empire at thy feet? Say, wouldst thou rule the world? I'll conquer it.

D. of Eboli. No; above empire far I could prize you, If you would be but—

Don John. What?

D. of Eboli. For ever true.

Don John. That thou mayst ne'er have cause to fear those harms, I'll be confined for ever in thy arms: Nay, I'll not one short minute from thee stray; Myself I'll on thy tender bosom lay, Till in its warmths I'm melted all away.

Enter Garcia.

Gar. Madam, your lord—

D. of Eboli. Oh! fly, or I'm undone. [Exit Garcia.

Don John. Must I without thy blessing then be gone?

[Kisses her hand.

D. of Eboli. Think you that this discretion merits one?

[Pulls it back.

Don John. I'm awed: As a sick wretch, that on his death-bed lies, Loth with his friends to part, just as he dies, Thus sends his soul in wishes from his eyes. [Exit.

D. of Eboli. O Heaven! what charms in youth and vigour are! Yet he in conquest is not gone too far; Too easily I'll not myself resign: Ere I am his, I'll make him surely mine; Draw him by subtle baits into the trap, Till he's too far got in to make escape; About him swiftly the soft snare I'll cast, And when I have him there, I'll hold him fast.

Enter Ruy-Gomez.

Ruy-Gom. Thus unaccompanied I subtly range The solitary paths of dark revenge: The fearful deer in herds to coverts run, While beasts of prey affect to roam alone.

D. of Eboli. Ah! my dear lord, how do you spend your hours? You little think what my poor heart endures; Whilst, with your absence tortured, I in vain Pant after joys I ne'er can hope to gain.

Ruy-Gom. You cannot my unkindness sure upbraid; You should forgive those faults yourself have made. Remember you the task you gave?

D. of Eboli. 'Tis true; Your pardon, for I do remember now. [Sighs. If I forgot, 'twas love had all my mind; And 'tis no sin, I hope, to be too kind.

Ruy-Gom. How happy am I in a faithful wife! O thou most precious blessing of my life!

D. of Eboli. Does then success attend upon your toil? I long to see you revel in the spoil.

Ruy-Gom. What strictest diligence could do, I've done, To incense an angry father 'gainst his son. I to advantage told him all that's past, Described with art each amorous glance they cast: So that this night he shunned the marriage-bed, Which through the court has various murmurs spread.

Enter the King, attended by the Marquis of Posa.

See where he comes with fury in his eyes:

Kind Heaven, but grant the storm may higher rise!

If't grow too loud, I'll lurk in some dark cell,

And laugh to hear my magic work so well.

King. What's all my glory, all my pomp? how poor Is fading greatness! or how vain is power! Where all the mighty conquests I have seen? I, who o'er nations have victorious been, Now cannot quell one little foe within. Cursed jealousy, that poisons all love's sweets! How heavy on my heart the invader sits! O Gomez, thou hast given my mortal wound.

Ruy-Gom. What is't does so your royal thoughts confound? A king his power unbounded ought to have, And, ruling all, should not be passion's slave.

King. Thou counsell'st well, but art no stranger sure To the sad cause of what I now endure. Know'st thou what poison thou didst lately give, And dost not wonder to behold me live?

Ruy-Gom. I only did as by my duty tied, And never studied any thing beside.

King. I do not blame thy duty or thy care: Quickly, what passed between them more, declare. How greedily my soul to ruin flies! As he who in a fever burning lies First of his friends does for a drop implore, Which tasted once, unable to give o'er, Knows 'tis his bane, yet still thirsts after more. Oh, then—

Ruy-Gom. I fear that you'll interpret wrong; Tis true, they gazed, but 'twas not very long.

King. Lie still, my heart! Not long, was't that you said?

Ruy-Gom. No longer than they in your presence stayed.

King. No longer? Why, a soul in less time flies To Heaven; and they have changed theirs at their eyes. Hence, abject fears, begone! she's all divine! Speak, friends, can angels in perfection sin?

Ruy-Gom. Angels, that shine above, do oft bestow Their influence on poor mortals here below.

King. But Carlos is my son, and always near; Seems to move with me in my glorious sphere. True, she may shower promiscuous blessings down On slaves that gaze for what falls from a crown; But when too kindly she his brightness sees, It robs my lustre to add more to his. But oh! I dare not think That those eyes should at least so humble be To stoop to him, when they had vanquished me.

M. of Posa. Sir, I am proud to think I know the prince, That he of virtue has too great a sense To cherish but a thought beyond the bound Of strictest duty. He to me has owned How much was to his former passion due, Yet still confessed he above all prized you.

Ruy-Gom. You better reconcile, sir, than advise: Be not more charitable than you're wise. The king is sick, and we should give him ease, But first find out the depth of his disease. Too sudden cures have oft pernicious grown; We must not heal up festered wounds too soon.

King. By this then you a power would o'er me gain, Wounding to let me linger in the pain. I'm stung, and won't the torture long endure: Serpents that wound have blood those wounds to cure.

Ruy-Gom. Good Heaven forbid that I should ever dare To question virtue in a queen so fair, Though she her eyes cast on your glorious son! Men oft see treasures, and yet covet none.

King. Think not to blind me with dark ironies, The truth disguised in obscure contraries. No, I will trace his windings; all her dark And subtlest paths, each little action mark, If she prove false, as yet I fear, she dies.

Enter Queen attended, and Henrietta.

Ha! here! Oh, let me turn away my eyes,

For all around she'll her bright beams display:

Should I to gaze on the wild meteor stay,

Spite of myself I shall be led astray.

[Exeunt King and Marquis of Posa.

Queen. How scornfully he is withdrawn! Sure ere his love he'd let me know his power, As Heaven oft thunders ere it sends a shower. This Spanish gravity is very odd: All things are by severity so awed, That little Love dares hardly peep abroad.

Hen. Alas! what can you from old age expect, When frail uneasy men themselves neglect? Some little warmth perhaps may be behind, Though such as in extinguished fires you'll find; Where some remains of heat the ashes hold, Which, if for more you open, straight are cold.

Queen. 'Twas interest and safety of the state— Interest, that bold imposer on our fate; That always to dark ends misguides our wills, And with false happiness smooths o'er our ills. It was by that unhappy France was led, When, though by contract I should Carlos wed, I was an offering made to Philip's bed. Why sigh'st thou, Henrietta?

Hen. Who is't can Know your sad fate, and yet from grief refrain? With pleasure oft I've heard you smiling tell Of Carlos' love.

Queen. And did it please you well? In that brave prince's courtship there did meet All that we could obliging call, or sweet. At every point he with advantage stood; Fierce as a lion, if provoked abroad; Else soft as angels, charming as a god.

Hen. One so accomplished, and who loved you too, With what resentments must he part with you! Methinks I pity him——But oh! in vain: He's both above my pity and my pain. [Aside.

Queen. What means this strange disorder?

Hen. Yonder view That which I fear will discompose you too.

Enter Don Carlos and Marquis of Posa.