So I am:

         Long as a heart against this corslet beats,

         So long may Philip slumber undisturbed;

         And as God's cherub guards the gates of heaven

         So doth Duke Alva guard your royal throne.

         Dare I, in all humility, presume

         To oppose the judgment of earth's wisest king?

         Too deeply I revere his gracious sire

         To judge the son so harshly. I fear much

         From his hot blood, but nothing from his heart.

         Lerma, your speech is fair to soothe the father,

         But Alva here will be the monarch's shield —

         No more of this.

                  Now speed we to Madrid,

         Our royal duties summon us. The plague

         Of heresy is rife among my people;

         Rebellion stalks within my Netherlands —

         The times are imminent. We must arrest

         These erring spirits by some dread example.

         The solemn oath which every Christian king

         Hath sworn to keep I will redeem to-morrow.

         'Twill be a day of doom unparalleled.

         Our court is bidden to the festival.

         I am resolved – Flanders shall yet be saved:

         So runs her suit, and that's enough for me!

         There's not another moment to be lost:

         'Tis said Duke Alva in the cabinet

         Is named already as the governor.

         Betimes to-morrow will I see the king

         And ask this office for myself. It is

         The first request I ever made to him,

         And he can scarce refuse. My presence here

         Has long been irksome to him. He will grasp

         This fair pretence my absence to secure.

         And shall I confess to thee, Roderigo?

         My hopes go further. Face to face with him,

         'Tis possible the pleading of a son

         May reinstate him in his father's favor.

         He ne'er hath heard the voice of nature speak;

         Then let me try for once, my Roderigo,

         What power she hath when breathing from my lips.

         Now do I hear my Carlos' voice once more;

         Now are you all yourself again!

                     Your grace,

         His majesty has left Aranjuez;

         And I am bidden —

                   Very well, my lord —

         I shall overtake the king —

                        Your highness, then,

         Has nothing further to intrust to me?

         Nothing. A pleasant journey to Madrid!

         You may, hereafter, tell me more of Flanders.

         Proceed, my lord! I'll follow thee anon.

         I understood thy hint, and thank thee for it.

         A stranger's presence can alone excuse

         This forced and measured tone. Are we not brothers?

         In future, let this puppet-play of rank

         Be banished from our friendship. Think that we

         Had met at some gay masking festival,

         Thou in the habit of a slave, and I

         Robed, for a jest, in the imperial purple.

         Throughout the revel we respect the cheat,

         And play our parts with sportive earnestness,

         Tripping it gayly with the merry throng;

         But should thy Carlos beckon through his mask,

         Thou'dst press his hand in silence as he passed,

         And we should be as one.

                      The dream's divine!

         But are you sure that it will last forever?

         Is Carlos, then, so certain of himself

         As to despise the charms of boundless sway?

         A day will come – an all-important day —

         When this heroic mind – I warn you now —

         Will sink o'erwhelmed by too severe a test.

         Don Philip dies; and Carlos mounts the throne,

         The mightiest throne in Christendom. How vast

         The gulf that yawns betwixt mankind and him —

         A god to-day, who yesterday was man!

         Steeled to all human weakness – to the voice

         Of heavenly duty deaf. Humanity —

         To-day a word of import in his ear —

         Barters itself, and grovels 'mid the throng

         Of gaping parasites; his sympathy

         For human woe is turned to cold neglect,

         His virtue sunk in loose voluptuous joys.

         Peru supplies him riches for his folly,

         His court engenders devils for his vices.

         Lulled in this heaven the work of crafty