by Thomas Otway
As you shall ever find I’ll be to you.
The queen’s my charge, and you may, on that score,
Presume that you shall see her yet once more.
I’ll lead you to those so-much worshipped charms,
And yield you to my happy rival’s arms.
Don Car. In what a mighty sum shall I be bound!
I did not think such virtue could be found.
Thou mistress of all best perfections, stay:
Fain I in gratitude would something say,
But am too far in debt for thanks to pay.
Enter Don John of Austria.
Don John. Where is that prince, he whose afflictions speak
So loud, as all hearts but his own might break?
Don Car. My lord, what fate has left me, I am here,
Mere man, of all my comfort stripped and bare.
Once, like a vine, I flourished and was young,
Rich in my ripening hopes that spoke me strong:
But now a dry and withered stock am grown,
And all my clusters and my branches gone.
Don John. Amongst those numbers which your wrongs deplore,
Than me there’s none that can resent them more.
I feel a generous grudging in my breast,
To see such honour and such hopes oppressed.
The king your father is my brother, true;
But I see more that’s like myself in you.
Free-born I am, and not on him depend,
Obliged to none, but whom I call my friend.
And if that title you think fit to bear,
Accept the confirmation of it here. [Embraces him.
Don Car. From you, to whom I’m by such kindness tied,
The secrets of my soul I will not hide.
This generous princess has her promise given,
I once more shall be brought in sight of Heaven;
To the fair queen my last devotion pay;
And then for Flanders I intend my way,
Where to the insulting rebels I’ll give law,
To keep myself from wrongs, and them in awe.
Don John. Prosperity to the design, ’tis good;
Both worthy of your honour and your blood.
Don Car. My lord, your spreading glories flourish high,
Above the reach or shock of destiny:
Mine, early nipped, like buds untimely die.
Enter Officer of the Guard.
Offi. My lord, I grieve to tell what you must hear;
They are unwelcome orders which I bear,
Which are, to guard you as a prisoner.
Don Car. A prisoner! what new game of fate’s begun?
Henceforth be ever cursed the name of son,
Since I must be a slave, because I’m one.
Duty! to whom? He’s not my father: no.
Back with your orders to the tyrant go;
Tell him his fury drives too much one way;
I’m weary on’t, and can no more obey.
Don John. If asked by whose commands you did decline
Your orders, tell my brother ’twas by mine. [Exit Officer.
Don Car. Now, were I certain it would sink me quite,
I’d see the queen once more, though but in spite;
Though he with all his fury were in place,
I would caress and court her to his face.
Oh that I could this minute die! if so,
What he had lost he might too lately know,
Cursing himself to think what he has done:
For I was ever an obedient son;
With pleasure all his glories saw, when young,
Looked, and, with pride considering whence I sprung,
Joyfully under him and free I played,
Basked in his shine and wantoned in his shade —
But now,
Cancelling all whate’er he then conferred,
He thrusts me out among the common herd:
Nor quietly will there permit my stay,
But drives and hunts me like a beast of prey.
Affliction! O affliction! ’tis too great,
Nor have I ever learnt to suffer yet.
Though ruin at me from each side take aim,
And I stand thus encompassed round with flame,
Though the devouring fire approaches fast,
Yet will I try to plunge: if power waste,
I can at worst but sink, and burn at last. [Exit.
Don John. Go on, pursue thy fortune while ’tis hot:
I long for work where honour’s to be got.
But, madam, to this prince you’re wondrous kind.
D. of Eboli. You are not less to Henriet, I find.
Don John. Why, she’s a beauty, tender, young, and fair.
D. of Eboli. I thought I might in charms have equalled her.
You told me once my beauty was not less.
Is this your faith? are these your promises?
Don John. You would seem jealous, but are crafty grown;
Tax me of falsehood to conceal your own.
Go, you’re a woman —
D. of Eboli. Yes, I know I am:
And by my weakness do deserve that name,
When heart and honour I to you resigned.
Would I were not a woman, or less kind!
Don John. Think you your falsehood was not plainly seen,
When to your charge my brother gave the queen?
Too well I saw it; how did you dispense,
In looks, your pity to the afflicted prince!
Whilst I my duty paid the king, your time
You watched, and fixed your melting eyes on him;
Admired him —
D. of Eboli. Yes, sir, for his constancy —
But ’twas with pain, to think you false to me,
When to another’s eye you homage paid,
And my true love wronged and neglected laid;
Wronged, too, so far as nothing can restore.
Don John. Nay, then, let’s part, and think of love no more.
Farewell! [Going.
D. of Eboli. Farewell, if you’re resolved to go: —
Inhuman Austria, can you leave me so?
Enough my soul is by your falsehood racked;
Add not to your inconstancy neglect.
Methinks you so far might have grateful proved,
Not to have quite forgotten that I loved.
Don John. If e’er you loved, ’tis you, not I forget;
For a remove ’tis here too deeply set,
Firm-rooted, and for ever must remain. [She turns away.
Why thus unkind?
D. of Eboli. Why are you jealous then? [Turns to him.
Don John. Come, let it be no more! I’m hushed and still.
Will you forgive?
D. of Eboli. How can you doubt my will?
I do.
Don John. Then send me not away unblest.
D. of Eboli. Till you return I will not think of rest.
Carlos will hither suddenly repair.
The next apartment’s mine; I’ll wait you there,
Farewell! [She seems to weep.
Don John. Oh, do not let me see a tear;
It quenches joy, and stifles appetite.
Like war’s fierce god, upon my bliss I’d prey;
Who, from the furious toils of arms all day,
Returning home to love’s fair queen at night,
Comes riotous and hot with full delight. [Exit.
D. of Eboli. He has reaped his joys, and now he would be free,
And to effect it puts on jealousy:
But I’m as much a libertine as he;
As fierce my will, as furious my desires;
Yet will I hold him; though enjoyment tires,
Though love and appetite be at the best,
He’ll serve, as common meats fill up a feast,
And look like plenty, though we never taste.
Enter Ruy-Gomez.
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sp; Old lord, I bring thee news will make thee young.
Ruy-Gom. Speak; there was always music in thy tongue.
D. of Eboli. Thy foes are tottering, and the day’s thy own;
Give them but one lift now, and they go down.
Quickly to the king, and all his doubts renew;
Appear disturbed, as if you something knew
Too difficult and dangerous to relate,
Then bring him hither labouring with the weight.
I will take care that Carlos shall be here:
So for his jealous eyes a sight prepare,
Shall prove more fatal than Medusa’s head,
And he more monster seem than she e’er made. [Exit.
Enter King, attended.
King. Still how this tyrant doubt torments my breast!
When shall I get the usurper dispossessed?
My thoughts, like birds when frighted from their rest,
Around the place where all was hushed before,
Flutter, and hardly settle any more — [Sees Ruy-Gomez.
Ha, Gomez! what art thou thus musing on?
Ruy-Gom. I’m thinking what it is to have a son;
What mighty cares and what tempestuous strife
Attend on an unhappy father’s life;
How children blessings seem, but torments are;
When young, our folly; and when old, our fear.
King. Why dost thou bring these odd reflections here?
Thou enviest sure the quiet which I bear.
Ruy-Gom. No, sir, I joy in the ease which you possess,
And wish you never may have cause for less.
King. Have cause for less! Come nearer; thou art sad,
And look’st as thou wouldst tell me that I had.
Now, now, I feel it rising up again —
Speak quickly, where is Carlos? where the queen?
What, not a word? have my wrongs struck thee dumb?
Or art thou swollen and labouring with my doom,
Yet darest not let the fatal secret come?
Ruy-Gom. Heaven great infirmities to age allots:
I’m old, and have a thousand doting thoughts.
Seek not to know them, sir.
King. By Heaven! I must.
Ruy-Gom. Nay, I would not be by compulsion just.
King. Yet, if without it you refuse, you shall.
Ruy-Gom. Grant me then one request, I’ll tell you all.
King. Name thy petition, and conclude it done.
Ruy-Gom. It is, that you would here forgive your son
For all his past offences to this hour.
King. Thou’st almost asked a thing beyond my power;
But so much goodness in the request I find,
Spite of myself, I’ll for thy sake be kind.
His pardon’s sealed; the secret now declare.
Ruy-Gom. Alas! ’tis only that I saw him here.
King. Where? with the queen! Yes, yes, ’tis so, I’m sure;
Never were wrongs so great as I endure;
So great that they are grown beyond complaint,
For half my patience might have made a saint.
O woman! monstrous woman!
Did I for this into my breast receive
The promising, repenting fugitive?
But, Gomez, I will throw her back again;
And thou shalt see me smile and tear her then.
I’ll crush her heart, where all the poison lies,
Till, when the venom’s out, the viper dies,
Ruy-Gom. They the best method of revenge pursue
Who so contrive that it may justice show;
Stay till their wrongs appear at such a head
That innocence may have no room to plead.
Your fury, sir, at least awhile delay;
I guess the prince may come again this way:
Here I’ll withdraw, and watch his privacy.
King. And when he’s fixed, be sure bring word to me;
Till then I’ll bridle vengeance, and retire,
Within my breast suppress this angry fire,
Till to my eyes my wrongs themselves display;
Then, like a falcon, gently cut my way,
And with my pounces seize the unwary prey. [Exit.
Re-enter Duchess of Eboli.
D. of Eboli. I’ve overheard the business with delight,
And find revenge will have a feast to-night.
Though thy declining years are in their wane,
I can perceive there’s youth still in thy brain.
Away! the queen is coming hither. [Exit Ruy-Gomez.
Enter Queen with Attendants, and Henrietta.
Queen. Now
To all felicity a long adieu.
Where are you, Eboli?
D. of Eboli. Madam, I’m here.
Queen. Oh, how fresh fears assault me everywhere!
I hear that Carlos is a prisoner made.
D. of Eboli. No, madam, he the orders disobeyed;
And boldly owns for Flanders he intends,
To head the rebels, whom he styles his friends:
But, ere he goes, by me does humbly sue
That he may take his last farewell of you.
Queen. Will he then force his destiny at last?
Hence quickly to him, Eboli, make haste:
Tell him, I beg his purpose he’d delay,
Or, if that can’t his resolution stay,
Say I have sworn not to survive the hour
In which I hear that he has left this shore.
Tell him, I’ve gained his pardon of the king;
Tell him — to stay him — tell him anything —
D. of Eboli. One word from you his duty would restore;
And, though you promised ne’er to see him more,
Methinks you might upon so just a score.
But see, he’s here.
Re-enter Don Carlos.
Don Car. Run out of breath by fate,
And persecuted by a father’s hate,
Wearied with all, I panting hither fly,
To lay myself down at your feet, and die.
[Kneels, and kisses the Queen’s hands.
Queen. O too unhappy Carlos! yet unkind!
‘Gainst you what harms have ever I designed,
That you should with such violence decree
Ungratefully at last to murder me?
Don Car. Pour all thy curses, Heaven, upon this head,
For I’ve the worst of vengeance merited,
That yet I impudently live to hear
Myself upbraided of a wrong to her! [Rises.
Say, has your honour been by me betrayed?
Or have I snares to entrap your virtue laid?
Tell me; if not, why do you then upbraid?
Queen. You will not know the afflictions which you give;
Was’t not my last request that you would live?
I by our vows conjured it; but I see,
Forgetting them, unmindful too of me,
Regardless, your own ruin you design,
Though you are sure to purchase it with mine.
Don Car. I, as you bade me live, obeyed with pride,
Though it was harder far than to have died.
But loss of liberty my life disdains;
These limbs were never made to suffer chains.
My father should have singled out some crown,
And bidden me go conquer it for my own:
He should have seen what Carlos would have done.
But to prescribe my freedom, sink me low
To base confinement, where no comforts flow,
But black despair, that foul tormentor, lies,
With all my present load of miseries,
Was to my soul too violent a smart,
And roused the sleeping lion in my heart.
Queen. Yet then be kind; your angry father’s rage
I know the least submission will assuage;
You’re hot with youth, he’s choleric
with age.
To him, and put a true obedience on;
Be humble, and express yourself a son.
Carlos, I beg it of you: will you not?
Don Car. Methinks ’tis very hard, but yet I’ll do’t.
I must obey whatever you prefer,
Knowing you’re all divine, and cannot err.
For, if my doom’s unalterable, I shall
This way at least with less dishonour fall;
And princes less my tameness thus condemn,
When I for you shall suffer, though by him.
Queen. In my apartment farther we’ll debate
Of this, and for a happy issue wait.
Your presence there he cannot disapprove,
When it shall speak your duty, and my love.
[Exeunt Don Carlos, Queen, Henrietta, and Attendants.
Re-enter Ruy-Gomez.
D. of Eboli. Now, Gomez, triumph! All is ripe; the toil
Has caught them, and fate saw it with a smile.
Thus far the work of destiny was mine;
But I’m content the masterpiece be thine.
Away to the king, prepare his soul for blood, —
A mystery thou well hast understood.
Whilst I go rest within a lover’s arms, [Aside.
And to my Austria lay out all my charms. [Exit.
Ruy-Gom. Fate, open now thy book, and set them down:
I have already marked them for thy own.
Re-enter King, and Marquis of Posa at a distance.
My lord the king?
King. Gomez?
Ruy-Gom. The same.
King. Hast seen
The prince?
Ruy-Gom. I have.
King. Where is he?
Ruy-Gom. With the queen.
King. Now ye that dwell in everlasting flame,
And keep records of all ye mean to damn,
Show me, if ‘mongst your precedents there e’er
Was seen a son like him, or wife like her.
Hark, Gomez! didst not hear the infernals groan?
Hush, hell, a little, and they are thy own!
M. of Posa. Who should these be? the king and Gomez, sure:
Methinks I wish that Carlos were secure;
For Flanders his despatches I’ve prepared.
King. Who’s there? ’Tis Posa, pander to their lust.
[Drawing near to Posa.
Now, Gomez, to his heart thy dagger thrust;
In the pursuit of vengeance drive it far;
Strike deep, and, if thou canst, wound Carlos there.
Ruy-Gom. I’ll do’t as close as happy lovers kiss:
May he strike mine, if of his heart I miss!
Thus, sir! [Stabs Posa.
M. of Posa. Ha, Gomez! villain! thou hast done
Thy worst: but yet I would not die alone:
Here, dog! [Stabs at him.
Ruy-Gom. So brisk! then take it once again.
[As they are struggling, the despatches fall out of Posa’s bosom.
