University of Virginia Library

SCENE FOURTH.

DONNA LEONORA, DON CARLOS, DON MANRIQUE, DON LOPEZ.
(Carlos enters with precipitation. Donna Leonora flies to him with open arms; Carlos retreats.)
D. LEONORA.
Am I so bless'd to have a Son like Thee?
A mother's happiness,—a widow's joy,
Hangs on thy answer;—Carlos! art thou my Son?—
Speak, ere a Mother's exstasy of hope
O'ercomes my soul, and my arms clasp thy neck.
If thou be alien to my blood, O speak!
But let my long-lost Son come to my arms.

D. CARLOS.
O Queen! I grieve to find this errour spread;
Reserve these transports for your happy Son;
I am not he.—I sought you to complain;
And beg release from an offensive honour.—
The People obstinately bent to take
Away my name, declare I am Don Sancho,
And Prince of Arragon. His presence soon
Will prove how much mistaking they have been,
In thinking me that Prince. I am rais'd up
The phantom of an hour. Such cruel mockery
Abases you, O Queen! as well as Carlos.

D. LEONORA.
Oft is the People's voice the voice of Heaven:
Impulsively at once it bursts inspir'd.

D. LOPEZ.
My Lord! we know, from well-confirm'd report,
That, in the armies of Castile, Don Sancho serves,
Unknown 't is true, save to himself alone.
Therefore all eyes are fix'd on you, as one,
Whose dazzling merit, speaks exalted Rank.
No longer, Prince! deny what Heaven proclaims.
You have obliged us to transgress against you,
When you should not have forc'd our disrespect.
Our high esteem for Carlos was well known;
Our pride warr'd not with him, but with his birth.
Though Carlos we disdain'd, yet we respect
Don Sancho, will accept him for our Monarch,
When to our Queen he deigns to own himself.
Quit your disguise, my Lord! and as Don Sancho,
And our chosen King, receive our loyal homage.

(They take off their hats, and with their right hands upon their hearts, they bow.)
D. CARLOS.
This false respect, with which you have surpris'd me,
Is more injurious, Counts! than your contempt.
I thought this strange report the work of chance;
Not doubting any bold enough to dare,
To make a pageant King of me for sport.
Is this the jest of your exuberant spirits?
Then learn, gay Lords! that the brave honour valour;
And that your equals, in the field, respect,
Nor make of mine a mockery, a may-game.
If this be your intent, first vanquish, then
Deride me; victorious, you may railly me
With grace: Now you anticipate your privilege.
The Queen's Ring still I guard; and this derided
Carlos, his family, and race unknown,
The sceptre of Castile from you withholds.
This arm which from captivity redeem'd you,
May still control, and humble your ambition.

D. MANRIQUE.