University of Virginia Library

SCENE SEVENTH.

DONNA ISABELLA, DON CARLOS.
D. ISABELLA.
Why has Don Sancho thus conceal'd himself?
I dare not offer gratulations to him,
Those he despises, since he would not claim them,
Rejecting his advantages as King.

D. CARLOS.
I have no claim to gratulations, Madam!
You are deceiv'd in thinking me Don Sancho.—
Permit me instantly to quit Castile,
And shun the gathering storm, that threats my head.

D. ISABELLA.

D. CARLOS.
Already is my secret half betray'd;
In vain I hid my country and my race,
In vain assum'd another name, disdainful,
Hating the one fate gave me at my birth.
My Name and Country are discovered both;
I am of Arragon,—there Sancho nam'd.—
Thus much this fatal errour has unravell'd,
I fear Fate's malice will disclose the rest;
And soon reveal with shame, and dire disgrace,
What Count, what Marquis, you have deign'd to make.

D. ISABELLA.
Have I nor power, nor courage to protect
The structure I have rear'd? Who shall destroy it?
Then trust me, Carlos! trust me with this secret,
As to a chosen and most zealous friend;
And I who wrought your fortune will maintain it.

D. CARLOS.
Let me depart, ere I a victim fall
To the dire fate, that menaces me here;
And screen myself from what its wrath prepares.

D. ISABELLA.
Count, you deceive me! this weak, idle fear,
Is love's pretence to quit my Court and Kingdom.
Hence your disdain of the fair Bride I offer'd you.
Go into Arragon. Your Princess follow;—
Go openly! nor thus descend to counterfeit.
Since your proud heart is by her charms enslav'd,
Do not abase yourself to ask my leave;
Depart triumphant, in despite of me.
To go, without my knowledge, is less insult,
Than to depart against my prohibition.

D. CARLOS.
In mercy, Madam! add not to my woes,
Your cruel scorn, and undeserv'd reproach.

D. ISABELLA.
Why then delude me with evasive art,
Act from one motive, and another own?
For such deceit is most ungrateful, Carlos!
You love Elvira,—therefore quit my Court.

D. CARLOS.
No, Madam, no! I love not bright Elvira:
Though I would fight her cause, and die to serve her.
Death is my only wish, 't is the sole good,
Heaven has in store for me—

D. ISABELLA.
Whence this despair?
Art thou not grac'd by fortune's richest gifts?
And has not Nature, with a lavish hand,
Endow'd thee amply, with her choicest blessings?
Who is more envy'd, Carlos! than thyself?
Then why repine, and whence this strange despondency?
Is it within the compass of my power
To cure thy griefs?—Speak! for I wish thee happy.

D. CARLOS.
Canst thou reverse the stern decrees of Heaven;
And by a miracle change nature's course?—
Annul the past, from memory's fix'd record;
And change the future destiny of things?

D. ISABELLA.
I understand a sorrow in your words,
But not their purport, Carlos! What afflicts you?

D. CARLOS.
A cureless grief which I must never speak.
Which, till it almost bursts, my heart has borne.
For pity's sake, O Queen! no more reproach me;
But grant me leave, to spend in solitude,
My rest of days.—I must not—cannot stay.—

D. ISABELLA.
Though to a friend's entreaties you are silent;
Yet surely to a Queen some reason 's due,
For quitting thus, her service and her Court.
How can you justify this sudden conduct,
So strange, and so unlike the intrepid Carlos?

D. CARLOS
(wildly).
Adoring you, I cease to be myself.
No more I wish for fame, nor value life.—
Oh! must I see you in another's arms?
My mind is fir'd to phrenzy at the thought:
Love, envy, and despair, uproot my soul.—
I thought to hide this secret in the grave;
I sought to die, without offending you.
But love, this day, dethrones my feeble reason.— (Kneels.)

Can you forgive a wretch, who, on the rack,
Has fail'd in firmness, and breath'd forth one sigh,
Which, though repented, cannot be recall'd.
For you my heart felt the first pulse of love.
A heaven inspir'd emotion, undebas'd
By self regard, or thought of due return:
Hopeless I sigh'd, nor one fond wish dar'd form.—
I go for ever—must I go unpardon'd?—
(The Queen turns weeping to him.)
Madam! you weep! Oh! whence proceed those tears?

D. ISABELLA.
Carlos!— (stops, unable to speak.)


D. CARLOS.
O Isabella!—O my royal mistress!
What have I done? Have I fresh cause for anguish?
Those tears!—burst they from aught but indignation?
Scorn were less poignant to my tortur'd mind,
Than to have griev'd your heart, or caus'd one tear.
And can I ask?—Yes:—pity me and frown!
Your anger, that will lacerate my heart,
Will glad my soul, when reason reigns again.

D. ISABELLA.
'Gainst one, who so unwillingly offends,
I feel no anger.—Carlos! you are pardon'd.

(Signs to him to rise.)
D. CARLOS.
That pardon is more dear, than all your gifts.
Madam! receive your Ring; revoke your trust.
I must depart, and hide my guilty head.—

D. ISABELLA
(irresolute, after a pause).
Stay till the Prince of Arragon appears:
Give him my Ring. A Queen, for all the favours
She has bestow'd, entreats that one from you.

D. CARLOS.
O Madam! let me shun impending fate.
If I obey you, I incur its wrath.—
The haughty Counts seek to dishonour me;
I would preserve my honour to my grave;
Let my heart burst with grief, but not with shame.

D. ISABELLA.
Stay till Don Sancho comes, ere you depart.
Let me in this command;—oblige me, Carlos!

D. CARLOS.
Oh! fatal mandate! but your will is law.
You doom me, Queen! to what is worse than death;
To contumelious scorn from those who hate me.
Yet,—if you wish it,—why should I repine.—
I'll stay, and brave the malice of my fate:
When you command, I have no self-regard.

D. ISABELLA.
Why art thou not Don Sancho! hapless Carlos!
O Heaven!—believe me not—what have I said?

(Going.)
D. CARLOS.
What, with strange magic, tortures and delights,
Consoles me, whilst it wounds my aching sense,
What, has charm'd all the horrours of my fate;
What, I most joy to hear, yet grieve to know.

(Exeunt severally.)