The Star of Seville A Drama. In Five Acts |
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| 1. | SCENE I. |
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 | The Star of Seville |  |
SCENE I.
—THE KING'S ANTICHAMBER. COURTIERS DISCOVERED, SOME PLAYING AT CHESS, OTHERS AT DICE.Enter from inner chamber of a Gentleman.
FIRST LORD.
How now, sir, is his highness gone to bed?
GENTLEMAN.
Not yet, sir.
SECOND LORD.
'Tis late—what time may it be?
THIRD LORD.
An hour to day—just midnight.
GENTLEMAN.
I never saw his highness so disturbed; he measures
his chamber with such an angry diligence, as the Moors
had sent to bid him good rest; and every now and then,
starts me his dagger out of its sheath—and then sits
down and sighs with exceeding heaviness.
FIRST LORD.
When he left the banquet complaining that the
action of the dance had over-wearied him, he would
have none to attend him but the pages, and those, it
seems, he presently dismissed.
GENTLEMAN.
The same humour is on him still; for he bids you all
whom we have sent for, now some two hours gone;
but who, I fear, is hindered by some accident: he never
did use to let a moment grow 'twixt the King's will and
his obedience.
SECOND LORD.
No less an accident, than that he is not in Seville.
THIRD LORD.
I know he was to leave it at night-fall for Valentar.
(Enter Don Arias. They all rise; he crosses towards the King's apartment.)
ARIAS.
Good night, gentlemen.
GENTLEMAN.
Your pardon, noble sir, but 'tis his grace's pleasure,
that none enter the royal chamber.
ARIAS.
Sir!
GENTLEMAN.
I trust your lordship knows I do but tread within
the very boundary of duty in this—I may not suffer
any to enter.
ARIAS.
Any!—do you know me? what fashion wear I of the
sudden, that this door, which, like mine own, hath still
stood open to me, is latched at a servant's pleasure?
GENTLEMAN.
My lord, the King is most troubled and unquiet—
angry and stern like waves chafed by the north.—Sir, I
highness will see no one.
ARIAS.
Don Carlos!
GENTLEMAN.
We have sent for him.
ARIAS.
Don Carlos!—so—so—so—so ran the horse that way
this morning; faith, he's galloped on in the time, to be
come so far as this. None but him! Pegasus, none
other! And here he flies a proper colt! but I'll curry
him yet.
Enter Don Carlos with two Gentlemen.
CARLOS.
Save you, sir!
ARIAS.
And you, sir!
CARLOS.
The King, I hear, is much distempered.
ARIAS.
And I hear hath sent for you to cure him.
GENTLEMAN.
Sir, I shall tell his highness of your arrival.
CARLOS.
Pray do; and withal that this delay, wherein my will
was warped to the event, was caused by my departure
from Seville—for indeed I was already some miles on
my road, when the messenger overtook me.
[Exit Gentlemen.
(aside.)
I would you had been further!—
(Aloud.)
The
King refuses to see any but yourself—you will become
a court planet, Don Carlos.
CARLOS.
No, sir; I do not love to shine with borrowed light.
ARIAS.
I cry your mercy!—nothing but the sun will serve
your turn, I see.
CARLOS.
I look not to such heights.
ARIAS.
You're wise, sir; those who do, sometimes lose their
footing, and falling, break their skulls.
CARLOS.
Although your words wear a plain even gloss, your
looks throw a strange colour on them, sir;—I understand
you not.
ARIAS.
'Tis pity!
CARLOS.
That I'm sure it is; for when you speak, men use to
profit.
ARIAS.
Sir!
CARLOS.
Don't vex your sword by plucking at it thus—I'm
not for fighting, sir—not now nor here—but if the
King's high pleasure being done, these veins still hold
life's wine, I'll pledge it you against your own, for my
dead father's sake.
GENTLEMAN.
My lord, will it please you follow? His Majesty expressed
unmeasured content at your arrival.
CARLOS.
My life is his poor property.
(Exeunt Gentleman and Carlos.)
ARIAS.
The weight's unequal, and the too light scale
Wherein I sit, is chuck'd to the beam by his.
We must put order to this speedily,
Or we shall have these country-cousin courtiers
Fray our gold mantles with their fustian doublets.
Good night, sirs! if his highness call for me,
I'm at the Count Lomaria's for some hours
More of the night. “My life is his poor property,”—
A courtlike phrase, and smacks for all the world
Of the antichamber—plague on this honest roguery
That plays the fool the better to be knave!
But swearing's breath, and breath but cast away
That wafts us not more near our purposes.
Don Carlos!—we shall measure wits together.
[Exit.
| The Star of Seville | |