Thou speakest like a dreamer. This high office
Demands a man-and not a stripling's arm.
CARLOS.
It but demands a human being, father:
And that is what Duke Alva ne'er hath been.
KING.
Terror alone can tie rebellion's hands:
Humanity were madness. Thy soft soul
Is tender, son: they'll tremble at the duke.
Desist from thy request.
CARLOS.
Despatch me, sire,
To Flanders with the army-dare rely
E'en on my tender soul. The name of prince,
The royal name emblazoned on my standard,
Conquers where Alva's butchers but dismay.
Here on my knees I crave it-this the first
Petition of my life. Trust Flanders to me.
KING (contemplating CARLOS with a piercing look).
Trust my best army to thy thirst for rule,
And put a dagger in my murderer's hand!
CARLOS.
Great God! and is this all-is this the fruit
Of a momentous hour so long desired!
[After some thought, in a milder tone.
Oh, speak to me more kindly-send me not
Thus comfortless away-dismiss me not
With this afflicting answer, oh, my father!
Use me more tenderly, indeed, I need it.
This is the last resource of wild despair-
It conquers every power of firm resolve
To beat it as a man-this deep contempt-
My every suit denied: Let me away-
Unheard and foiled in all my fondest hopes,
I take my leave. Now Alva and Domingo
May proudly sit in triumph where your son
Lies weeping in the dust. Your crowd of courtiers,
And your long train of cringing, trembling nobles,
Your tribe of sallow monks, so deadly pale,
All witnessed how you granted me this audience.
Let me not be disgraced. Oh, strike me not
With this most deadly wound-nor lay me bare
To sneering insolence of menial taunts!
'That strangers riot on your bounty, whilst
Carlos, your son, may supplicate in vain.'
And as a pledge that you would have me honored,
Despatch me straight to Flanders with the army.
KING.
Urge thy request no farther-as thou wouldst
Avoid the king's displeasure.
CARLOS.
I must brave
My king's displeasure, and prefer my suit
Once more, it is the last. Trust Flanders to me!
I must away from Spain. To linger here
Is to draw breath beneath the headsman's axe:
The air lies heavy on me in Madrid
Like murder on a guilty soul-a change,
An instant change of clime alone can cure me.
If you would save my life, despatch me straight
Without delay to Flanders.
KING (with affected coldness).
Invalids,
Like thee, my son-need not be tended close,
And ever watched by the physician's eye-
Thou stayest in Spain-the duke will go to Flanders.
CARLOS (wildly).
Assist me, ye good angels!
KING (starting).
Hold, what mean
Those looks so wild?
CARLOS.
Father, do you abide
Immovably by this determination?
KING.
It was the king's.
CARLOS.
Then my commission's done.
[Exit in violent emotion.
SCENE III.
