By its own hands inflicted!
[The KING is moved; the MARQUIS observes it,
and advances a step nearer.
You would plant
For all eternity, and yet the seeds
You sow around you are the seeds of death!
This hopeless task, with nature's laws at strife,
Will ne'er survive the spirit of its founder.
You labor for ingratitude; in vain,
With nature you engage in desperate struggle-
In vain you waste your high and royal life
In projects of destruction. Man is greater
Than you esteem him. He will burst the chains
Of a long slumber, and reclaim once more
His just and hallowed rights. With Nero's name,
And fell Busiris', will he couple yours;
And-ah! you once deserved a better fate.
KING.
How know you that?
MARQUIS.
In very truth you did-
Yes, I repeat it-by the Almighty power!
Restore us all you have deprived us of,
And, generous as strong, let happiness
Flow from your horn of plenty-let man's mind
Ripen in your vast empire-give us back
All you have taken from us-and become,
Amidst a thousand kings, a king indeed!
[He advances boldly, and fixes on him a look of
earnestness and enthusiasm.
Oh, that the eloquence of all those myriads,
Whose fate depends on this momentous hour,
Could hover on my lips, and fan the spark
That lights thine eye into a glorious flame!
Renounce the mimicry of godlike powers
Which level us to nothing. Be, in truth,
An image of the Deity himself!
Never did mortal man possess so much
For purpose so divine. The kings of Europe
Pay homage to the name of Spain. Be you
The leader of these kings. One pen-stroke now,
One motion of your hand, can new create
The earth! but grant us liberty of thought.
[Casts himself at his feet.
KING (surprised, turns away his face, then again looks
towards the MARQUIS).
Enthusiast most strange! arise; but I--
MARQUIS.
Look round on all the glorious face of nature,
On freedom it is founded-see how rich,
Through freedom it has grown. The great Creator
Bestows upon the worm its drop of dew,
And gives free-will a triumph in abodes
Where lone corruption reigns. See your creation,
How small, how poor! The rustling of a leaf
Alarms the mighty lord of Christendom.
Each virtue makes you quake with fear. While he,
Not to disturb fair freedom's blest appearance,
Permits the frightful ravages of evil
To waste his fair domains. The great Creator
We see not-he conceals himself within
His own eternal laws. The sceptic sees
Their operation, but beholds not Him.
'Wherefore a God!' he cries, 'the world itself
Suffices for itself!' And Christian prayer
Ne'er praised him more than doth this blasphemy.
KING.
And will you undertake to raise up this
Exalted standard of weak human nature
In my dominions?
MARQUIS.
You can do it, sire.
Who else? Devote to your own people's bliss
The kingly power, which has too long enriched
The greatness of the throne alone. Restore
The prostrate dignity of human nature,
And let the subject be, what once he was,
The end and object of the monarch's care,
Bound by no duty, save a brother's love.
And when mankind is to itself restored,
Roused to a sense of its own innate worth,
When freedom's lofty virtues proudly flourish-
Then, sire, when you have made your own wide realms
The happiest in the world, it then may be
Your duty to subdue the universe.
KING (after a long pause).
I've heard you to the end. Far differently
I find, than in the minds of other men,
The world exists in yours. And you shall not
By foreign laws be judged. I am the first
To whom you have your secret self disclosed;
