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165.! Fast Main Street

Rorhester New York 14609 USA

(716) <i82 - OJOO -Phone

(716) 288 - 5989 - Fax

PHILIP THE SECOND.

LONDON :

PRINTED BY C. ROWORTH AND SONS,
BELL YARD, TEMPLE BAR.

PHILIP THE SECOND.

^ ^ragetuj.

N. T. M I L E.

LONDON :

•7
4

SIMPKIN, MARSHALL AND CO.,

stationers' hall court;

AND

B. KIMPTON, 43, HIGH HOLRORN.

1849.

a-TVi

p^/, I'

!:?'--^«/Jy of «aw B'^i^ii^

PHILIP THE SECOND.

a STtaflrtB.

CHARACT IS.

PHILIP.

CARLOS.

GOMEZ.

PEDRO.

ISABEL.

The G rand Inquisitor, Counsellors and
Guards.

THE PROLOGUE.

'Tis sweet in meads a bosky brook divides,
That spreads it's mirror to the mountains' sides —
Whence, oh my soul, and whither wouldst thou climb?
The path is steep, the precipice sublime.
And based in bonet. of who aspired and fell :
And on the height, where columns crown a cell,
What, but a cenotaph, with garlands carved.
For those who gained the summit, and were starved ?
'Tis sweet by headlands, that o'erlook the sea,
And face the sun — Come, sit beneath with me !
Yon ship has harnessed winds to plough the deep :
Bright are their pinions as the cloud they sweep ;
Chariots that fulmine far the deck endorse.
And steam wheels onward with a thousand horse ;
But storm with more already metes her way.
And yawning quicksands bellow for their prey.

4 THE PROLOGUE.

Happy, who hears of wreck the stronejer share,
Or wonders at a work 'tis death to dare !
Drain thou the liive, nor envy those that filled.
'Tis better thrift to buy, than breed or build.

" Yet what is life ? The sun forever burns
Undimmed ; undimmed the quire of night returns —
Those countless spheres, whose symphonies intone
In radiant cycles i-ound their Maker's throne ;
And morn and eve, in many coloured robe.
The hymn perpetuate as they gird the globe :
But earthly fires, that imitate divine.
Burn to consume, and kindle ere they shine.
The song, whose echo dies upon the breeze —
The shadow of a cloud that flecks the seas ;
The rustling waves of wheat with golden ears ;
The snow-flake fluttering till it lights in tears ;
The ripple on the lake, where zephyrs run.
That sport, as purrs a kitten in the sun ;
The smile from woman's cheek, the blush, that flies ;
The winccup's flavour ; smoke that scales the skies ;

THE PROLOGUE.

Spring's genial warmth ; the scent of orange shades —
Whatever exists — a moment flowers, and fades :
Yet serves a while the ureal Taskmaster's will :
Which I too work, or perish to fulfil.

" Are all earth's charms addressed to man alone ?
Whose taste then greeted them ere man was known ?
When, rocks bear witness, order reigned on earth,
And grace wooed eyes to brighten at her worth.
As still she wooes, in far and lonely seas,
When the moon's path or morning's meets the breeze;
In Afric glens, where leopards lick their brood ;
Or wliere old oaks o'erlook Australia's wood.
If mortals sleep, do meteors light forbear ?
Man nevei" reached the pole, but God is there.
And where are not his witnesses to worth.
The all-seeing sun, all-sounding air, and earth ?
Inanimate rocks in conscious calm may rest,
And, while they share no labours, all attest :
The electric powers, that all creation chain.
May give it all each thought they give the brain ;

6 THE PROLOGUE.

As streams reflect man's image to his eye,
And cliffs and deserts to his voice reply ;
Or communes with his heart a landscape fair
As paradise when angels fann'd the air :
Landscape, where hills and rivers vie to please :
Wide o'er whose heights and vallies, isles and trees,
As sunbeams clothe the grass, or dew the flowers.
Great spirits of the past have pitched their bowers :
On whom is flashed each sally of our soul.
As their's still lightens from it's lettered scroU :
With whose our intellect shall merge, and range
O'er all < arth's phases, till the next great change ;
Like heat, to })enetrate whate'er exists.
And pass like wind, that passes where it hsts."

A dream, alas ! a shade, a shape of air,
A wrecker's lamp, a Syren's song— Beware !
My soul, ah whither wouldst thou wing with me.
As a white bird at evening soars to sea ?
But prove thy pinion first, explore a path,
Nor tempt the midway air with winds in wi-ath !

THE PROLOGUE.

Swift and resistless through the starry quire,
Lo ! where yon comet mounts with train of fire :
From earth so sallying through the quires of song
Soared Alfieri sunward, bright and strong.
Go, scan the secret of his fire and force !
Mete, and pursue one cycle of his course !
Earth and the moon, careering round the sun.
Illume each other's shadow, else how dun !
Sky-high the eagle buoys its young, and forms
To dare the zenith's blaze, and stem the storm's.

Go, trace the image of his mind and muse !

Nor yet as glass reflects, or Hmners use ;

But as the child transmits a parent's face.

With soil and clime exotics change their race ;

In bread the spirit of the corn goes forth ;

And southern grapes give wine to cheer the North ;

And crystals, sweeter than the spoil of bees.

Bid canes of India bloom for zones that freeze.

Each ear the reaper left is their's who glean ;

And their's each flower he spurned or passed unseen.

Each day-spring has its tint, each breeze its tone,

Each cloud its shape and shadow, half their own.

:^HE PROLOGUE.

Then seek the dale a bosky brook divides !
Or here, on sunny rocks the headland hides,
Unfold and bid the Italian's strain respire
With England's tongue attuned to Chaucer's lyre —
Oh, noblest instrument of thought and rhyme,
That e'er has echoed o'er the streams of time !
A lyre bards since have sounded, moon to moon,
And filled with light, till darkness blazed as noon.
Go, seize and smite it, as the morning wind,
With each response, each impulse of thy mind !
Add tint and image, vary mood and tone,
To hymn Vittorio's thoughts, or blend them with thine
own.

And, lo ! a golden palace looms in air.
With towers and balcons, gates and gardens fair.
And, past yon fount with statues, lies a lawn,
Where myrtles bower a dame, a wounded fawn.
She dims with tears her finger's guarded ring.
And who comes here, the blighted hope of spring ?
A youth, of mien majestic, haggard cheeks,
And pensive steps— What ails him? Soft! He speaks !

PHILIP THE SECOND.

ACT I.

SCENE THE FIRST

CARLOS.

Is Heaven pleased thus ? Is this the way to reign ?
And these were Alva's orders ? Woe for Spain !
Oh Spain ! my mother, proud of wealth and worth,
And throned, the bride and arbitresa of earth,
Between two seas, whose empire thou hast won,
And found new realms beyond the setting sun.
Art thou for ever doomed for priests to drudge,
And bleed for despots, Avhom— But God must judge.
Her despot gave me being— boon of ill !
And boon he grudges, can revoke, and will.

PHILIP THE SECOND.

Here towers his palace. How superb and fair
Thos<; domes and columns stretch their necks in air !
Like prosperoTis knaves o'er audience they contemn :
As though 't were conscious worth thus lifted them,
Nor all things inward teemed with vice and woe,
Nor fraud and spoil made all the outward show.
Why was I summoned from the wood and wold.
That murmured to my woes and half consoled,
To tread these courts of jealousy and gloom ?
Where any door I pass may close my tomb,
And none dare mourn me, for a Father hates,
Whose smile is fortune's, but whose frown were fate's.
And where — oh pitfall, shunned as hell in vain,
Towards which they drive me as a beast is ta'en.
While all beside with hate pui-sue their prey,
There is, whose love, alas ! would surer slay.
There is, whom, ah would heaven, I ne'er had seen !
My once — but now my Stepmother and Queen.
Youth, youth ! thy promise is as May-day morn.
Through vales of orange trees, the vine and corn,
Life's vista opens ; wild birds warble round,
Earth blossoms ; but a shade with terror crowned

ACT I.

Crossed my blight patli and clouded with a gloom,

That joins the hastening shadows of my tomb.

Ah, Father, sons have rights a sire should spare ;

And, King, your own blood mantles in your heir ;

And love's are ties no tyi-ant can untwine.

Could all earth offer you no bride but mine 'I

And thou, lost Isabel, my promised spouse,

What feelings now are thine — and where thy vows ? —

"Who passes yonder? Ha! 'tis she — 'Twas not.

Mine eyes deceived me — or my dreams besot —

'Twas like. But all things fair reflect her look :

'Tis in the flower, the sunshine, breeze and brook :

Yet ne'er like this in woman — Am I mad !

'Tis she ! but oh how pale, methinks, and sad :

Yet beauteous still, beyond the rose in May,

The zephyr on the sea, the dawn of day.

She comes ! And hold, my heart, this throbbing high,

That thrills my frame as wonted. Fly her, fly !

As should a dove escape from death's decoy.

Or snake, whose looks, that fascinate, destroy.

PHILIP THE SECOND.

SCENE THE SECOND.

ISABEL-CAllLOS.

ISABEL.

Carlos ! He saw and shunned me— as lie ought.
But shunned like one he should despise, methought.
Well— so he should— Yet pity me no less.
How small my tJudt, how liital its success,
None knows— And be my pangs forever hid.
But mine excuse— he should know ? God forbid !
Let faith inurn, and silence seal, the past.
Deep as the grave my tears are fretting fast.
Yet let him learn deception has its close ?
Learn that I Queen combine not with his foes :
Nor urge in secrecy their dark endeavour ?
Learn this from me— he should— he must? Must
never.

CARLOS.

May Spain's Queen pardon my threefold oft'ence,
In having wandered hither, hurried hence,

ACT 1.

And thus returned, scarce conscious where I wend ;
For in this j)iilac(! him, whom few befriend.
And many hate, her hnist complaint wouhl sink,
Like the least impulse o'er the; abyss's brink.

ISABEL.

Strange to the stem formalities of court,

I know too ill its usage, ill suj)port,

And haply ill appreciate, to complain ;

Save when I find the courtesies of Spain

So far austerer, than the native mode

I used, ere ushered to a king's abode.

Whose heir what wrongs oppress, what foes assail,

What dangei-s threat— I know— and I bewail.

CARLOS.

For which he thanks you, and will bear them better.
Nor were his sorrow, gi-acious Queen, your debtor,
If Spain with one regret a bosom leaven.
Where all were peace, could I be heard of heaven.

PHILJF JHE SECOiND.

ISAUHL.

Wliiitc'er my sorrows, u <w. may hv their cure.
Be thy cure only to find peace uh pure.

CAUL03.

My sympathy offends you?

ISABEL.

No — It nerves —
Lest mine o'erstep the bound a Queen observes.

CAKLOS.

Has sympathy a bound that power can span '!
It links, like ligHt, the univei-so with man ;
Makes every star some portion of ourselves,
And thrills the dunnest pit a tyrant delves.
Is virtue auj^ht but sympathy and love
For all that lives, beneatli us or above,
Aye, all that is — the mountain, stream ana wood?
For all God's works are beautiful and good.

ACT I.

Mon but in this onch otiin's worth o'i'rconip :
They Jill lov«» Honio one, and jut ^oo<1 to some;
The hiul love few, jind them with fervour smnll;
The ^rood love many mueh ; the best love jdl.
Let not what grac(« and insjiires the jri-eat.
Consoles the poor, and hiilf redeems their fiite,
Be banished from ji heart lik(! yours divine,
Or stinted towards a state so lost as mine.

ISABEL.

Pi'ize not so high a sympathy so vain.
I bear thee, Prince, no stepmother's disdain ;
Yet dared I mediate, for an injured son,
With ji wroth Father

CARLOS.

Dared! Who dares it? N<)ne.
And had all courage, heaven forbid you dui-st.
'Twould misbecome you most. Oh, fate accurst !
You, innocent source whence all my sorrows spring
You, for my sake, to mediate with the King

PHILIP THE SECOND.

ISABEL.

Source of thy sorrows I ?

CARLOS.

Of all the source.
For all began, and headlong hold their course,
From that dread day, which joined us but to sever,
A moment joined, then parted us for evei*.

ISABEL.

Ah, why recall an hour too bright to last?
'Tis gone, far down the irremeable past ;
As snow from heaven is hurried on the breeze,
To join the bitter and remorseless seas.

CARLOS.

But my heart caught it, as in drought the shower,
Or seed on downy wings that sows the flower ;
Which blossomed with my growth, its better part;
And rapt, like grace, and purified my heart.
My Father marked the passion, nor was wroth ;
Nay, for he never chided, nursed its growth ;

ACT I.

Its i-ipening chenshed, like untimely sprinp^,
And then — Ah ! what a father ! what a king; !
Fulminod, like winter retrograde in power,
And withei'ed branch and root, and reft the flower.

And thou ?

ISABEL.

CARLOS.

I, pale with horror, dumb with awe,
Subject and son to him whose will was law.
Heard it, nor dared dispute, nor deigned object,
Nor answered, save by silence and respect :
But murmured to the winds, and wept apart.
And stuffed my wrongs and stifled in my heart ;
In that dark cave, that fathomless abyss,
That erst o'erflowing still had room for this.
Of you what could I think, or what require ?
And him I knew — my sovereign, and my sire.
Who made all his in making you his bride,
Yet left me virtue, solitude and pride.
With which I sought the mountain and the sea,
Where all was lorn and desolate, like me.

PHILIP THE SECOND.

There I asked aid, and found it, from above,
To make life's duties paramount to love,
And bow my head, a bullock to the yoke.
Which never human heart had borne but broke.
The more grief grew my fortitude had growth ;
But my stern Father's hate outstripped them both.

ISABEL.

Not hate : no father's heart can hate his son.
Suspect it may. This court has more than one
Prone to malign us, proner still to spurn,
The less we merit it or can return.
From such thy sire some prejudice has got.
But hatred ? Never.

CARLOS.

Ah ! you know him not.
And heaven vouchsafe you ever may ignore !
How vile the treacherous tribe that haunts his door,
How only formed to flatter and deceive,
No heart like yours can image or believe.

ACT I.

But he, more cruel than that treacherous tribe —
'Tis Phihp hates me, spurns, and will proscribe.
All that surrounds is his who holds the throne :
Their looks, thoughts, lives, but imitate his own :
As rocks reflect the voice when winds are mute,
Or lakes the rock wliose footstool they salute.
To soothe his soul in vain have I essayed.
His heart is hardened to a hangman's blade.
No touch can penetrate those ribs of steel ;
And not one chord there answei-s my appeal.
But I, whate'er the sire, am still the son,
And recollect his rights, though mine be none.
Yet should my wrongs and sorrows burst restraint,
And dare one day trust utterance with complaint,
'Twere not of hate paternal, injured show.
Or outraged fame, his ears should tingle — No !
My grief has deeper reach and loftier scope :
He robbed, aye, robbed my very heart of hope.
Mine eyes of light, my spirit of its fire,
My mind of health, my soul of all desire.
He robbed me — oh ! of more than vouth, and life.
And heaven, the day he robbed me of my wife.

PHILIP THE SECOND.

ISABEL.

Prince! Prince! what words are these? To whom

addressed?
Where breathed ? And, ah ! what is it they suggest ?
Is he tliou chargest tlius so httle known ?
Tliy sire, my spouse, Spain's sovereign and our own.

CARLOS.

Pardon ! I tremble at each name-

ISABEL.

Beware !
I, too, fear Phihp much — (But more his heir).

CARLOS.

Pardon my heart's invohmtary throes !
Whose grief till now I never dared disclose.

ISABEL.

Thou never shouldst — I never should have heard-

CARLOS.

Hear what remains — Ah, fly not — Hear one word!

ACT I.

ISiVBEL.

Be mute ! Release me ! Leave me !

CARLOS.

I obey.
I cease — But, oh, how much remains to say !
Give me one hope ?

ISABEL.

What hope is in thy thought
Unmixed with guilt ?

CARLOS.

You hate me not ?

ISABEL.

I ought-

If thou durst love me.

CARLOS.

Hate me then, and tell
Your spouse, ray father, and our king, how well !

PHILIP THE SECOND.

I tell the King?

ISABEL.
CARLOS.

If guilt in love bo shown-

ISABEL.

God help me ! would the guilt be thine alone ?

CARLOS.

Ah ! then your heart-

ISABEL.

What have I said? Too much !
As thou hast heard — Address me not, nor touch !
Fly ! Leave me ! Think, if ])ity move thy heart,
What Philip is, and what we are — Depart !
Lest both deserve all he could deem our due,
Should I hear further, or shouldst thou so sue.

CARLOS.

Nay — But one word— What heart like mine distraught,
While other arms hold all it ever sought,

ACT I.

Could deem more vain than venial this endeavour
To haunt the trace of treasure lost for ever :
To sate mine eyes with views of forfeit bliss,
And soothe despondence in discourse like this.
The sound of brooks where pilgrims see but sand,
The glimpses shipwrecked sailors think are land,
The convict's dream of home who wakes to bleed,
None grudges — gi-udge not me a vainer meed.

ISABEL.

For mercy, cease ! Nor near me more remain.
The little while I live here fly from Spain !
Death's yellow flag o'erhangs the leprous soil,
And hovering birds their wattles stretch for spoil.

CARLOS.

Had I their wings, this palace is a cage.
Where bai-s so bind me — who shall disengage ?
The attempt would add but fuel to the fire.
That burets e'en now the bosom of my sire,

PHILIP THE SECOND.

Wliose hate hnaps on mo many a crime unknown,
Nor e'en suspects tlie only «^uilt I own.

ISABEL.

Would I knew nothing; !

CARLOS.

Have I given offence ?
You shall have vengeance speedy and immense.
But let it find me where I fii'st drew hreath,
And where, if sorrow drive me not to death,
My Father's rancorous enmity will drive,
For his heart vows it, and his hopes contrive.
Still let me haunt his horrible abode,
Which, since you share it, seems of heaven bestowed.
To breathe and sigh my last where you are near.

ISABEL.

No, no ! I quail too much to have thee here.

Shades of thy fate already dark the day ;

A knell knolls in mine ears — Awake ! Away !

ACT 1.

For tho first proof and last of love exprest,
If more than verbal, grant me one request-
Fly from thy sire !

CARLOS.

Alas ! it cannot be.

ISABEL.

Then fly, now more than ever, fly from me !
Go, spare at once my honour and thine own.
Go, make the wrong accusers do thee known ;
Make known what courage innocence can give ;
And live— 't is I conjure, command thee— live !
With me my virtue unimpaired shall rest.
With thee my thoughts, but never more exprest,
Alas ! with thee, despite all self-control.
Where'er thou goest goes my heart and soul.
But lose henceforth all traces of ir_ ^eet.
Care that I never hear thee more, nor meet.
No, never ! Heaven alone yet knows our crime :
Hide it from earth, and all detecting time,

PHILIP THE SECOND.

Aye, hido it from oui-solvfs! from heart and brain
Raze root and branch, and, slioidd it bud af^ain.
Again uproot it, or again endeavour !

CARLOS.

What ! Never hear me more ? What ? Never, never !

SCENE THE THIRD.

CARLOS.

She loves me still ! And leaves me thus ! to die.
How blest, at once, and miserable am I !

ACT I.

SCENE THE FOURTH.

CARLOS— PKDllO.

PEDRO.

Carlos ! But, oli, liow changed in siglit and soul !
What cares, dear Prince, distract your self-control ?
Tell them the partner of your earliest years.
Let me, who shared your studies, share your teare ;
Me, whom you oft have termed your friend sincere.

CARLOS.

And dui-st thou re-assert that title here ?
Where all its rights as rebels are {)roscribed ;
And e'en its name, though current with the bribed,
Like gold, to buy whate'er is worth that fee.
Is never given to mendicants like me.
Let faith be sage : what could it here evince ?
Fatal to thee 't were useless to thy Prince.
Turn with the tide^ I prythee ; watch the wind :
Go, steer thy galley where the gulf is kind !

PHILIP THE SECOND.

Strive for flu! wtronp^; the conqucror'n t'liuxo ospouso;
And vvliere till otiici's woi-shij), jiiiy thy vows.

PEDRO.

Prince, in no nonm are vows of mine preternjtl
Where others worship, thoujifh I join the herd :
My th()u<^htH ure his who will, I hope, forgive
Dissembling forms, which none may s|)urn iind live —
Which for your sake alone my h(<art endures.
As for his sake my heart and hand ai-e yours.
Here to invoke him I nor dare nor deign :
'T'^ what all most usurp when most in vain.
But prov<^ and prize me, and discern from them !
Nor he the dunghill bird that spurned a gem.
Nor choose your iidchion for its sheath of gilt —
Bilboa's blades bend double point to hilt.
Say, for your cause what peril shall I seek ?
Where breathes the enemy that wrongs you ? Speak !

CARLOS.

I have but one ; his creatures I contemn ;
Nor deign distinguish friend or foe in them.

ACT I.

To this one foe I nothinjjf cuii o|»|»osc,

But wilenco, nor l)iit scorn to tliingH like tliose.

I'KDKO.

But truth, that never reached, shall touch that one.
Vile courtiei-H wronn; the Kinjr, who wrotiffs his son.
Be mine the task to pierce the crinfriiifr crowd.
And tell truth for you to his face aloud.

CARLOS.

Pedro— what dreams ! Truth enters here as air ;
Like pain unsummoned, unannouncu-d like care.
These courtiei-s know it, hut deny with oaths.
And the King hcai-s it, hut he hates and loathes.
Whose accents shall prevail when truth's are vain ?

PEDRO.

Nature's— The blood that thrills his heart and brain.

CARLOS.

His heart is gj-anite, and his brain a fire.
Leave me to heaven to rescue fi-om my sire.

PHILIP THE SECOND.

Heaven, which sometimes lends aid to innocence,

And may, and only can give mine defence.

'Tis guilt needs human hands : if guilt were mine,

No human hand would I so seize as thine ;

Seize, as a lifeboat sped where billows bound ;

But who shall save when storms convulse the ground ?

PEDRO.

Yet l(!t me share the tiite I would prevent,
And, if I cainiot baffle, brave the event.
No other part becomes me, nor can please,
In halls so haughty and abhorred as these.

CARLOS.

My fate, whate'er the event, can be but woe,

Deep as the sea, incessant as it's flow.

And heavier, oh ! than earth could e'er sustain !

PEDRO.

Divided woe is lighter borne by twain.

ACT I.

CARLOS.

Dearer than life within my heart it hides,
A nameless woe, which onlv death divides.
Never was friend more generous than thou art :
But ah ! I cannot show that friend my heart.
Now go. Can faith so ill bestowed be thrift?
I nor deserve nor can requite the gift.
Tempt not a crime no pardon here awaits,
The crime of loving one thy sovereign hates.

PEDRO.

Such language ne'er shall change the heart it wrings :
The heart, whose dictates are supreme to kings'.
Poor Prince ! has secret sorrow pierced your breast.
With wounds you fondle, though the touch infest ;
Nor dare disclose, though who might heal them asks ?
Well, hide them— but your friend has other tasks.
Yes, other tasks for both of us remain :
Mine to serve you, and yours to rescue Spain.
Think, think what vows we made Asturia's bowei-s.
Where first Rome's speech and spirit kindled oui-s ;

PHILIP THE SECOND.

Vows, to regenerate man, reform his creed,
Perfect his morals, soothe his toil and need,
Emancipate his mind, enlarge its scope,
And ci'ush the chains of preshvter and Pope;
Till ci-ime, and vice, and ignorance, and dearth,
And pest, and pain be banisluHl all from earth.
Preserve your mind for destinies like these ;
And be its first attempt that mind's disease.
Whate'er your sorrows tears are worse than vain.
Carlos, I here reclaim your oath for Spain ;
For Spain and you reiterate my oath.
To die for either, and to live for both.

CAIILOS.

Here, then, since nothing can resist thy will.

Take my right hand, oh pledge of omens ill !

To friendship fatal as my mind's disease,

And vows e'en vainer than such tears as these.

Thy destiny not mine now calls them forth.

For mine is blest in tliy regard and worth ;

Nor more blames Heaven, whate'er may hence ensue,

But thanks and praises for a friend so true.

ACT I.

Ah ! happier far am I than tliou, sir King !

Tliough empire })rought thee all that earth could bring;

Power, pageantry, and fortune wait thy nod,

And names and postures only due to God ;

But friendship? that thou never yet hast known :

And love ? love also still is all mine own !

PHILTP THE SECOND.

ACT II.

SCENE THE

FIRST.

PHTLIP-GOMEZ.

PHILIP.

Gomez !

My liege !

GOMEZ.
PHILIP.

Thy soul's

supreme desii-e,

Of all earth offei-s, is

GOMEZ.

Your favour, sire.

1 >

ACT II.

PHILIP.

Wliieli what can warrant thee?

GOMEZ.

Sei'vice and silence.

What won it may,

PHILIP.

Prove thou both this day !

GOMEZ.

No novel office. Spain has proved ere now—

PHILIP.

Yes, of her faithful servants fii-st art thou.
But what if here I harbour thoughts so deep,
And may need confidence so dread to keep,
I please for preface to remind us both
How much kings challenge from their sidy'ects' oath ?

PHILIP THE SECOND.

GOMEZ.

Whate'er my talents shall be better known.

PHILIP.

'Tis thine can serve me now, and thine alone.
The Queen comes hither. Wait while we confer.
And weigh each word, each syllable of her.
Each slightest movement watch of trait and nerve,
Each little change of tint and tone observe.
Fix on uer heait those scrutinizing eyes,
That gauge all doubt, unravel all disguise.
And oft have plumbed the fathom of this breast.
To spell it's wish, and work it, ere confest.

ACT 11.

SCENE THE SECOND.

PHILIP-GOMEZ-ISABEL.

ISABEL.

My liege, I come, as summoned-

PHILIP.

That summons sent.

Reason stern

ISABEL.

What is it?

PHILIP.

Thou shalt learn.
Of thee could I expect — Yet wherefore fear?
Who, who should give me counsel more sincere ?

ISABEL.

Counsel from me !

PHILIP.

There's none I value more.
And, if its aid was never asked before,

PHILIP THE SECOND.

Deern not the cause indifference in thy spouse,
Or more mistrust than kingly care allows ;
'Tvvas that I spai-tnl thy tender brows the pain
Mine ache with from the thorny crown of Spain.
But day now rises pr(!<:;nant with my fate ;
Wlien cares of kin embitter cares of state,
And my sole counsellor must be my queen.
Yet stay — Some questions first should intervene.
Dread duties may conflict — as jt; ssions must —
T(^ll me, what tie thou thinkest most august ?
Say, for the awe and sanctity it brings,
Which name ranks first — the father's or the king's?

ISABEL.

Both seem alike most sacred. Who can doubt it ?

PHILIP.

One who least ought— But more anon about it.
Next, tell me this, and witness God above !
Carlos my sou — dost bear him — hate — or love?

\CT II.

ISABEL.

My lord

PHILIP.

I see, I scan thy feelings nil.
Coukiit thou list only to ufFeetion's call,
And hut that virtue's voice affection's smothei-s,
Thy heart, towards Carlos, were ^ the mere — stoj)-
mothei's.

ISAUKL.

Sii-e ! You mista ke — Ah ! No — I
Pi'ince

mean — The

PHILIP.

Is then dear to thee. So thy sighs evince.
And virtue still so animates thv vows.
That Philip's son is— loved— hy Philip's spouse-
Parentally

ISABEL.

My lord, you are my law.
My mould of mind. You loved your son, I saw—

4f>

PHILIP THE SECOND.

At least I (loom(!(l all fiithoi-s love their son —
And I too lovod him— as his mv had done.

PHILIP.

Then since thy high and heaven-attcmpci-ed heart
Nor owns the fondness of a mother's part,
Nor knows the stepmothei''s malignant grudge,
Between that sire and son he thou the judge.

ISABEL.

What! I!

PHILIP.

Aye — Listen, f.rlos was the scope,
For yeai-s, of all my counsel, all my ho})e ;
Ere devious far from virtue's path he stray(>d,
My counsel mocked, and all my hope betrayed.
Have I not warned him— oh how many times!
And still excused his still repeated crimes ;
Till monstrous insolence has urged their couree—
Where my defence has nothing left but force.
Such crime now crowns the summit of his ]>ast.
That fiiith shi'inks from it; kindred turns aghast;

ACT II.

Lips loath to niuno, to hear it er < decline r
A crime that makes him hoi.eo no son of mine.
But what! tlioii shuddorest ere the crime is told?
Hear first, then shudder till thy heart be cold.
A land lies north, hiow-beaten by the sea,
Chill, misty, dank, but mine, and dear to me;
And lon^ she vowed me love, and kept her vows ;
Till treason wooed her, as an abfsent spouse ;
And heresy, usurping heaven's own })art.
As lust will love's in many a matron's heart,
Poisoned each vein of virtue at its spring,
And mad ^ her rebel both to God and king.
Arms, ti-easures, tears, the sweat and blood of Spain,
Have poured like torrents through that land in vain.
(Nor, though they whelm my diadem, shall cease,
Till that vile race learn penitence and peace ;
As learn they shall, by Heaven ! or learn to die:
The lesson fiiith has failed in, fire shall try ;
Death keep the peace no other monarch can.
And Hell the penance Holy Church be^^an.)
But who can credit give, or comfort bring,
To me, unhappy sire, unhappier king,

PHILIP THE SECOND.

Wlio find tlicso robols to tlic Cross and tliroiio,
Foes, who divine and liuinan laws disown,
Have here their convert, lu're their champion won,
Here, in my house, mine own and only son.

ISABEL.

The Prince !

PHILIP.

The Prince — By proofs beyond control
The secret message, intercepted scroll,
Sedition sown broadcast throughout the court,
And, woree, the whispered menace walls rtjiort.
Judge for thyself. Lo ! Holy Church disowned,
A father outraged, king almost dethroned.
Kingdom betrayed — And what should justice wreak
On schism, on parriciilo, on treason ? Speak !

ISABEL.

And ask you me, me miserable ask.
To doom your son ?

PHILIP.

This moment, 'tis thy task.

ACT II.

Awai'd it Hentcnce, nor wvero, nor weak.

Nor f('ur the king, nor nerve the father. Speak !

ISABEL.
I fear but justiee, and serve God. On earth,
E'en God's vicegerent may see guilt in worth.

PHILIP.

Canst thou then question wliat thy ?cing asserts?

Who more than I could catch at deserts ?

Would iieavene'en now such question tould be moved!

ISABEL.

Tried and convict already ?

PHILIP.

All is proved —
But how convict a haugijt and headstrong youth,
Who deigns not reason, and ouuace^ truth ?

PHILIP THE SECOND.

I feared to charge him with this last offence,
Till time had quenched my fury kindling thence.
But now Spain only speaks within my soul :
Save when there echoes, like a muffled toll,
The father's^voice

ISABEL.

Hear, hear it ! 'Tis divine —
'Tis God's and nature's. Hear their voice in mine.
Crimes past eximijde pass belief with me :
These may he less— may have some prayer or plea.
Judge it yourself, and hear him in defence.
What charm, what strain of song or eloquence,
What flatterer's tale so wins on adverse ears,
As when a son mtreats and father hears?
Princes forsooth learn pride where courtiei-s crowd ;
But towards his king can ever prince be proud ?
ill ! open him your ears, your lips unseal ;
Give your whole spirit to the throes you feel ;
Invite his confidence, your own imj)art,
And have an honest change of heart for heart.
Perhaps you seldom see him, scarce address.
Meet without smiles, and part with no caress :

ACT II.

Your frown may chill him, i*ilence seem unkind ;

Or sneei's perhaps strike terror through his mind.

Reserve for foes that majesty severe ;

But to your son he gentle, and be dear.

Revive his virtues, fan their faintest spark :

In Philip's heir all never can be dark.

What may not labour work where love controls ?

Or generous means not win from generous souls ?

Men form each other, and as moulds coerce.

To treat them as we think them makes them worse ;

Treat them as if already all we would.

We make of them the utmost nature could.

You think him headstrong — 'Tis his youth, and rank.

You think him guilty — Who is pure ? Be frank,

And, save that God attests, o'erheard of none,

Accuse him, face to face, and sire to son.

A father's ire comes sweetened with regret.

What child but trembles when his brows are met ?

A father's tone more ijcnetrates his heir.

Plants more remoi-se, and leaves less rancour there,

Than all the shafts maUgnity can strain.

Barbed with disgrace, and venomed with disdain.

PHILIP THE SECOND.

Let all your court perceive you love your son,

Appreciate his deserts, and count him one

By youthful ardour to excesses driven,

Which should be — censured ? yes, and be forgiven.

Your court shall sudden change its tune and theme,

And laud his worth, and witness their esteem,

Till every echo with his praise intones.

Cast from your heart suspicions it disowns !

Cast vulgar terror forth for vulgar kings.

Who half deserve the fate that terror wings.

PHILIP.

Words worthy thee ! and thine alone their work !

They thrill each depth where kind affections lurk.

Till all my heart-strings vibrate to thy voice.

Oh, cui-se of kings ! whose passions know no choice.

But in the bosom burn with secret throes ;

A light, we dare not follow, nor disclose ;

But vainly wrest, as thieves their lantern turn,

To hide a flame uncpienchable to burn.

But time now comes to liberate my soul.

And give each impulse to its own control.

ACT II.

Truth in tliy counsel, truth enough, is seen—
(And more perhaps than thou suspectest, Queen).
The Prince is guihless, since thou thinkest so.
Let him forthwith come hither— Gomez, go!

SCENE THE THIRD.

PHILIP— ISABEL.

PHILIP.
Now mark the flither's merge the monarch's sway,
As mists that crown a mountain melt at day.
But woe ! if clouds reclose the morning's path,
And the mount peal in majesty of wrath.

ISABEL.

Woe ! But he comes. My presence may give pain.
I hasten hence — Permit me, sire ?

PHILIP.

Remain !

PHILIP THE SECOND.

ISABEL.

Yoa have the advice you sought. My task is done.
No stepdame should now witness sire and son.

PHILIP.

Remain ! Both need thy witness, and I claim.
Thou hast of stepdame nothing but the name :
And canst forget that. Wherefore should he fear?
Thy presence has its charms. Behold him here,
To learn how vast the debt he owes thee is^
For having pledged thy loyalty for his.

ACT II.

SCENE THE FOURTH.

PHILIP— ISABEL— CARLOS.
PHILIP.

Come hither, Prince — I fain had called thee son.
Ah, hadst thou rendered king and father one !
Or owned, if not thy king's, thy kindred's cause.
Or though thou sconiest kindred's, feared the law's !

CARLOS.

Still accusations new, and still the same.
And fraught with still fresh bitterness of blame.
And met, my liege, with silence every time !
That you believe me guilty is my crime —
Which gives me, not remorse, but grief intense.
Oh, could I find the source of your offence !
Which I deem my misfortune, you my guilt

PHILIP.

'Tis love, boy, love ! Aye, startle as thou wilt—

PHILIP THE SECOND.

Too little love for Spain, and none for me.

And prurient thirst, insatiate as the sea.

For faithless flatterers — Seek no source beyond.

CARLOS.

Then, God be praised ! I need not all despond.
If 'tis no inborn forfeit that offends,
I for all else may learn to make amends ;
More please my father, more my country prize ;
And drive those flatterei's from me, faithless flies.
That for a blighted bud foi-sake the flower,
And leave for dearth the honey-dew of power.

PHILIP.

How young, how vain, how confident thou art !
Boy, boy, I read thy features, mien, and heart.
Hope was, maturer years might make thee sage ;
But folly's growth outstrips thy growth in age.
Still I shall charge to yout^ i this day's offence ;
Though thy heart's depths declare it issued thence.

ACT 11.

CARLOS.

This day's offence ! What is it ?

PHILIP.

Durst thou ask ?
Or doubt I read thy thoughts, despite their mask?
Aye, not mcva words, when who intrigue convene ;
But thy heart's thoughts, through all its depths, are seen.

CARLOS.

What is 't you mean ?

PHILIP.

Bear witness. Queen of Spain !
Guilt's last result is ignorance of its stain.
Vice migi'ates, like disease, from heart to head.

CARLOS.

Oh, Father, deign resolve a doubt so dread !
What have I done ?

PHILIP.

Foreooth, misdeeds so many,

Thou doubtest which, to seem unstained of any.

PHILIP THE SECOND.

What ! Hast thou hatched this day no secret league,
With whom 't were monstrous, impious to intrigue ?
While mom was i)ale, as is thy visage now,
In mine own court, my palace— Tremblest thou?
Whom didst encounter ? whom didst entertain ?
Whom? but— that miscreant Flanders sent to Spain,
Prayers in his mouth for mercy from the mud.
But bosom fraught with treason, spoil and blood.

CARLOS.

And are such crimes on such foundation built?
My slightest, worthiest deeds traduced to guilt?
'Tis true, I met that Fleming, where you state ;
True, I bewailed with him your subjects' fate ;
As with their sovereign here bewail I dare.
Nor you yourself perhaps could tears forbear.
To learn how red a scourge that race controls ;
What yokes of more than iron crush their souls ;
Beneath men cruel, bigoted, unjust.
Themselves the slaves of avarice, fear and lust.
Too ignorant to judge, too proud to learn.
My heart bleeds foi- it, and, methinks, should burn.

ACT II. 63

Wou'd you yourself have Philip's son feel less ?
Should vile or vulgar thoughts your heir possess ?
Hear, sire— for why should truth and mercy fear?
Their voice in mine can wound no parent's ear —
Arrest this reckless coui-se of sword and flame,
That desolates the land, degrades your name,
Revolts mankind, and must give heaven offence !
Send Pedro thither, or call Alva thence.
To staunch a people's blood like water spilt.
And show their king has mercy e'en for guilt.
Oh — since some say, who magnify your worth.
You reign as God's vicegerent here on earth-—
If, when you judgment give of life or limb.
You have not mercy, what have you like him ?
But have I dared too much, or seemed to dare ?
'Tis your's to sentence, mine to hear and bear.
Whate'er my doom, this only is my claim-
Spare, Father, spare your son a traitor's name.

PHILIP.

Great, generous thoughts, in all thou utterest, shine !
But canst thou penetrate thy king's design ?

PHILIP THE SECOND.

Let thy younu; liroast itn sallies learn to bound,
Nor f^ivc unasked advice howe'cr profound.
If fate e'er elotlie thee in that empire's robe,
Whose drums pursue the day-star round the globe,
Though Spain now pr!ii<e that generous fire of thine,
'Twill cost thee heartaches— blest ! if less than mine.
Now to our theme. For mercy was thy plea—
And mercy thou shalt find — at least, for thee.
For others ? No. Thy claim sur})asses theii-s.
Here pr'ythee leave me to mine own affaii-s.
Tliine have had here an rdvocate, I ween.
Right hard to be denied, the Queen, the Queen !
Who deems thee worthy of my love and hei-s.
I but pronounce thy jjardon, slie confers.
Prize it the more, and merit, day by day.
Lo, lady, thus thy counsels I obey !
Thus prove my heart by thine example won,
To pardon, aye, and more, to love my son.

My liege !

ISABEL.
PHILIP.

To thee I ow«! it, thee alone.

'Tis thou hast calmed niv wrath, and changed its tone

ACT II.

To mild compliuMt — which may we nover rue.
Redeem her words, boy, her advice pui-Hue,
Hf r favour win, and imitate her f^race !
Nor tliou, dear consoi't, tuni from him thy face ;
But still receive, still counsel, ^uid<; him still.
And hear thou her, nor shun her ! 'Tis my will.

CARLOS.

Pardon 1 My spirit had the term disdained,

But my sire gave it, and you, lady, gained.

So fate now wills it, fate my only trime —

Fate ne'er shall shame me thus through future time.

PHILIP.

Methinks the need of pardon shames thee mthcr,

Than needing thus to owe it to thy father.

But go ! Enough of words. Give mine good heed.

And now, fair Queen, thou niayest hence recede.

But seek thy chamber, and expect me there,

By noon. Till then the kingdom claims my care.

PHILIP THE SECOND.

SCENE THE FIFTH.

PHILIP-GOMEZ.

Thou heardst?

PHILIP.
GOMEZ.

I heard —

PHILIP.

And sawest ?

OOMEZ.
PHILIP.

Saw-

Sus{)cct ?

aOMEZ.

Was trutli —

PHILIP.

And Pliilip has been fooled !

OOMEZ.

Reflect !

ACT II.

PHILIP.
I liiivc rcUcctrd. Ali(!0 scrvcH the Queen?

I «

OOMEZ.

Alice.

PHILIP.

L(!t CG'inoil inBti'.iMy convene.
Its rising let the Tower's h tcndant wiiit.
Then, let the all-seu..ig duy-star speed his gait,
Night welcome him with j.,'i!l from hell unfurled,
And, deep as is my purpose, shroud the world !

PHILIP THE SECOND.

ACT III.

SCENE THE FIRST.

PiriLlP— GOMEZ-PEDllO-GRAND INQUISITOR-

COUNSELLOKS— GUAUDS.

PHILIP.

Guards, to your posts! Beware none entei-s liere.

Seniors, my few hut faithful friends, give ear.

No ordinary crisis ehiinis your aid :

But one whose sliadow lias my soul dismayed,

And so unnerved my li})s their faltering tone

Almost denies to make this husiness known.

And ought I utter it? Alus! I must —

Lest Spain suspect her king hetrays his trust.

My Lords, I come no longer, as I use,

To hear and judge, I come now to accuse —

ACT III.

Judge you ! but such a culprit none in Spain
Would dare accuse him did not I arraign.
What! can my words already thus appal?
A murmur steals, a shudder thrills through all.
But what a shock shall wither every frame,
Yours to be told, and mine, alas, to na e —
The traitor— 'Tis Don Carlos—

GRAND INtiUISITOU.

Ha ! your sou.

GOMEZ.

Spain's heir, foi-sooth.

PEDRO.

What crime can he have done ?

PHILIP.

Ilohhed me of every hope a son should give,
And made it j)ain and bitterness to live !
Ere autumn's frost, almost ere noon's decline,
I live too long for his desire, and mine.

I 2

PHILIP THE SECOND.

In him I never sliared a father's joy ;
He shunned me, shocked and outraged from a boy.
From him no filial smile, no fond caress.
Nor duteous phrase e'er answered my address.
Him neither praise incites, nor censure feai-s.
Alike have served my menaces and teal's :
Alike rewards and chastisements are vain :
Pardon he scorns ; and — love? 'tis his disdain.
My features in his face I own and Monder ;
For all our feelings are as poles asunder.
A mule in intellect, a gi-aft mismatched,
An egg of dragons in an aerie hatched —
Precipitate as night his youth has passed

From crime to crime, and reached the woi-st and last.
Who but has marked him yearn with thoughts sui)prest,

As guilt and shame were struggling for his breast ?

But I have tracked their coui-se from goal to goal.

And seized at last the secret of his soul.

He seeks my life ! He plots a parricide !

He loiH' has planned it, and this morn has tried.

'Twere vain to trace links endlessly involved.

By which this mystery of his mind was solved ;

ACT III.

3t.
est,

For I have walked wliere earth before me gaped,
And fled the abyss's brink, and scarce escaped,
And seen, what seeing could alone attest,
The dirk my son has destined for my breast.
This morn, his farce of reconcilement o'er,
And pardon given and spurned, as oft of yore,
I, by the fount of Dian and her hunt,
Pui-sued my woodland promenade, as wont,
Alone, unheeding, and I thought unseen.
When — p: I turned the alleys of the Queen —
(Oh vision ! doubted then, nor trusted since.
But that Rodrigo following knew the Prince) —
I spied him — in an arbour — hand on hilt —
Ambushed to stab me ! but so wrapt in guilt.
When one step more had brought me in his })ower,
I started back— he turned — and fled the bower —
To give his crime a new and surer shape.
When — ah! why should I, if I could, escape?
Have I not j)roved the worth of human pride ?
Sliall I live dogg'd here by a })iirricide?
No. Never sire should covet life's remains
Grudged by a son. 'Tis your concern and Spain's.

PHILIP THE SECOND.

Consult for then I. I nii^lit mistake. If not —
'Twere, oh, what scandal to divulge this plot !
And is this all ? More must methinks exist.
If known, declare them, you, wlio here assist !
As fr<je as aii', and faithful, be your sj)eech.
Who of you can impeach the Prince, impeach !
Whoever can defend, defend the Prince !
And heaven inspire you, and the truth (>vinc(!.
A. terrible; task is youi-s, but must be done.
You judge at once your sovereign and his son.

GOMEZ.

Sire, what demands ! What answer would they wring !
Betmy oui-selves, our country and our king?
Or plunge our daggers in a father's breast ?
Spare, spare our truth so terrible a test.

GRAND INQUISITOR.

Beware, dread sovereign, lest an hour be near,
When truth has accents stern as ileath's to hear:

ACT III.

And both who Ustpiis and who tells shall rue.

PEDRO.

Nay, truth wrongs none — 'Tis challenged — and 'tis due.
Tell truth !

PHILIP.

The monarch listens, not the sire.

GOMEZ.

Then I will speak, and brave a father's ire.

For well I know 'tis still the Father heai-s.

The King's vain efforts may suppress his tears ;

Yet looks more sad than threatening have declared,

Though Carlos is accused, the son is spared.

But crimes scarce less remain, and must be told :

Crimes which you could not, if you would, unfold.

His verbal compacts with the insurgent Dutch

I pass, as trifles, since he deems them such :

But read these lettei-s ! From his hand they came !

Which here has signed our ruin and his shame.

He ti-eats with France ! sells France? the kingdom's keys,

The walls of Spain, the barrier Pyrenees !

PHILIP THE SECOND.

Soils France Nav&; re, sells Catalonia, sells
Ebro's left hank, and Biscay's hills an«l dells-
Realms, which our fiithers bought with battle's Hade,
As we since guarded- Jo be thtis li'trayed !
And what the price'/ Read here flie tj'Ditor's hire!
French arms ii> wage thih son against hi si sire,
Po;V! Spain ! Even thus thy glories were to close.
So miiny k tvgdomfj jeft and given thy foes,
That ^v u . vemain might blush and weep to own
A priac;; % who dared usui'p his father's throne —
A fathet' too so dowered in heart and mind,
To rule, not Spain alone, but all mankind.
Dear is your life, and sacred, sire, your crown,
And both right needed here: but Sj)ain's renown
Is also sacred, Sj)ain's existence dear.
Nor are these last, my liege, less needed here.
Yes, if a father and a king to slay
Be guilt's extreme — what is it to betray
A man's own honour, and his country's fate?
By your leave, sire, 'tis guilt almost as great.
The former, you, whose blood it would have spilt,
May e'en forgive: but, sire, this latter guilt?

ACT III.

That too may you forgive : hut I, who find^
Beside all others, hoth these crimes comhined,
I deem it mere ahus*; of thought and hreath,
To read this tmitor any doom hut deatli.

PEDRO.

Death? Death! What is 't I hear?

PHILIP.

Oil, help me Heaven !

GRAND INQUISITOR.

Who would helieve it ! hut to me is given
To add to rehel, traitor, i)arricide.
The only fouler name there could hetide :
Name, that appals who heai-s it and who tells-

PHILIP.

Ha! And 'tis then-

GRAND INQUISITOR.

The blasphemous infidel's !

I'lIILTP THE SRCONI).

Thou, from wlioso altar pr()i)lu'ts caupht tlirir flamo,
And l)al)Os sang praises wlicu thy kinj:j(h)m came,
As, were they silent, stones themselves had sung,
Tis thou hast loosed at last thy servant's tongue-
Like which thy vengeance has too long heen dunih,
But now the moment, and the cause has come,
With one di-ead flash and fulminating gust,
To smite thy ])roud and mocking toe to dust.
Me hast thou deigned appoint thy cause to plead,
And fired with courage equal to the need.
Hear then, dread sovereign of this earthly sphere,
Thus saith the King of Kings, in vengeance. Hear !
Against God's church, against his faith and truth.
Have sneem and threats come heavenward from that

youth,
Whom none should call their sovereign's son nor item.
His impious lips incessantly blaspheme.
He scorns our creed ; he shuns our sacraments ;
He lauds the ritual heresy invents :
And Spain, if his, shall see her fanes defiled.
Her relics spumed, her hierarchs reviled.

ACT III.

Till feet profnilo jinil swinish shall Inive trod
Shrines of lior saints, and symbols of her God.
Yes, Spain would see it, but these eyes shall not.
Though Heaven above still thundered and forgot —
Let him, who dares not sooner die, exist
For what I first will perish to resist.
Ere vulgar hands tlu; holy veil remove
From truths men ercfdit now nor eare to prove ;
Or ere that dread ti'ibunal, type of God's,
Whieh here supplies and moderates his rods,
Cease, as this misereant thnuits, to guard our throne,
And shame tlu; realms when; unbelief is known.
Against this rock the miscreant's threat shall fail ;
And never may the gates of H(!ll prevail !
Most Catholic king, lift u]) your eyes and heart
To him, whose office is on earth your part.
To him you owe all — wealth, existence, power.
Can not his wrath consume them in an hour?
The Prince has made that wrath to vengeance warm.
Lo then ! death's doom is written on his form.
Read it, nor doid)t to ratify as read.
'Tis Heaven thus heaps its outrage on his head.

K 2

PTTTTJP THE SECUNn.

PKDRO.

Fm'ilorn of thouf^lit in si-rvitudc Ih mre;

Nor alvvnvH found wlunv speech is free an air:

And l(i<,med juulaeity a^, iiiiics will clotli'<

Vile tliouglits, Avhich else e'en servitude woul.l loathe.

Hear one, whose coura^rc has a ditfereiit source!

Hear, sire, for oiiee true freedom of discourse.

Forj^ed are those lettei-s. No such pact exists.

And the char<,re scarcely with itself consists.

If, sword in hand, tlie Prince seek parricide,

With France or Flandei> why is he allied?

Whv maim the empire he woidd make his own,

Or share with foes an heii-ship his alone?

But if he 80U«!;ht their foul and false support,

To make his fate less rij^id here at court,

Why peek the useless pi licide he missed ?

Why dure so much ami in the mulst desist ?

What stav-d him ? If such means that object had,

They prove him, more tium guilty, luol or mud.

Who knows not kinjrs are -r watched, thoupch loathed,

Bv whom their le ', \*o^ <Jr or p. If has clothed ?

ACT III.

le.

atht'd,
?

You 8u\v the Prince? Where hlumeloni* lie mifjht he.

In amhusli ? Tliiit your fern's aUjne couhl see.

Arnu'd ? 'Tis the uio(h'. His hand was on his hilt?

'Twas chance, 'twas imniour : eharj^e not that to guilt.

If 'twas (lesiijrn, you were not in his head:

You came unseen, unheard. But then he fled?

Ah ! flight ^xrhaps you saw not, but surmise,

Or haply saw i, ith another's eyt«.

Send ior him hither: charge him with tin; offence:

And heal- him |)lead and prove his innocence.
Which I till then will swear for, and he hail,
Hy mine own head ! Is there my tenure frail ?
Then by mine honour! pledf^e no power impairs,
Of king, or God, though all things else be theii-s.
But for that charge, so dreaded ^ on as urged,
So ejisily preferred, and hardly purged.
The charge of impious aims and misbelief.
Which false zeal fulmines here — be answer brief!
The woi-st i limes may wear reHgi ;oh<' :
And God's own name ere now has fired O; ^lobe.
With his behu«»f when priests confound th« ir own,
The storm they r isc has shaken many a throne.

PHILIP THE SECOND.

Hcliwin liiiH itH tt'xfn: hypocrisy its pniyeii*:
Tlio hlasphci y thrso censure oil in tliriiN.
Reiiiember, sire, how hoyhooil provetl the Prince
Prone to nil thoiiijhts tli(! nohlc^t minds evince.
How youth disclosed a soul with virtue wimn,
And like its beauteous tenement, his fbm —
To answer all his father's hope conceived.
You said so once : and then the world believed.
I still believe it. Nature deviates n(>ver —
To uuike I' lilt's last extreme its fii-st endeavour.
Has Spain not seen him sufK'iinj:^ wrongs for years-
With what but silence, obsecpiy and tears?
True, teai-s at tinuw are counted fresh offence ;
There is a heart thev soothe not but incense.
But you, you bear a father's, not a stone.
Assuage his tears, or blend them with your own !
Ah, think what wrongs, what misery nmst be his,
If guiltless, sir(!; and guiltless, sire, ho is.
But had he guilt, a thousand-fold the guilt
Urged by his foes, who cry — let bloo<l be spilt!
Condenm a son to death no tiither can.
Nor ought, for any cause, of (lod or man.

ACT III.

PIIIMP.

At Icnijfli I lionr nnd l«iiil one human voice.

'Tis mercy pleads : unil mercy Ih my clioice.

Fjither I nm. The futher'n piirt he mine!

My thouijfht, my throne, my \mu\f I resij^i

To Heaven. God'n will he done. 1 wait the event.

Whether 'tis Iuh inscrutiihle intent

To spread, as lijjfht, delusions round my path ;

Or make my son the weapon ot" his wrath.

Aye, perish kin^r, and kin|:;dom ! Carlos live !

I here ahsolve him — or his guilt forgive.

GOMEZ.

What ! Make your power superior to the laws ?
Then why this council summoned to the cause ?
Could justice not he hulked and we away?
Ahsolve you can not — pardon him you may.
'Tis one. 'Tis well. Forgive him or absolve !
Oidy, this pity, sire, ere day revolve,
May prove funest

PEDRO.

It is, it is funest.
'Tis all too strange and sudden to be blest.

PHILIP THE SECOND.

But, 1)0 what may the cvont, the court I quit.

Tliii3 council is 110 place where I dare sit.

I still hold honour dear, existence not.

The world shall know I never joined the plot

For innocent hlood. My hands have not its stain.

Heaven knoM's whose have. Let who so wills remain !

I will go j)i'ay — Him, who in secret sees —

What ! Heaven uIoim; see secrets such as these ?

Where'er I turn each glance I meet attests

All know the truth, all hide it in their breasts,

All fear, as crinu;, to hear it or report,

A ca[)ital crime, and unfbrgiven at court.

PHILIP.

Of whom, and to whom, sayest thou this thing?

PEDRO.

Of Carlos, to his father.

PHILIP.

And thy king!

ACT III.

SCENE THE SECOND.

PHILIP— GOMEZ-GRAND INQUISITOR—
Counsellors— Guards.

GRAND INQUISITOR.

Father of Carlos have you proved too dear :
All sec more anguish than a parent's here.
But, sire of Spain and Ind, bethink thee rather
Your subjects all look to you as their father.
Nor is the filial name less prized by them,
Than he who least deserves it dares contemn.
He is but one— their number is untold.
Is he redeem *d from death? the rest are sold.
They guiltless all -who guiltier than this son?
Which will you spare ? The many— or the one ?

PHILIP.

Cease, cease to plunge these daggers in my soul !
I faint. Beyond my aspect and control.
Where all may both hear truth and tell nor tremble,
Let a new council instantly assemble !

PHILIP THE SECOND.

Thore liiorarchs of Holy Clmrcli shall come,
Im whom all worldly impulses are dumb ;
Who best love truth, detect it, and declare.
With them and justice, meet! and sentence there!
My further presence might her scales o'erweigh,
Or cost my virtue more than man's can pay.

SCENE THE THIRD.

PHILIP.

One traitor more ! Ha ! Pedro — Hast thou spied ?

No, no. But what audacity — and pride !

What words ! What thoughts ! A heart and head so

strong
Boni in my reign — and living ? Not for long.
If Gomez caught my sign, ere dawn be pale,
The Holy Brethren's hounds shall track his trail.

bk.,,^*..*.^^ .ma^-<

ACT IV.

SCENE THE FIRST.

I?
iid so

CARLOS.

Clouds liave closed day with menace in their womb-
How dark ! Heaven seems the cavern of a tomb.
And nijrht, with talons red and niven win"^.
Bi'oods o'er this horrible abode of kings.
But welcome, darkness, welcome more than day !
Though thou canst never chase my woes away,
Yet aspects vile are hidden by thy veil,
An<l haughty aspects, at whose scowl I quail.
Alice .' Who els(! could senil her ? 'Twas the Queen !
And this the place and monumt to convene.

For what? Some last fiirewell, Honu> fond regret

Or— if Honu! snare assassins may have set ?
No. All seems (piiet. Pmce can then sojourn,
When.' conscience gnaws, and cares forever burn ?

PHILIP THE SECOND.

She, parasite, still shuns the houseless head,

And follows fortune to its golden hed :

Where calm the traitor and the tyrant sleep,

While innocence their victim wakes to weep.

Yet welcome vigils, welcome teai-s to me !

In which I commune with my soul, and see

The one dear type of loveliness, of worth.

Of all that blossoms, all that beams on earth.

I love to haunt the terrace where we met,

And catch, methinks, her accents echoing yet —

At once my marriage bell arul funeral toll.

Yet love has since lain lig'ater on my soul.

But beai-s it not a heavier burthen ? Sin ?

What means this shrinking from myself within ?

'Tis guilt! and thus it's penalties commence.

What have I done? Wherein is mine offence?

Declared— what who could feel and not declare—

j^ove— But for whom ? Ah, Jesu ! Who comes there?

Alice? No. What! — Men — bearing torch and brand —

And here one steals before them— Brigand, s^-inil !

ACT IV.

SCENE THE ST OUD.

CAKLOS-PHILIP— Guards.
CARLOS.

(Jh heaven ! My Father — backed with sword and torch !

PHIT"',

What, what dost thou, by night, before this porch,
Alone, and armed ? And whitlier was thy way ?
And whence thy sumnions ? Speak !

CARLOS.

What can I say ?
Down at your aspect drops to earth the sword
Fear raised between me and that threatening liorde.
Is tiiis your suite ? Deal with me as you please,
But spare us both pretences such as these.
A king, methinks, should spurn at all pretence,
And no knjg'a son so challenged deign defence.

PHILIP THE SECOND.

PHILIP.
PrcHiimjJtioii ! foul, aiitl oh precocious weed,
Of a rank soil, whicli sins to futnesn feed !
WJiy make sarcastic deference veil thy pride?
These ironies nor edjrc its aim, nor hide.
Disdain defence, ere clmllen<red, if thou wilt-
On ! Tliat i^ nothing—Come, proclaim thy guilt !
Confess and vaunt thy traitorous intent :
Give al/ the venom of thy heart its vent :
Exult, 'twere worthy thee and thee alone,
And thy whole crimes mngnanimously own !

CARLOS.

Sire, sire, these insults sting me to the core.
Comniund, condemn, hut outrage me no iimi«!
So shall I hear whatever you design.
And cry— God's pleasure and the king's lie mine.

PHILIP.

A iloak ere worn moth-eaten is thy type:
And fiiir fruit rotten from the heart ere lipe.

ACT IV.

Where lenmMst thou thus to hrave a monarch's might?
And taken in the fact to face the light?

CARLOS.

Bom in your house-

PHILIP.

My sorrow and disgrace.

CARLOS.

Appease the sorrow, and tlie sliame eftace,
Both at a hlow, and massacre youi' son !

PHILIP.

Call thee not mine !

CAFL.>S.

What is it I have done ?

PHILIP.

Done ! Durst thou thus interrogate thy king !
Hast no remorse ! Or has remorse no sting,

PHILIP THE SECOND.

Except when parricide misdeals its blow ?

CARLOS.

What is 't I hear? What! pamcide? No. No.
None dares impute it ; and you could not credit.
Have you one proof, one reason, why you said it ?

PHILIP.

Were proof else wanting, ample here is seen ;
Thy rebel tongue, and insolence of mien.

CARLOS.

Oh Father, Father, madden not my mind,

To pass those sacred bounds hy Heaven assigned,

The king and subject, sire and son, to sever.

PHILIP.

Bounds, thou forsooth hast heeded ? Never, never.
But cease this pompous phrase, and swelling tone,
Of virtuous pride, so little like thine own.
Speak as thou art, and what thou art. Repent !
Name and renounce thy crime, and crime's intent.

ACT IV.

Come ! let no Hhanio-fiiccHl t'car thy toiipuo cnease :
Am I less f^eiicrous, hn \ than thou art base ?
Own all, an<l hope all : hut shouldst thou dissemble,
Or darc^ keep silence, trenihh'! traitor, tn'nihle !

CARLOS.

Constrained I speak— and ti-uth shall have its scope.
Father, I know you better than to hope,
And me too well to ti'emble at your power.
My lite is youi-s : you pjave the luckless dower —
Take, if you grudjro, I never prized the thlni^.
But honour? No: I do prize that, sir Kinj?.
That still is niirie, of nil I once possest:
You never gave me that, and ne'er shall wrest.
No false accuser merits more the scourge,
Than he who owns what false accusei-s urge.
Immure me! chain! let racks exhaust my breath!
No boon of life, no agony of death,
Shall make mv stoop to infamy so great.
As e'en to weep, save, Fatlu-r, for your fate.

PHILIP THE SECOND.

PHILIP.

Insolent wretch ! This hinf^niifje to thy kiaj^ .'
And this the account (»f" crimes thou hiulst to bring?

(•AUL08.

Crimes, sire? Your hatred is min*; only f(uilt.
But hlood a monarch covets must he spilt :
Though power despotic is his only right,
Which all my wrong is weakness to recpiite.

PHILIP.

At-rr-Ht him, guards!

CARLOS.

The tyrant's answer still.
Lo, here are hands your manacles to fill !
And for your dagger here a heart to hurst !
Why pause? What, are these cruelties your firet?
Alas ! your reign is written day hy day
In tears, in l)lood

PHILIP.

Away with him, away !

ACT IV. 83

And cliaiii to Hnpholts in the dungpon's cell,
Whose blind trapdt.or uplifted yawns to hell.
And woe ! who pity hIiowh in |„ok or word.

CAULU

Fear not. In thut your uluves like their lord.

PHILIP.

Bog"'"'' Hence! Hurry him, with nn.in un<l might!
Drag-neck and heels-oft-headlong-from my «ight!

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PHILIP THE SECOND.

SCENE THE THIRD.

ISABEL-PHILIP.

PHILIP.

. Well done!

ISABEL.

Good God ! What is it I have seen !
Ah, my liege Lord !

PHILIP.

How now ! What ails the Queen ?

ISABEL.

A cry of anguish thrilled your courts throughout,
And terror answers

PHILIP.

There was noise, no doubt.

ACT IV.

ISABEL.

And men at arais have hurried hence — some one ?

E'en so.

PHILIP.

ISABEL.

The Prince?

en!

Queen ?

PHILIP.

Aye — Carlos.

ISABEL.

Your poor son ?

PHILIP.

Has that so paled our Consort, so unnerved ?

out,

doubt.

ISABEL.

Paled me ?

PHILIP.

Good reason ! love, that never swerved.
Nor slu'unk, from him who won thy virgin vows.
But cheer ! No peril now besets thy spouse.

PHILIP THE SECOND.

ISABEL.

Peril! Ah, what?

PHILIP.

The last and worst, good wife.
But after this my life is safe.

ISABEL.

Your lite ?

PHILIP.

So dear to thee— is safer— after this.

ISABEL.

The culprit-

PHILIP.

Has his due, nor more shall niist-.
Fear not my heart may melt again. 'Tis rock !
To stem the tempest, and the wreck to mock.
Truth now is all J see, alas too clear !
And the s:3rn voice of justice all I hear.

ACT IV.

ISABEL.

But vvliat was plotted 1

PHILIP.

Not alone my fate.
But— ii" he viewed us Doth with equal hate,
The wretch, whose hands in parricide were rud-
Had mixed his stepdame's with his Father's blood.

ISABEL.

My blood! What mean you? But the P.-' nee -

PHILIP.

My love-like thine-has lingered there too late.
Let that suffice. These cares of state resign !
la r. me to make thy happiness and mine.
And leave the guilty to the law's decree :
And merry be the mood I leave with thee.

Ingrate

PHILIP THE SECOND.

SCENE THE FOURTH.

:U !■

ISABEL.
What looks ! Wliat words ! My senses scarce return.
Perchance ? No-that he never could discern.
My heart has ever Iiid, and hides it still,
Where fixed his fiery eyes in vain to thrill.
Yet spoke he not of happiness— and love ?
Ah-named I Carlos ? Save me, saints above !
My blood runs cold: strange horror thrills me through.
Where has he gone ? What is there I should do ? "
FoUow ? My feet are rooted to the ground—
And my strength fails as smitten with a swound.

ACT IV.

SCENE THE FIFTH.

GOMEZ— ISABEL.

GOMEZ.

Pardon! My master?

ISABEL.

Hence this moment went.

GOMEZ.

Where— I must seek-and tell him the

event.

ISABEL.

Event? Stay! What?

GOMEZ.

He must himself have told-
He looked for judgment dread as could be knoUed?

PHILIP THE SECOND.

ISABEL.

No. He but darkly menaced crime and doom,
As a cloud mutters.

The Prince-

GOMEZ.

But he hinted whom ?

ISABEL.

And have decreed-

GOMEZ.

Just so. The Council now agree,

ISABEL.

What Council ? What decree ?

GOMEZ.

Spain's. And their sentence darks the scroll I bring—
For, all it lacks, the signet of the king.

ACT IV.

limi

Its purport '

For what ?

ISABEL.

aOMEZ.

Dcatli.

ISABEL.

Death ! God in heaven foibid !

GOMEZ.

The king concealed that /

ISABEL.

He— He did.

OOMEZ.

For parricide.

ISABEL.

Woe ! miserable Prince !
Who dared accuse him ?

GOMEZ.

Who could best convince.
n2

PHILIP THE SECOND.

His siro.

ISABEL.

His sire ! What cause, what proof, had lie ?
Ah ! here is mystery deeper than the sea.
His I'eal crime ?

aOMEZ.

His real crime, fair Queen ?
How can I name it, if you ne'er have seen ?
'Twould cost me life.

ISABEL.

Thy life ? Fear notliing. Say !
What is 't ? Could I entrap thee ? I betray ?

GOMEZ.

The King, the King's betrayed, though I be mute.
But whence your ardour to explore this suit?

ISABEL.

Ardour? A woman's curious will-

no more.

GOMEZ.

'Tis scarcely worth your trouble to explore.

ACT IV.

The Prinon no douhf. has perils, and may fall.
What 's that to you ? What is ho, aftor all ?
A stepson. Yours would he such decent woe,
And timely soluci^, as stepmothers know.
His fidl can harm you nothing j might assist:
Might raise your offspring to the hopes ho missed.
Hear me ! One source of his offence, I ween—
Is

ISABEL.

What?

GOMEZ.

Love.

ISABEL.

Love ?

GOMEZ.

That Pliilip beai-s the Queen.
He hated her whose features Carlos shares.
And fain would find your image grace his heir's.

PHILIP THE SECOND.

ISABEL.
(I breathe). But wliat is this thy words supposo?
Dui-st deem me base t^nough for thoughts like those?

GOMEZ.

I dui-st name thoughts to whieh your husbarul clings.
Mine are— no matter what— but not the King's.
Yet

ISABEL. *■

Oh ! what credulous hopes my soul beguiled !
'Tis then too true— The fiither hates the child ?

GOMEZ.

So ignorant still of whom you are the bride?
Unhappy Queen !

ISABEL.

Ill whom can I confide ?

In thee ?

GOlu'EZ.

E'en me. For finding now your worth,
I burst the bond that humbled mi- to earth,

ACT IV.

And spnik. Prince Cmlos has
To be

no ennie but one —

ISABEL.

Be what ?

(iOMEZ.

His horrible father'H Hon.

ISABEL.

My blood runs cold.

aOMEZ.

Mine freezes while I speak.
And whence the unnatural hate the King would wreak?
Envy. The son has virtues pure and sage,
That turn their semblance in the sire to rage.
He feels himself the contrast of his boy,
And, desperate to surpass him, would destroy.

ISABEL.

Unnatural Sire ! But oh that Council's guilt,
By whose decree the innocent blood is spilt !

PHILIP THE SECOND.

GOMEZ.

What council can resist a king like this ?

He brings the charge himself: 'tis false, we wiss—

But mute we tremble, and assume it true.

In vain we inly shame, oi- after rue.

Our hearts with horror fill, oui- lips with lies.

Vile tools, which e'en who uses must despise !

Drones of the bee-hive, poppies on a hill,

Mere noise and smoke the miisance of the mill,

With tinsel pomp, and epithets of pride.

And reckless waste our worthlessness to hide.

We shudder, and obey. Resist who dares ?

He joins the victims whom he vainly spares.

ISABEL.

What words are these ? They stun me and confound.
Is this Spain's court ! Can no resource be found ?
'Tis murder

GOMEZ.

Well in Miles is Phihp versed.
And holds of all hy|)ocrisy the fii-st.

ACT IV.

Expect great gi-ief, great sympatliy displayed
Doubt oft professed; decision long delayed.
But fools ! who trust his pity or distress,
Or deem delay can make his vengeance less.
As well believe 'tis weeping melts the rock,
Where trickling dewdrops petrify a block.

ISABEL.

And if thy bosom be less changed to stone.
Nor like the lord's whose secret thou hast shown,
Gomez, have pity !

id.

aOMEZ.

What can I ?

ISABEL.

Canst not-

GOMEZ.

Shed tears in covert as I pass the spot,

PHILIP THE SECOND.

That giuirds i'rom further wrong tlie innocent dust.
No more.

ISABEL.

Oh fate ! how dreadful ! liow unjust !

GOMEZ.

Could sacrifice of mine redeem the youth,
Glad would I perish — God, attest my truth !
Remorse pursues the confidence of kings ;
And Philii)'s friendship like a scorpion stings.
But

ISABEL.

If remoi*se possess the stings that seem,
Thou may'st assist the Prince, may'st e'en redeem,
Nor sacrifice thy life, nor risk thy fall.
Make ready means of flight, unknown of all !
Who need attest them ? Who can then betray ?
The King suspects thee least, and oh ! one day
Must, as he ou^ht, appreciate what is done
To save at once his honour and his son.

■i

Ai.T IV.

GOMEZ.

If I dared do it, and those means supplied,
Would Carlos use them ? Recollect his pride !
His pride will kindle up, as flax inflamed.
To hear his flight proposed, and sentence named.
The indomitable mind will hail it's doom.
As honour's call, and glory in the tomb.
Add, that he loves me not, disdains my aid —
And might, poor Prince ! suspect liimself betrayed.
He thinks me hke the King.

ISABEL.

No bar but this ?
Methinks 'tis mine such scruples to dismiss.
Come ! let me see him. Guide me to his cell.
Pause not ! Its access who can give so well ?
E'en I must soothe him and resolve on flight.
Prepare the means ! We must not lose the night.
An hour or two that fatal scroll delay !
Perhaps the King expects it not till day.
Come ! Time and Heaven propitious wait the deed.
Good Gomez, serve us, save him, aid me, lead !

100

PHILIP THE SECOND.

GOMEZ.

Who could refuse an office so divine —
Who dare accept ? Whate'er the risk— tis mine !
On ! then, with me— and Heaven its succour give !
Can Heaven let perish aught so meet to live ?

*!;

ACT V,

101

ACT V.

SCENE THE FIRST.

CARLOS.

What friend remains— but death ? What foe beside?

Oh could I meet him less with shame aUied !

But now, fell envoy of as fell a kinjr.

He comes with infamy, his only sting.

Yet one doubt threatens with a keener dart :

Has the king scanned the secret of my heart ?

His cloud-compelling brows, his flashing eyes,

His agitated voice, his vain disguise.

His gait, his previous parley with the Queen,

My summons thither, her distracted mien,

And Gomez there o'erwatching each effect !

If Philip should one day his wife suspect ?

If now he doubt, and thus wreak vengeance thence?

The Tyrant's vengeance, that precedes the offence!

102

PHILIP THE SECOND.

.1 i'

No : all is hid fiom Iniinan ears and eyes :

E'en from our own. What, what can he surmise ?

Tears might betray me ? Or a sigh discover ?

No : can a Tyrant com{)rehend a lover ?

To be a barbarous and unnatural father,

Forsooth needs Philip such conclusions gather,

Or penetrate the mystery of my soul ?

As if his hate had ever brooked control,

Or ceased to urge the moment morn shall rud,

When I must sate his vengeance with my blood.

Friends of my fortune, troops, that crowded round

With vows to serve me, till my Father frowned.

Where are ye now ? Can none of you afford,

All I demand to chase disgrace, a sword ?

But noise ! The bolts unbarred? What may this mean?

Doors grate! Who comes? Hail Mary! 'tis the Queen!

ACT V.

103

SCENE THE SECOND.

CARLOS— ISABEL.
CARLOS.

What, what has brought you, as from heaven above,
To this dark dungeon— charity, or love ?
And who lias access given, or entrance shown?

ISABEL.

The horroi-s of thy fate are half unknown.
Carlos, thou art attaint of parricide !
Thy sire accused thee, and his council tried.
Condemned, and sentenced death to be thy fine—
And now their doom but lacks the manual sign.

CARLOS.

'Twill soon be over— if that's all it lacks.

ISABEL.

What ! Canst thou thus affront the hangman's axe ?

104

PHILIP THE SECOND.

CARLOS.

'Tis lonjj since life was little worth my care.
As you know best, who heard my morning prayer,
For leave to perish where you bless the place.
The charge is dread? and dread is the disgrace :
But unexpected ? No. 'Tis death draws near—
Yet, thus announced, gives anything but fear..

ISABEL.

If me thou lovest, speak of .leath no more !
Yield to the tempest till its worst be o'er —

CARLOS.

Yield ! Would you so debase me, so degrade ?

Is this the chai-ity you came to aid ?

A charge your husband sent you to fulfil.

ISABEL.

Can Carlos think of Isabel so ill,

As charged to serve his Father's barbarous soul?

CARLOS.

He might constrain you— might perhaps cajole—

ACT V.

105

Else would he suffer you to reach this room,
Alone, at midnight, and denounce my doom ?

ISABEL.

Alas ! If Philip knew it, woe were mine I

CARLOS.

What knows he not? And, save by his design,
Who of earth brought you through the gates you came?

ISABEL.

Gomez ■

CARLOS.

Accursed, dreadful, fatal name !
Woe to us both ! Irreparable woe !

ISABEL.

Ah ! wrong not Gomez. He is not thy foe.

CARLOS.

I wrong him ? God forgive me and defend !
Shame to me— worse than woe — were Gomez friend !

Ah"

106

PHILIP THE SECOND.

ISABEL.

He, he alone compassionates thy lot.

He showed me, he, the King's whole heart and plot.

CARLOS.

Oh unsuspicious, credulous iimocence !
Know you not pity may he false pretence ?
If the vile King's vile minion truth has told,
By truth he bought you, and in truth has sold.

li ;l

ISABEL.

Nay, only prove his truth, his pity prove !

Their proof should save thee, if my tears could move.

He at my instance led me to thy sight :

He has without made ready means of flight.

Ah ! lose no moment more : the gates are free :

Fly, Carlos, fly thy Father, death and me.

CARLOS.

Escape yourself, if flight have still a gate !
Leave me forever, leave me to my fate !

ACT V.

Too well has Gomez learned with teui-s to play,
And made my cell the pitfall of his prey.
Alas ! the abyss is deeper than my coll !
Methinks its fathom penetrates to hell—
The King knows all ! 'tis clear as noon above,
He knows the whole dread secret of our love.

ISABEL.

No, no. For that my witness be thy ga^-e.
On thine arrest 1 saw him foam with rage,
And oh ! with terror shook to hear him speak.
The self-same terror that now pales thy cheek :
But well I since retraced each word he said.
And founa no vestige, none, of aught we dread.
He deems thine arm at both designed to strike.
And pierce my bosom and his own alike.

107

CARLOS.

Hard is the art, and, like it's object, vile.
To thread the gates and labyrinths of guile:
But wicked fraud your footsteps here directed;
Perhaps to prove what had been but suspected.

loe

PHILU' THK SECOND.

H«}Wie'«r that bo, from this ill omoncd place
Retriict )(»nr footsteps! instantly retrace''
Vain was your hope in Gomez, worse tlian vain,
That he who closed these portals would unchain :
And should he, worst and vainest were the hope
That I would pass a portal he could ope.

ISABEL.

And am I doomed with hypocrites like those
To drag my way-worn being to its close ?

CARLOS.

E'en as Heaven wills. But hence, from hell, ascend !
For both our sakes these agonies must end.
Pity yourself! None other needs it here.
Fly, for dear life

ISABEL.

To me can life be dear ?

CARLOS.

Then for your fame's sake, and mine honour's, flee !

ACT V.

109

ISABEL.

Wliat ! In this den of death abandon thee ?

CARLOS.

Ye», or i^haru witli mo danpjors worse than death.
Is woman's f iinie not bliglited by a breath ?
Snatcli from our tyrant's heart tlie unlioly joy
Of casting doubt on worth he would destroy.
Go now, conceal your tears, your sighs suppress !
Be qucenlike ; struggle with your soul's distress ;
And form a fearless front, and bearing cold,
To hear the story of my suffering told.
Thence dedicate your days to foils divine,
Those few and evil days surviving mine.
And, should grief need such solace for support.
One sage yet lives amidst this impious court,
Pedro, you know him and may secret see.
And mingle teai-s with his, and talk of me.
Now, ere I lose all self-control, depart !
This long adieu by piecemeal rends my heart.
Go, fly me ! leave me ! and farewell for ever !
No less than all my virtue's last endeavour

110

PHILIP THE SECOND.

Can brace my soul, and recompose my brow,
To brave the lioiir of death

h i

SCENE THE THIRD.

PHILIP-ISABEL-CARLOS.

PHILIP.

That hour is now !
Now— wretch ! I strike it.

ISABEL.

Fiends !

Gomez — Iscariot !

CARLOS.

ISABEL.

CARLOS.

Give me death !

'Tis welcome still.

PHILIP.

I will-

ACT V.

Ill

But accents first more terrible to bear.
I know all ! all ! flagitious, impious pair !
The horrible flame, that you with love consumed.
And me with madness, as it bm-ned illumed:
With oh what pangs to smother and devour!
Till here at last it casts you in my power.
Why should I count my wrongs, or rail at fate?
Revenge! revenge! I have it, and will sate,
As man ne'er heard of; and shall quail to name.
But let mine eyes first revel in your shame.
Think not my transports from affection spring :
I never loved thee, faithless, worthless thing!
No, Philip's love is great, and soars apart.
Nor deigns place vile and vulgar, like thy heart.
Nor am I jealous, nor of slights afraid:
No dame, that e'er deserved me, e'er betrayed.
'Tis not thy lover, 'tis thy King complains.
'Tis that his consort's honour, 'tis that Spain's
Has been defiled. Restore them unimpaired—
Thy love was never prized, and well were spared.
For faith and fear should so have filled thy breast,
No place was lefl there for that wayward guest.

112

PHILIP THE SECOND.

Thee, vile seducer, shall I deign address?
Thee every ci-ime becomes, and this no less—
Which damning proofs have long ago made plain;
Sighs, mutual blushes, glances stolen in vain,
The faltering voice, the palpitating breast,
And the dumb grief your impious hearts supprest—
I saw them, and I see. What more remains?
Your crimes were equal : equal be your pains !

CARLOS.

What is 't you mean ? She's guiltless, blameless— hear !

Pure of all fault, of e'en its shadow clear !

Pure, as the morning cloud to heaven aspires,

And proof as adamant to earthly fires.

My oath in death her innocence shall own.

To her my fatal passion scarce was known.

The offence

PHILIP.

Was common : and how far each dared,
I know : and know thou hadst not yet prepared
The audacious thought, the damned design, to wrong
Thy Father's bed— Or hadst thou lived so long?

ACT V.

113

But from thine impious lips tlie liorrihle word
Of love has passed— I know it— and she heard.
There needs no moi-e.

CARLOS.

Still, mine was all the crime.
I keep back nothinir. Hope— a moment's time—
A falling star— a meteor— flashed to siffht ;
But her stern virtue made it instant niffht.
She heard, but heard to shame me and control,
And chase the unholy thouirht that fired my soul.
Unholy now but once a flame divine !
She was— you knew it, for you made her— mine,
By better right, than reft her from my vows.
My love pm-sued her, though you pleased espouse;
If changed to guilt, 'twas yours that change to make.
You took her from me— what remains to take ?
Make me the victim of your pride and rage :
And let my blood your jealous thirst assuage.
But she is guiltless— Spare and set her free !

PHILIP.

She yields in courage, not in crime, to thee.

114

PHILIP THE SECOND.

Woman ! whom cunning has the while made mute,
But silence owns, what words can ne'er confute,
Thou hast defiled the temple of thy mind,
With tlioughts, which, uttered, woiUd revolt mankind.
I read them, read as written in a scroll,
When I to tempt sought counsel of thy soul.
My son, forsooth, my son I must recover?
Perfidious dame, thou durst not say thy lover.
Thy heart, like his, from every tie has swerved,
Betrayed all sanctions, and all doom deserved.

ISABEL.

Nor fright, nor craft, nor conscience made me dumb :
But horrors stunned my brain, and still benumb,
To view, unveiled, and all disguise apart.
Your monstrous, ravenous, hypocritical heart.
At length my stricken spirits rouse within.
And rally to my tongue. It was a sin—
A sin 'tis time I expiate with my life,
'Twas a great sin in me to be your wife.

ACT V.

115

But you — your son and God's attest my vc v !
I never wronged, in deed or word, till now.
Though my soul's secret in its last recess

CARLOS.

Hear not ! Sue knows not what her words express.
Pity perverts them. Grief distracts her brain.

ISABEL.

Poor Prince ! thou strugglest hard for me in vain.
But time is past for paUiatives to fate.
'Tis time to fly a presence which we hate.
With pains of which no torture else compares —
Fly, where he neither can pursue noi* dares.
Were love a tie the tyrant understands.
Sire, I would say, 'twas you first joined our hands:
Our childhood erst was joined, and joined the hope
Of those bright visions youth begins to ope.
When summer's stream through wood unbounded winds.
And the soul seeks its mate, or never finds.
There — then — began the love you bade begin.
'Twas virtue then : who made it since a sin ?

116

PHILIP THE SECOND.

Those ties of years who severed in an houi' ?

Ah, easy task to arl)itrary power !

But lovers' hearts so joined are hard to sever.

In mine his image lay consuming ever :

E';\ from the hour that bound me to your crown,

Lay stifled, smothered, quenelied, if tears could drown.

Nor needed more, to blot it from my heart.

Than time, my virtue's and perhaps your part.

PHILIP.

Mine be it then ! I will, since time can not,

Nor all thy tears and virtues, I will blot,

And quench it in your blood. Your blood shall drown

Your flame, guilt, grief, and infamous renown.

ISABEL.

But not your thirst, though infinite the flood.
No. A king's hands must ever reek with blood.
But ah ! could love leave Carlos for their clutch ?
You differ : vice and virtue scarce so much.
Behold ! your aspect used to make me tremble :
I meet it now nor quail. I used dissemble

ACT V.

117

My sinful passion, for it seemed a sin :
But liaving seen what youi-s conceals within,
I find mine pure, as heaven-descended snows
On banks, where black as Stvx a torrent flowf
And vaunt I love him, and, if death his doom.
Would spurn your throne to join him in the tomb.

PHILIP.

Oh both well worthy of each other there !
Oh confident to vaunt, incestuous pair !
Proof now remains, if both of you have nerves
To bear as boast, and bear as each deserves.

118

PHILIP THE SECOND.

SCENE THE FOURTH.

GOMEZ— PHILIP— ISABEL-CARLOS.
PHILIP.

How now ? What, Gomez ! Is that business o'er ?
My sign was seen ?

GOMEZ.

The traitor is no more.
From Pedro's heart this dagger has its stains.

CARLOS.

Pedro !

PHILIP.

Well done ! A traitorous pair remains.
'Tis warm — But wait, and witness with thy dirk,
What echoes here shall emulate its work.

CARLOS.

How many deaths already have I passed !
And Pedro's too ? I long to meet my last —

ACT V.

119

To leap life's battlement, and sound the sea,
To him, whose only crime was truth to me :
Or leave at least this earth, this tiger's cage ;
Thrice happy could my blood appease his rage.

ISABEL.

There needs not that. No tiger rends his own.
No, let me be the victim, me alone.
Of all your sorrows the sole source am I.
I brought death hither, and alone should die.

PHILIP.

Cease ! cease this braggart babbling. Spare your breaths
For their last effort, instant choice of deaths.
Choice of this — drug — or dagger — instant make !
And first, thou death's despiser, touch and take.

CARLOS.

Warm from my friend, most welcome master-key,
Deliverer, dagger, hail ! and set me free.
For you, whose lips have dared too much to live.
Choose you that easier death the drug may give.

200

PHILIP THE SECOND.

'Tis the last counsel ill-starred love bestows.
Collect yoiii' fortitude ! your thoiifrhts compose !
The guiltless soul scarce needs a moment's prayer :
Nor are your duties now to learn hut dare.
Take mine example— look ! 'Tis done. I die.
The poison— Seize it— Speed !

Death ! my sole joy-

Aye, live — despite thee.

ISABEL.

I come. I fly.
PHILIP.

Away then ! Thou shalt live.

ISABEL.

Death too much to give ?
For pity ! Carlos dead— and I exist ?

PHILIP.

Thou shalt not die while sorrow can persist.
Death be my ward to keep you twain apart !
Thy lingering grief shall daily soothe my heart.
Till when tears fail, love withers, and life's breath
Again gi-ows precious, then thou shalt have death.

ACT V.

121

ISABEL.

Wliat ! I 8iij)port existence at your side ?

No. Death ! this instant, death ! In vain denied-

The dirk

PHILIP.

Forbear !

ISABEL.

I have it ! 1 am I'ree !
I perish ! I escape !

PHILIP.

Whatis'tlsee?

ISABEL.

Two suicides, whose death your doom has done>
Slain at your feet, your innocent wife and son.

PHILIP.

My wife's mad act no doom of mine enforced.
Her I may heal

ISABEL.

A vaunt ! We aie now divorced.
R

122

PHILIP THE SECOND.

Already death dissolves our marriage vows.
This hand is free— and Carlos is my spouse !

IMIILU'.

Part them !

ISABEL.

Heaven joins us, earth no more ean w.'ver,
Nor thou, earth's vilest atom, dare end(!avour !
Thou, on whose clay that monster's hoof has trod
Its likeness— h'st I dying crave of God
A curse shall make thee slee})less in thy grave.
Come, my iii-st love ! thou beautiful, and brave !
To clas|> thee, kiss thee now gives none offence.
The gates are free- Night thickens— Let us hence

PHILIP.

To where ingrate and faithless souls are driven !
Down ! where incestuous sins hear judgment given !
Earth's doom is done. They mock not me again.
So pass God's enemies and Spain's !

GOMEZ.

Amen

ACT V.

123

PHILIP.

MiHcrcants! I spurod their forfeit liiilf its fine;

Nor wroii<r(!(l tlu; law — whose HentoTicf^ speaks in mine.

Yet whence this hlood? What streams come hither still !

Well! Ncnv my vast reven<((! has had its fill —

Or reached its limit — Which that pair has past.

She dies — And he — That struii^le was his last.
Oh! strange, stran<i;e look!

aOMEZ.

His eves are fixed

PHILIP.

On me !
Cover his face. Nay — Let thy dagger he.
Well ! There they sleep — Will mine be calmer rest ?
Ah ! be what may their future, am I blest ?
The Holy Brethren? Yes— Inquire who dare!
His eyes still haunt me with that sorrowful glare —
Cover his face. E'en rumour might suffice —
Her faith too faltered. Still those ghastly eyes !

124

PHILIP THE SECOND.

Cover his faco— How oft hast thou been told ?

GOMEZ.

His ftice was each time covered many a fold.
But her

PHILIP.

Her sleepless grave thy soul appals.
That look, that piteous look will i)ierce the walls !
And like my shadow chase me to the grave.
One spectre more —For me to bear— and brave.
Raise that trapdoor ! 'Tis their scpidchral stone.
Thoutremblest? Well! Return and do it alone.
And, Gomez, Spain nnist ne'er suspect this scene.
Let Holy Church arrest both Prince and Queen.
Come— Bring the keys. Make thou that rumour rife !
And guard my honour and— if well -thy life!

THE END.

I.oniliin : C. lUmoilli and Siiii«, I'riiilci-, It'll \ iiid, I'tiniili' Biir

r 1'

lie !