ALV. Watch fitter hours to think on wrongs than now; Death's frozen hand holds royal Philip's heart; Half of his body lies within a grave; Then do not now by quarrels shake that state, Which is already too much ruinate. Come, and take leave of him, before he die. [_Exit._ ELE. I'll follow you. Now, purple villany, Sit like a robe imperial on my back, That under thee I closelier may contrive My vengeance; foul deeds hid do sweetly thrive. Mischief, erect thy throne, and sit in state Here, here upon this head; let fools fear fate, Thus I defy my stars. I care not, I, How low I tumble down, so I mount high: Old Time, I'll wait bareheaded at thy heels, And be a footboy to thy winged hours; They shall not tell one minute out in sands, But I'll set down the number; I'll still wake, And waste these balls of sight by tossing them In busy observations upon thee. Sweet opportunity! I'll bind myself To thee in base apprenticehood so long, Till on thy naked scalp grow hair as thick As mine; and all hands shall lay hold on thee, If thou wilt lend me but thy rusty scythe, To cut down all that stand within my wrongs And my revenge. Love, dance in twenty forms Upon my beauty, that this Spanish dame May be bewitch'd and doat; her amorous flames Shall blow up the old king, consume his sons, And make all Spain a bonfire. This Tragedy being acted, hers doth begin: To shed a harlot's blood can be no sin. [_Exit._ SCENE III. _The Curtain being drawn, there appears in his bed_ KING PHILIP, _with his Lords; the_ PRINCESS ISABELLA _at the feet_, MENDOZA, ALVERO, HORTENZO, FERNANDO, RODERIGO; _and to them enter_ QUEEN _in haste_. QUEEN-M. Whose was that screech-owl's voice that, like the sound Of a hell-tortur'd soul, rung through mine ears Nothing but horrid shrieks, nothing but death? Whilst I, vailing my knees to the cold earth, Drowning my wither'd cheeks in my warm tears, And stretching out my arms to pull from heaven Health for the royal majesty of Spain, All cried, the majesty of Spain is dead! That last word _dead_ struck through the echoing air Rebounded on my heart, and smote me down Breathless to the cold earth, and made me leave My prayers for Philip's life; but, thanks to heaven, I see him live, and lives (I hope) to see Unnumber'd years to guide this empery. KING P. The number of my years ends in one day: Ere this sun's down, all a king's glory sets, For all our lives are but death-counterfeits. Father Mendoza, and you peers of Spain, Dry your wet eyes; for sorrow wanteth force T' inspire a breathing soul in a dead corse; Such is your king. Where's Isabella, our daughter? MEN. At your bed's feet, confounded in her tears. KING P. She of your grief the heaviest burthen bears; You can but lose a king, but she a father. QUEEN-M. She bear the heaviest burthen! O, say rather I bear, and am borne down; my sorrowing Is for a husband's loss, loss of a king. KING P. No more. Alvero, call the princess hither.