ALV. Madam, his majesty doth call for you. KING P. Come hither, Isabella, reach a hand, Yet now it shall not need: instead of thine, Death, shoving thee back, clasps his hands in mine, And bids me come away: I must, I must, Though kings be gods on earth, they turn to dust. Is not Prince Philip come from Portugal? ROD. The prince as yet is not return'd, my lord. KING P. Commend me to him, if I ne'er behold him. This tells the order of my funeral; Do it as 'tis set down; embalm my body; Though worms do make no difference of flesh, Yet kings are curious here to dig their graves; Such is man's frailty: when I am embalm'd, Apparel me in a rich royal robe, According to the custom of the land; Then place my bones within that brazen shrine, Which death hath builded for my ancestors; I cannot name death, but he straight steps in And pulls me by the arm. FER. His grace doth faint; Help me, my lords, softly to raise him up. _Enter_ ELEAZAR, _and stands sadly by_. KING P. Lift me not up, I shortly must go down. When a few dribbling minutes have run out, Mine hour is ended. King of Spain, farewell; You all acknowledge him your sovereign? ALL. When you are dead, we will acknowledge him. KING P. Govern this kingdom well; to be a king Is given to many, but to govern well Granted to few. Have care to Isabel; Her virtue was King Philip's looking-glass; Reverence the queen your mother; love your sister And the young prince your brother: even that day, When Spain shall solemnise my obsequies, And lay me up in earth, let them crown you. Where's Eleazar, Don Alvero's son? FER. Yonder, with cross'd arms, stands he malcontent. KING P. I do commend him to thee for a man Both wise and warlike; yet beware of him: Ambition wings his spirit; keep him down. What will not men attempt to win a crown? Mendoza is protector of thy realm, I did elect him for his gravity; I trust he'll be a father to thy youth. Call help, Fernando, now I faint indeed. FER. My lords! KING. P. Let none with a distracted voice Shriek out, and trouble me in my departure. Heaven's hands, I see, are beckoning for my soul; I come, I come; thus do the proudest die; Death hath no mercy, life no certainty. [_Dies._ MEN. As yet his soul's not from her temple gone: Therefore forbear loud lamentation. QUEEN-M. O, he's dead, he's dead! lament and die; In her king's end begins Spain's misery. ISA. He shall not end so soon. Father, dear father! FER. Forbear, sweet Isabella: shrieks are vain. ISA. You cry forbear; you by his loss of breath Have won a kingdom, you may cry forbear: But I have lost a father and a king, And no tongue shall control my sorrowing. HOR. Whither, good Isabella? ISA. I will go Where I will languish in eternal woe. HOR. Nay, gentle love. ISA. Talk not of love to me, The world and the world's pride henceforth I'll scorn. [_Exit._