DOMINGO. You jest, my prince. All Spain adores its queen. Shall it be thought that you, of all the world, Alone should view her with the eyes of hate-- Gaze on her charms, and yet be coldly wise? How, prince? The loveliest lady of her time, A queen withal, and once your own betrothed? No, no, impossible--it cannot be! Where all men love, you surely cannot hate. Carlos could never so belie himself. I prithee, prince, take heed she do not learn That she hath lost her son's regard. The news Would pain her deeply. CARLOS. Ay, sir! think you so? DOMINGO. Your highness doubtless will remember how, At the late tournament in Saragossa, A lance's splinter struck our gracious sire. The queen, attended by her ladies, sat High in the centre gallery of the palace, And looked upon the fight. A cry arose, "The king! he bleeds!" Soon through the general din, A rising murmur strikes upon her ear. "The prince--the prince!" she cries, and forward rushed, As though to leap down from the balcony, When a voice answered, "No, the king himself!" "Then send for his physicians!" she replied, And straight regained her former self-composure. [After a short pause. But you seem wrapped in thought? CARLOS. In wonder, sir, That the king's merry confessor should own So rare a skill in the romancer's art. [Austerely. Yet have I heard it said that those Who watch men's looks and carry tales about, Have done more mischief in this world of ours Than the assassin's knife, or poisoned bowl. Your labor, Sir, hath been but ill-bestowed; Would you win thanks, go seek them of the king. DOMINGO. This caution, prince, is wise. Be circumspect With men--but not with every man alike. Repel not friends and hypocrites together; I mean you well, believe me! CARLOS. Say you so? Let not my father mark it, then, or else Farewell your hopes forever of the purple. DOMINGO (starts). CARLOS. How! CARLOS. Even so! Hath he not promised you The earliest purple in the gift of Spain? DOMINGO. You mock me, prince! CARLOS. Nay! Heaven forefend, that I Should mock that awful man whose fateful lips Can doom my father or to heaven or hell! DOMINGO. I dare not, prince, presume to penetrate The sacred mystery of your secret grief, Yet I implore your highness to remember That, for a conscience ill at ease, the church Hath opened an asylum, of which kings Hold not the key--where even crimes are purged Beneath the holy sacramental seal. You know my meaning, prince--I've said enough. CARLOS. No! be it, never said, I tempted so The keeper of that seal. DOMINGO. Prince, this mistrust-- You wrong the most devoted of your servants. CARLOS. Then give me up at once without a thought Thou art a holy man--the world knows that-- But, to speak plain, too zealous far for me. The road to Peter's chair is long and rough, And too much knowledge might encumber you. Go, tell this to the king, who sent thee hither!