CARLOS. Thou speakest of times that long have passed away. I, too, have had my visions of a Carlos, Whose cheek would fire at freedom's glorious name, But he, alas! has long been in his grave. He, thou seest here, no longer is that Carlos, Who took his leave of thee in Alcala, Who in the fervor of a youthful heart, Resolved, at some no distant time, to wake The golden age in Spain! Oh, the conceit, Though but a child's, was yet divinely fair! Those dreams are past! MARQUIS. Said you, those dreams, my prince! And were they only dreams? CARLOS. Oh, let me weep, Upon thy bosom weep these burning tears, My only friend! Not one have I--not one-- In the wide circuit of this earth,--not one Far as the sceptre of my sire extends, Far as the navies bear the flag of Spain, There is no spot--none--none, where I dare yield An outlet to my tears, save only this. I charge thee, Roderigo! Oh, by all The hopes we both do entertain of heaven, Cast me not off from thee, my friend, my friend! [POSA bends over him in silent emotion. Look on me, Posa, as an orphan child, Found near the throne, and nurtured by thy love. Indeed, I know not what a father is. I am a monarch's son. Oh, were it so, As my heart tells me that it surely is, That thou from millions hast been chosen out To comprehend my being; if it be true, That all-creating nature has designed In me to reproduce a Roderigo, And on the morning of our life attuned Our souls' soft concords to the selfsame key; If one poor tear, which gives my heart relief, To thee were dearer than my father's favor---- MARQUIS. Oh, it is dearer far than all the world! CARLOS. I'm fallen so low, have grown so poor withal, I must recall to thee our childhood's years,-- Must ask thee payment of a debt incurred When thou and I were scarce to boyhood grown. Dost thou remember, how we grew together, Two daring youths, like brothers, side by side? I had no sorrow but to see myself Eclipsed by thy bright genius. So I vowed, Since I might never cope with thee in power, That I would love thee with excess of love. Then with a thousand shows of tenderness, And warm affection, I besieged thy heart, Which cold and proudly still repulsed them all. Oft have I stood, and--yet thou sawest it never Hot bitter tear-drops brimming in mine eyes, When I have marked thee, passing me unheeded, Fold to thy bosom youths of humbler birth. "Why only these?" in anguish, once I asked-- "Am I not kind and good to thee as they?" But dropping on thy knees, thine answer came, With an unloving look of cold reserve, "This is my duty to the monarch's son!" MARQUIS. Oh, spare me, dearest prince, nor now recall Those boyish acts that make me blush for shame.