MARQUIS. I have yet one thing, A matter of importance on my mind: In your hands I deposit it. My lot Was such as few indeed have e'er enjoyed-- I loved a prince's son. My heart to one-- To that one object given--embraced the world! I have created in my Carlos' soul, A paradise for millions! Oh, my dream Was lovely! But the will of Providence Has summoned me away, before my hour, From this my beauteous work. His Roderigo Soon shall be his no more, and friendship's claim Will be transferred to love. Here, therefore, here, Upon this sacred altar--on the heart Of his loved queen--I lay my last bequest A precious legacy--he'll find it here, When I shall be no more. [He turns away, his voice choked with grief. QUEEN. This is the language Of a dying man--it surely emanates But from your blood's excitement--or does sense Lie hidden in your language? MARQUIS (has endeavored to collect himself, and continues in a solemn voice). Tell the prince, That he must ever bear in mind the oath We swore, in past enthusiastic days, Upon the sacred host. I have kept mine-- I'm true to him till death--'tis now his turn---- QUEEN. Till death? MARQUIS. Oh, bid him realize the dream, The glowing vision which our friendship painted, Of a new-perfect realm! And let him lay The first hand on the rude, unshapened stone. Whether he fail or prosper--all alike-- Let him commence the work. When centuries Have rolled away shall Providence again Raise to the throne a princely youth like him, And animate again a favorite son Whose breast shall burn with like enthusiasm. Tell him, in manhood, he must still revere The dreams of early youth, nor ope the heart Of heaven's all-tender flower to canker-worms Of boasted reason,--nor be led astray When, by the wisdom of the dust, he hears Enthusiasm, heavenly-born, blasphemed. I have already told him. QUEEN. Whither, marquis? Whither does all this tend? MARQUIS. And tell him further, I lay upon his soul the happiness Of man--that with my dying breath I claim, Demand it of him--and with justest title. I had designed a new, a glorious morn, To waken in these kingdoms: for to me Philip had opened all his inmost heart-- Called me his son--bestowed his seals upon me-- And Alva was no more his counsellor. [He pauses, and looks at the QUEEN for a few moments in silence. You weep! I know those tears, beloved soul! Oh, they are tears of joy!--but it is past-- Forever past! Carlos or I? The choice Was prompt and fearful. One of us must perish! And I will be that one. Oh, ask no more! QUEEN. Now, now, at last, I comprehend your meaning, Unhappy man! What have you done?