_Otti._ I find thee punctual. 'Tis well for thee thou art so. By my life, If thou hadst failed me I had sought the king. Where is the priest? On to the chapel. _Caesa._ Stay, And hear me! for the hour is come that weighs Our fates in the same balance. Thus then briefly, Thou art most fair, in wit most choice and subtle, In all rare talents still surpassing all, And for these gifts, and thy long tried affection, I feel I owe thee much, owe thee firm friendship, Eternal gratitude, faith, favour, love, And all things save my hand. Except but this, Which now I must not give, nor couldst thou take, And ask what else thou wilt. _Otti._ Most gracious sir, For thy fair praise, and these so liberal offers Of granting all save that which I would have, Accept my thanks, I've heard thee; now hear me. I'll be thy wife or nothing. _Caesa._ Lady, Lady, You know not what you ask. _Otti._ I know myself Worthy of what I ask, and know my power, Which you, it seems, forget. Is not my dowry Your life and crown? Let me but speak one word, And straight your fancied throne becomes a scaffold. No more, but to the chapel. _Caesa._ If to move thee Ought would avail---- _Otti._ It cannot. _Caesa._ Once a king---- _Otti._ I share thy throne. _Caesa._ 'Mid all Castile's first honours Make thou thy choice---- _Otti._ 'Tis made. _Caesa._ And still remaining My friend, my love---- _Otti._ Thy wife, thy wife, or nothing! _Caesa._ Nay then I'll crush thy frantic hopes at once; I'm married. _Otti._ (_Starting_) What! I hope thou dost but feign; For thy sake hope it; since, if true this marriage, Thou'rt lost past saving. _Caesa._ Nay, unbend thy brow, Nor stamp nor rave. The princess is my wife, And frowns unbind not whom the church hath bound. The javelin's thrown, and cannot be recalled; Thine be the second prize the first is won, And all thy grief and rage that tis another's Will but torment thyself. Be wise, be wise, And bear with patience what thou canst not cure. _Otti._ I will not curse: no, I'll not waste in vapour. The fire which burns within me. What I feel, My deeds shall tell thee best. (_Going._) _Caesa._ (_detaining her_) Ottilia, stay. If yet one spark of love remains---- _Otti._ (_passionately_) of love! Of love for thee! Mark me. Ere sets the sun My rival dies, and thou once more art free: But now so deadly is the hate I bear thee, 'Twill joy me less to see thee mine than dead. Thy blood! thy blood! 'Tis for thy blood I thirst, And it shall stream. Farewell. _Caesa._ Go then, proud woman, I brave thy rancour. Ere thou gain'st the palace, I'll spring the mine.