Your favor you bestowed On him—he died for me. Your confidence, Your friendship you did urge—nay, force upon him; Your sceptre was the play-thing of his hands; He cast it forth, and died for me! And was It possible? Could you give credit—you— To such a dull deceit? How slightly he Must have esteemed you, that he ever dreamed With this poor mockery to overreach you! * * * * * He was no man for you! He knew it Himself right well—as he, with all your crowns, Rejected you. This holy heart was crushed Beneath your iron hand. You could do nought But murder him! * * Even you he could have made Most fortunate! His heart was rich enough In its o'erflow to have contented you. A fragment of his spirit would have made you A God! * * O you, who stand assembled here {712} With wonder and with terror mute, condemn not The youth who dared reproachful words to utter Against his father and his king. Lo, here! For me he died! Have you yet tears? Flows blood, Not molten brass, within your veins? Look here— Condemn me not! (_To the King_.) And you, perhaps, await The close of this unnatural history. Here is my sword: you are my king again. Think you I tremble at your sovereign vengeance? Slay me, as you have slain the best and noblest. My life is forfeited. I know it well. What now is life to me? All I renounce That in this world awaits me. Seek henceforth 'Mong strangers for your son. Here lies my kingdom! A tumult is heard without, and an officer of the guard enters in haste. _Officer_. Rebellion! Where is the king?—All Madrid is in arms! In countless crowds the raging populace Surround the palace. They exclaim—the prince Is in arrest, his life in mortal peril. The people will behold him living, safe, Or Madrid will be soon in flames! _Nobles_ Save—save The king! _Alba_. Fly, sire—there's danger—hasten hence; We know not yet who arms the populace. _King_. (_waking from a stupor_.) Stands my throne firm? Am I yet sovereign here? I am no longer king——These cowards weep, Made tender by a boy. They only wait The signal, from my side to fall away. I am betrayed by rebels. _Alba_. Sire—my king! What dreadful fantasy—— _King_. Lo! yonder—haste, Prostrate yourselves! Before a promising And youthful king kneel down! I now am nothing But an old powerless man! _Alba_. Is't come to this? Spaniards! _King_. Go—clothe him in the royal robes! Lead him o'er my crushed corpse!