Blessed with your sight, I was prepared to die. But now to lose it drives me to despair, Making me wish to die, and yet not dare. Well, to some solitary shore I'll roam, And never more into your presence come, Since I already find I'm troublesome. [_Going._ _Queen._ Stay, sir, yet stay:--you shall not leave me so. _Don Car._ Ha! _Queen._ I must talk with you before you go. O Carlos, how unhappy is our state! How foul a game was played us by our fate! Who promised fair when we did first begin, Till envying to see us like to win, Straight fell to cheat, and threw the false lot in. My vows to you I now remember all. _Don Car._ O madam, I can hear no more. [_Kneels._ _Queen._ You shall;-- [_Kneels too._ For I can't choose but let you know that I, If you'll resolve on't, yet will with you die. _Don Car._ Sure nobler gallantry was never known! Good Heaven! this blessing is too much for one: No, 'tis enough for me to die alone. My father, all my foes, I now forgive. _Queen._ Nay, sir, by all our loves I charge you live. But to what country wheresoe'er you go, Forget not me, for I'll remember you. _Don Car._ Shall I such virtue and such charms forget? No, never! _Queen._ Oh that we had never met, But in our distant climates still been free! I might have heard of you, and you of me: So towards happiness more safely moved, And never been thus wretched, yet have loved. What makes you look so wildly? Why d'ye start? _Don Car._ A faint cold damp is thickening round my heart. _Queen._ What shall we do? _Don Car._ Do anything but part; Or stay so long till my poor soul expires In view of all the glory it admires. _D. of Eboli._ In such a lover how might I be blest! Oh! were I of that noble heart possessed, How soft, how easy would I make his bands! [_Aside._ But, madam, you forget the king's commands: [_To the_ QUEEN. Longer to stay, your dangers will renew. _Don Car._ Ah, princess! lovers' pains you never knew; Or what it is to part, as we must do. Part too for ever! After one minute never more to stand Fixed on those eyes, or pressing this soft hand! 'Twere but enough to feed one, and not starve, Yet that is more than I did e'er deserve; Though fate to us is niggardly and poor, That from eternity can't spare one hour. _Queen._ If it were had, that hour would soon be gone, And we should wish to draw another on. No, rigorous necessity has made Us both his slaves, and now will be obeyed. Come, let us try the parting blow to bear. Adieu! [_Looking at each other._ _Don Car._ Farewell! I'm fixed and rooted here; I cannot stir--