_Don Car._ No, they're friends; their cause is just; Or, when I make it mine, at least it must. Let the common rout like beasts love to be dull, Whilst sordidly they live at ease and full, Senseless what honour or ambition means, And ignorantly drag their load of chains. I am a prince, have had a crown in view, And cannot brook to lose the prospect now. If thou'rt my friend, do not my will delay. _M. of Posa._ I'll do't. [_Exit._ _Enter_ Duchess of EBOLI. _D. of Eboli._ My lord. _Don Car._ Who calls me? _D. of Eboli._ You must stay. _Don Car._ What news of fresh affliction can you bear? _D. of Eboli._ Suppose it were the queen; you'd stay for her? _Don Car._ For her? yes, stay an age, for ever stay; Stay even till time itself should pass away; Fix here a statue never to remove, An everlasting monument of love. Though, may a thing so wretched as I am But the least place in her remembrance claim? _D. of Eboli._ Yes, if you dare believe me, sir, you do; We both can talk of nothing else but you: Whilst from the theme even emulation springs, Each striving who shall say the kindest things. _Don Car._ But from that charity I poorly live, Which only pities, and can nothing give. _D. of Eboli._ Nothing! Propose what 'tis you claim, and I, For aught you know, may be security. _Don Car._ No, madam, what's my due none e'er can pay; There stands that angel, Honour, in the way, Watching his charge with never-sleeping eyes, And stops my entrance into paradise. _D. of Eboli._ What paradise? What pleasures can you know, Which are not in my power to bestow? _Don Car._ Love, love, and all those eager, melting charms The queen must yield when in my father's arms. That queen, so excellently, richly fair, Jove, could he come again a lover here, Would court mortality to die for her. O madam, take not pleasure to renew Those pains, which if you felt, you would not do. _D. of Eboli._ Unkindly urged: think you no sense I have Of what you feel? Now you may take your leave. Something I had to say; but let it die. _Don Car._ Why, madam, who has injured you? Not I. _D. of Eboli._ Nay, sir, your presence I would not detain: Alas! you do not hear that I complain. Though, could you half of my misfortunes see, Methinks you should incline to pity me. _Don Car._ I cannot guess what mournful tale you'd tell; But I am certain you prepare me well. Speak, madam.