_Don Car._ My lord, what fate has left me, I am here, Mere man, of all my comfort stripped and bare. Once, like a vine, I flourished and was young, Rich in my ripening hopes that spoke me strong: But now a dry and withered stock am grown, And all my clusters and my branches gone. _Don John._ Amongst those numbers which your wrongs deplore, Than me there's none that can resent them more. I feel a generous grudging in my breast, To see such honour and such hopes oppressed. The king your father is my brother, true; But I see more that's like myself in you. Free-born I am, and not on him depend, Obliged to none, but whom I call my friend. And if that title you think fit to bear, Accept the confirmation of it here. [_Embraces him._ _Don Car._ From you, to whom I'm by such kindness tied, The secrets of my soul I will not hide. This generous princess has her promise given, I once more shall be brought in sight of Heaven; To the fair queen my last devotion pay; And then for Flanders I intend my way, Where to the insulting rebels I'll give law, To keep myself from wrongs, and them in awe. _Don John._ Prosperity to the design, 'tis good; Both worthy of your honour and your blood. _Don Car._ My lord, your spreading glories flourish high, Above the reach or shock of destiny: Mine, early nipped, like buds untimely die. _Enter_ Officer _of the Guard_. _Offi._ My lord, I grieve to tell what you must hear; They are unwelcome orders which I bear, Which are, to guard you as a prisoner. _Don Car._ A prisoner! what new game of fate's begun? Henceforth be ever cursed the name of son, Since I must be a slave, because I'm one. Duty! to whom? He's not my father: no. Back with your orders to the tyrant go; Tell him his fury drives too much one way; I'm weary on't, and can no more obey. _Don John._ If asked by whose commands you did decline Your orders, tell my brother 'twas by mine. [_Exit_ Officer.