_Don Car._ Now, were I certain it would sink me quite, I'd see the queen once more, though but in spite; Though he with all his fury were in place, I would caress and court her to his face. Oh that I could this minute die! if so, What he had lost he might too lately know, Cursing himself to think what he has done: For I was ever an obedient son; With pleasure all his glories saw, when young, Looked, and, with pride considering whence I sprung, Joyfully under him and free I played, Basked in his shine and wantoned in his shade-- But now, Cancelling all whate'er he then conferred, He thrusts me out among the common herd: Nor quietly will there permit my stay, But drives and hunts me like a beast of prey. Affliction! O affliction! 'tis too great, Nor have I ever learnt to suffer yet. Though ruin at me from each side take aim, And I stand thus encompassed round with flame, Though the devouring fire approaches fast, Yet will I try to plunge: if power waste, I can at worst but sink, and burn at last. [_Exit._ _Don John._ Go on, pursue thy fortune while 'tis hot: I long for work where honour's to be got. But, madam, to this prince you're wondrous kind. _D. of Eboli._ You are not less to Henriet, I find. _Don John._ Why, she's a beauty, tender, young, and fair. _D. of Eboli._ I thought I might in charms have equalled her. You told me once my beauty was not less. Is this your faith? are these your promises? _Don John._ You would seem jealous, but are crafty grown; Tax me of falsehood to conceal your own. Go, you're a woman-- _D. of Eboli._ Yes, I know I am: And by my weakness do deserve that name, When heart and honour I to you resigned. Would I were not a woman, or less kind! _Don John._ Think you your falsehood was not plainly seen, When to your charge my brother gave the queen? Too well I saw it; how did you dispense, In looks, your pity to the afflicted prince! Whilst I my duty paid the king, your time You watched, and fixed your melting eyes on him; Admired him-- _D. of Eboli._ Yes, sir, for his constancy-- But 'twas with pain, to think you false to me, When to another's eye you homage paid, And my true love wronged and neglected laid; Wronged, too, so far as nothing can restore. _Don John._ Nay, then, let's part, and think of love no more. Farewell! [_Going._ _D. of Eboli._ Farewell, if you're resolved to go:-- Inhuman Austria, can you leave me so? Enough my soul is by your falsehood racked; Add not to your inconstancy neglect. Methinks you so far might have grateful proved, Not to have quite forgotten that I loved.