_King._ No; for the wrongs I suffer weigh it down: I'd now not spare his life to save my own. Away! by thy soft tongue I'll not be caught. _Hen._ By all that hopes can frame I beg: if not, May you by some base hand unpitied die, And childless mothers curse your memory! By honour, love, by life-- _King._ Fond girl, away: By Heaven, I'll kill thee else! Still darest thou stay? Cannot death terrify thee? _Hen._ No; for I, If you refuse me, am resolved to die. _Don Car._ Kind fair one, do not waste your sorrows here On me, too wretched, and not worth a tear. There yet for you are mighty joys in store, When I in dust am laid, and seen no more.-- O madam! [_To the_ QUEEN. _Queen._ O my Carlos! must you die For me? no mercy in a father's eye? _Don Car._ Hide, hide your tears, into my soul they dart A tenderness that misbecomes my heart: For, since I must, I like a prince would fall, And to my aid my manly spirits call. _Queen._ You, like a man, as roughly as you will May die, but let me be a woman still! [_Weeps._ _King._ Thou'rt woman, a true copy of the first, In whom the race of all mankind was cursed. Your sex by beauty was to Heaven allied; But your great lord, the devil, taught you pride. He too an angel, till he durst rebel; And you are, sure, the stars that with him fell. Weep on! a stock of tears like vows you have, And always ready when you would deceive. _Queen._ Cruel! inhuman! O my heart! why should I throw away a title that's so good, On one a stranger to whate'er was so? Alas, I'm torn, and know not what to do. The just resentment of my wrong's so great, My spirits sink beneath the heavy weight. Tyrant, stand off! I hate thee, and will try If I have scorn enough to make me die. _Don Car._ Blest angel, stay! [_Takes her in his arms._ _Queen._ Carlos, the sole embrace You ever took, you have before his face. _Don Car._ No wealthy monarch of the plenteous East, In all the glories of his empire dressed, Was ever half so rich, or half so blest. But from such bliss how wretched is the fall! They too like us must die, and leave it all. _King._ All this before my face! what soul could bear't? Go, force her from him! [Officer _approaches_. _Don Car._ Slave, 'twill cost thy heart. Thou'dst better meet a lion on his way, And from his hungry jaws reprize the prey! She's mistress of my soul, and to prepare Myself for death, I must consult with her. _Ruy-Gom._ Have pity! [_Ironically._ _King._ Hence! how wretchedly he rules That's served by cowards, and advised by fools! Oh, torture!