Don Carlos. Friedrich von Schiller

                          Some months —

         Before Prince Carlos came from Alcala.

         Have you tried well the grounds of your refusal?

         It cannot be, my queen, no, never, never, —

         For a thousand reasons, never!

                         One's enough,

         You do not love him. That suffices me.

         Now let it pass.

                  I have not seen the Infanta

         Yet this morning. Pray bring her, marchioness.

         It is not yet the hour, your majesty.

         Not yet the hour for me to be a mother!

         That's somewhat hard. Forget not, then, to tell me

         When the right hour does come.

            thereupon turns to the QUEEN.

                         The Marquis Posa!

         May it please your majesty.

                        The Marquis Posa!

         He comes from France, and from the Netherlands,

         And craves the honor to present some letters

         Intrusted to him by your royal mother.

         Is this allowed?

                  A case so unforeseen

         Is not provided for in my instructions.

         When a Castilian grandee, with despatches

         From foreign courts, shall in her garden find

         The Queen of Spain, and tender them —

         Enough! I'll venture, then, on mine own proper peril.

         May I, your majesty, withdraw the while?

         E'en as you please, good duchess!

         I bid you welcome, sir, to Spanish ground!

         Ground which I never with so just a pride

         Hailed for the country of my sires as now.

         The Marquis Posa, ladies, who at Rheims

         Coped with my father in the lists, and made

         My colors thrice victorious; the first

         That made me feel how proud a thing it was

         To be the Queen of Spain and Spanish men.

         When we last parted in the Louvre, Sir,

         You scarcely dreamed that I should ever be

         Your hostess in Castile.

                      Most true, my liege!

         For at that time I never could have dreamed

         That France should lose to us the only thing

         We envied her possessing.

                       How, proud Spaniard!

         The only thing! And you can venture this —

         This to a daughter of the house of Valois!

         I venture now to say it, gracious queen,

         Since now you are our own.

                       Your journey hither

         Has led you, as I hear, through France. What news

         Have you brought with you from my honored mother

         And from my dearest brothers?

         I left your royal mother sick at heart,

         Bereft of every joy save only this,

         To know her daughter happy on the throne

         Of our imperial Spain.

                     Could she be aught

         But happy in the dear remembrances

         Of relatives so kind – in the sweet thoughts

         Of the old time when – Sir, you've visited

         Full many a court in these your various travels,

         And seen strange lands and customs manifold;

         And now, they say, you mean to keep at home

         A greater prince in your retired domain

         Than is King Philip on his throne – a freer.

         You're a philosopher; but much I doubt

         If our Madrid will please you. We are so —

         So quiet in Madrid.

                    And that is more

         Than all the rest of Europe has to boast.

         I've heard as much. But all this world's concerns

         Are well-nigh blotted from my memory.

         Princess, methinks I see a hyacinth

         Yonder in bloom. Wilt bring it to me, sweet?

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