No More Learning

Count
Not merit it! I?

Diegue
You.

Count
Your impudence,
Rash old man, shall find its recompense.

(He strikes Don Diegue)

Diegue (drawing his sword)
Come take my life after such cruel offence,
First of my race to bear such impertinence.

Count
What in your weakness can you do, indeed?

Diegue
Oh God! My frail strength flees me in my need!

Count
Your sword is mine, and you no longer worthy
That my hand should bear this shameful trophy.
Adieu. Let the prince read, courting envy,
For his instruction, all your life history;
For your insolent speech this chastisement
Shall serve him for no small amusement.


Act I Scene IV (Don Diegue)

Diegue
O anger! O despair! O age my enemy!
Have I lived simply to know this infamy!
Am I thus whitened by the toil of battles
To witness in a day but withered laurels?
My arm that with respect all Spain admire,
My arm, that often saved that very empire,
So often affirmed the royalty of my king,
Now to betray my quarrel, leave me wanting?
O cruel memory to my past glory!
The work of many days so transitory!
New dignity now fatal in an hour!
Steep abyss where falls all my honour!
Must I see the Count debase my name,
Die without vengeance now, or live in shame?
Count, be the tutor to my prince this day;
Such rank is void when honour is away.
Your jealous pride, this insult signifies,
Despite the King's choice, that choice belies.
And you, of my victories, glorious instrument,
But a wintry body's useless ornament,
Blade, once feared, yet, facing this offence
Serving for decoration, not defence,
Go: leave now the very least of men,
Pass into better hands, take my revenge.


Act I Scene V (Don Diegue, Don Rodrigue)

Diegue
Rodrigue, are you brave?

Rodrigue
Any but my father
Might test it at this moment.

Diegue
Righteous anger!
Noble pride to all my grief is sweet!
I recognise my blood in you complete.
My youth lives again in your fine ardour.