and
wherefore
spake you not before?
Tennyson
Impossible;
Except you put Spain down.
Wide of the mark ev'n for a madman's dream.
ELIZABETH. Perhaps; but we have seamen.
Count de Feria,
I take it that the King hath spoken to you;
But is Don Carlos such a goodly match?
FERIA. Don Carlos, Madam, is but twelve years old.
ELIZABETH. Ay, tell the King that I will muse upon it;
He is my good friend, and I would keep him so;
But--he would have me Catholic of Rome,
And that I scarce can be; and, sir, till now
My sister's marriage, and my father's marriages,
Make me full fain to live and die a maid.
But I am much beholden to your King.
Have you aught else to tell me?
FERIA. Nothing, Madam,
Save that methought I gather'd from the Queen
That she would see your Grace before she--died.
ELIZABETH. God's death!
and wherefore spake you not before?
We dally with our lazy moments here,
And hers are number'd. Horses there, without!
I am much beholden to the King, your master.
Why did you keep me prating? Horses, there!
[_Exit_ ELIZABETH, _etc_.
FERIA. So from a clear sky falls the thunderbolt!
Don Carlos? Madam, if you marry Philip,
Then I and he will snaffle your 'God's death,'
And break your paces in, and make you tame;
God's death, forsooth--you do not know King Philip.
[_Exit_.
SCENE IV. --LONDON. BEFORE THE PALACE.
_A light burning within_.
Except you put Spain down.
Wide of the mark ev'n for a madman's dream.
ELIZABETH. Perhaps; but we have seamen.
Count de Feria,
I take it that the King hath spoken to you;
But is Don Carlos such a goodly match?
FERIA. Don Carlos, Madam, is but twelve years old.
ELIZABETH. Ay, tell the King that I will muse upon it;
He is my good friend, and I would keep him so;
But--he would have me Catholic of Rome,
And that I scarce can be; and, sir, till now
My sister's marriage, and my father's marriages,
Make me full fain to live and die a maid.
But I am much beholden to your King.
Have you aught else to tell me?
FERIA. Nothing, Madam,
Save that methought I gather'd from the Queen
That she would see your Grace before she--died.
ELIZABETH. God's death!
and wherefore spake you not before?
We dally with our lazy moments here,
And hers are number'd. Horses there, without!
I am much beholden to the King, your master.
Why did you keep me prating? Horses, there!
[_Exit_ ELIZABETH, _etc_.
FERIA. So from a clear sky falls the thunderbolt!
Don Carlos? Madam, if you marry Philip,
Then I and he will snaffle your 'God's death,'
And break your paces in, and make you tame;
God's death, forsooth--you do not know King Philip.
[_Exit_.
SCENE IV. --LONDON. BEFORE THE PALACE.
_A light burning within_.
