No More Learning

He knows he's wrong, but his proud spirit
Won't let him confess his error, as yet.

King
Sanche, be silent now, and be advised
To take his part's a crime to my eyes.

Sanche
I obey and am silent: yet Sire, mercy,
One word in his defence.

King
What may that be?

Sanche
That a spirit accustomed to great action
Cannot bow readily in submission:
It cannot see what justifies such shame:
The word alone the Count resists, I say.
He found this duty too harsh, in truth,
If he had less heart, he'd bow to you.
Command his arm, strengthened in battle
To repair the injury and fight his duel;
He will give satisfaction; come what may,
He expects to hear, this answers him I say.

King
You lack respect; I'll allow for your age,
Excuse the ardour of your youthful courage.
A king, whose prudence has finer objects,
Takes care to save the blood of his subjects.
I guard my people, my thought preserves them,
As the head cares for the limbs its servants.
Thus your logic is not mine: however
I speak as a king, you as a soldier;
Whatever you say, whatever he believes,
No honour is lost in obeying me.
Then this insult touches me, the honour
Of one whom I have made my son's tutor;
To contest my choice, is to challenge me,
Make an assault upon the power supreme.
No more. Besides, we observe ten vessels
Of our old enemies, flaunting their banners;
They have dared to approach the river-course.

Arias
The Moors have learnt to know you by force.
Conquered so often now they will no more
Chance themselves against the conqueror.

King
Ever with envy they view the power
Of my sceptre over Andalusia.
This noble country, they long possessed,
With jealousy in their eyes they address.
That is why, according to my will,
Castile was ruled these ten years from Seville,
To be nearer them, and be the swifter
To oppose whatever threat they offer.

Arias
To the great cost of their leaders, and their fleet,
They know your presence assures their defeat.
There's naught to fear.

King
Neglect nothing, either.
Overconfidence attracts new danger.
You know yourself how easy it would be
For the flood tide to carry them to me.
Yet I'd be wrong, since all is uncertain,
In spreading fear in the hearts of men.
The panic that a vain alarm would bring,
In the darkness, would be a cruel thing:
Double the watch on the walls instead,
Guard the port, tonight.


Act II Scene VII (King Ferdinand, Don Sanche, Don Alonso)

Alonso
Sire, the Count is dead.
Don Diegue, through his son, takes his revenge.

King
On news of the insult, I foresaw its end;
Thus I wished to prevent this calamity.

Alonso
Chimene arrives, plunged in her misery;
Tearful she comes here, to plead for justice.

King
Though my heart sympathises with her grief,
The Count's deed merited this penalty,
One he had earned by his temerity.