I deemed it not imperative upon me

To give my reasons for the step.

KING.

So poor

Are then, those reasons? Dare you not disclose the m?

MARQUIS.

Were the time given me, Sire, to speak them all,
My life, and cheerfully-I'd venture for them;
But I endanger truth, if you deny me

This favor. "Twixt your anger and contempt
The choice is left me. If I must decide,
I'd choose to seem delinquent in your eyes,
Much rather than a fool.

KING. (with a look of expectation.)
Well?

MARQUIS.

Sire, I cannot

Be servant to a Prince.

(The King looks at him surprised.)

I'll not deceive

My merchant, Sire. If you should deign to employ me, You only wish my actions weighed before you;

You wish my arm and courage in the field,

My thought in council. Not my acts themselves,
The approbation they may find at court,

Must be the aim and object of my actions.

For me has virtue its own worth. That good

The monarch with my hand might plant-I would
Myself produce; and joy arising thence,

And choice-should stand with me in place of duty.
Is such your wish? Could you, in your creation
Suffer a new creator? Or should I
Contentedly descend to be the chisel,
Where I could be the statuary? I love
Mankind; and in a monarchy can love
None but myself.

KING.

This zeal is praiseworthy,

You might do good; and how the good is wrought,
Patriots and wise men deem of little moment;

Seek out yourself the office in my kingdoms,

May give you right and power to satisfy
This noble impulse.

What your majesty would spread abroad

Through me is it the happiness of men?
That happiness which my impartial love
Would give to men? Before that happiness
Faint majesty would tremble! No! Court Policy
Has framed another kind of happiness,

Which she is rich enough to give away;
Has waked new impulses in human hearts,
Meant for this novel good to satisfy.

Truth in her mints she causes to be coined,
Such truth as she can suffer-but contemns
And throws away each die except her own,
Is what can bring advantage to the crown
Enough for me? Must my love for my brother
Borrow from the abridgment of my brother?
Know I him happy when he dares not think?
Choose me not, sire, to spread abroad the good
That you have stamped for us; I must decline
The duty of dispensing coin like this.

I cannot be the servant of a Prince.

KING (Somewhat quickly.)

You are a Protestant!

MARQUIS (after some reflection.)

Your belief, my King,

Is also mine, (after a pause.)

I am misunderstood.

"Tis what I feared. You see me draw the veil
From the high mysteries of majesty ;

What should assure you I regard as holy
That which no more hath power to terrify me?
Dangerous I seem, for thoughts above my state.

I am not so, my King-my wishes all

Lie buried here; (laying his hand on his breast.)
The rage of innovation

That but more grievous makes the weight o' the chains

It cannot break-shall never heat my blood;

The century is not ripe for my ideal

I live a citizen of future times.

Can a mere picture, Sire, dirturb
Your breath effaces it!

your rest?

(Rises, walks a step or two, and stops opposite the Marquis.)

(Aside.) Novel, at least, this tone. The arts of flattery Exhaust themselves; and imitation lowers

A man of wit. For once, let's try the opposite !
Why not? The singular brings fortune oft.

-If thus you view the matter, why 'tis well-
The Crown shall thus obtain, too, a new servant—
A liberal-

MARQUIS.

I see, your Majesty,

How meanly you esteem the worth of men;
That in the earnest speech of a free heart
You see but a new artifice of flattery.

I can see, too, what is it leads to this;

Men force you to this judgment; they have cast
By choice their own nobility away,

Have bowed themselves to this degraded state;
Frighted they fly, as from some frowning spectre,
Before the innate greatness of their nature.
Pleased with their poverty, adorn their chains
With base dexterity-and call it virtue

To wear them gracefully. So did the world
Present itself to you; 'twas thus bequeathed you
From your great father; how, in this sad image
Of mutilation could you honor man?

KING.

Some truth is in his words.

MARQUIS.

Yet it is pity

That-taking man from the Creator's hand,
And changing to a creature of your own,—
Making yourself the god of this new being-
One thing you've overlooked-that you yourself
Remain a man-in all respects a man!
You suffer and desire-a mortal still;

You stand in need of sympathy—to a god
We can but offer sacrifice, and pray-

And tremble!

Oh most sorrowful exchange!

Woful perversion! When you've sunk mankind
To be your harpstrings-who will share with you
The harmony struck from them?

KING.

(By the heavens

He touches me!)

MARQUIS.

But nought this sacrifice to you! through this

You stand alone, a species in yourself;

This is the price you for your god-head pay;
How terrible if that could not be purchased!
If for this price, the trampled good of millions,
You should gain-nothing! if the very Freedom
You have annihilated were alone

That which could bring your wish to consummation!
Pray you-dismiss me, Sire, I am rapt too far;
My heart is full; too mighty is the charm

Of standing near the One of all on earth

To whom I might unfold my thoughts.

(The Count de Lerma enters, and speaks a few words in the King's ear. Philip gives him a sign to withdraw, and remains sitting in his former posture.)

KING, (to Marquis, after the exit of Lerma.)

My journey lay through Flanders and Brabant,
So many rich and blooming provinces !
A great, a vigorous people! an honest people!
And Father of this people! that, I thought,
That must be godlike! Then I stumbled on
A mouldering heap of human bones.

(Here he stops and fixes his eyes on the King, who endeavors to return his look, but

drops his eyes embarrassed on the ground.)

You're right;

You must, that you can, what you know you must do,

Doth fill me with a shuddering admiration,

O pity that, thus weltering in his blood,
The victim, but so faint a song of praise
Can utter to the spirit of the slayer!
That men, not beings of a higher essence,
Write the world's history! more gentle times
Will soon displace the age of Philip-these
Will bring a milder wisdom-then the good
VOL. V. NO. XVIII.-JUNE. 1839.

M M

Of the citizen will with the prince's greatness
Walk hand in hand; the state her children prize,
And even stern necessity be human.

KING.

When, think you, would those centuries of blessing
Dawn on the earth, had I before the curse

Of this age trembled? Look upon my Spain!
Here blooms the subject's good in cloudless peace;
Such peace I give to Flanders.

MARQUIS, (quickly.)

Church-yard peace!

And you can hope to end what you've begun!"
Hope to retard the change of Christendom
Already ripe the universal spring

That shall bring back the world to pristine youth!
You will, alone throughout all Europe, throw
Yourself against the wheel of a world's fate,

That unimpeded in full course doth roll!

With mortal arm will grasp its spokes! You may not!
Already thousands from your kingdoms fly,

Though poor, rejoicing; in the burgher, whom

You lost for conscience' sake,-you lost your noblest!
With open, mother's arms Elizabeth

Welcomes the fugitives,―and England blooms
Through our land's skill,-in formidable strength.
Desolate lies Grenada; of her tide

Of Protestants forsaken, and exulting

Europe beholds its enemy bleed with wounds

All self-inflicted.

The King seems moved; the Marquis perceives it, and approaches a few steps nearer.)

For Eternity

You plant-and Death your seed! a work thus forced,

Cannot survive the breath of its Creator,

You will have wrought in vain; in vain sustained

The hard strife against nature; and in vain

To plans of desolation sacrificed

A royal life-time. Man is greater far

Than you have held him, he will break the fetters
Of his long sleep-reclaim his holy rights;

Your name with Nero and Busiris rank;

And that doth grieve me-for you once were good.

KING.

Who made you sure of that?

MARQUIS.

You were-I do repeat it!

Yes-yes-by heaven!
Give us back

What

you took from us! Generous as you're strong Let happiness stream from your horn of plenty,