Don Carlos. Фридрих Шиллер

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       So do I.

       Like hell's grim furies, dreams of dreadful shape

       Pursue me still. My better genius strives

       With the fell projects of a dark despair.

       My wildered subtle spirit crawls through maze

       On maze of sophistries, until at length

       It gains a yawning precipice's brink.

       O Roderigo! should I e'er in him

       Forget the father—ah! thy deathlike look

       Tells me I'm understood—should I forget

       The father—what were then the king to me?

       MARQUIS (after a pause).

       One thing, my Carlos, let me beg of you!

       Whate'er may be your plans, do nothing—nothing—

       Without your friend's advice. You promise this?

       CARLOS.

       All, all I promise that thy love can ask!

       I throw myself entirely upon thee!

       MARQUIS.

       The king, I hear, is going to Madrid.

       The time is short. If with the queen you would

       Converse in private, it is only here,

       Here in Aranjuez, it can be done.

       The quiet of the place, the freer manners,

       All favor you.

       CARLOS.

       And such, too, was my hope;

       But it, alas! was vain.

       MARQUIS.

       Not wholly so.

       I go to wait upon her. If she be

       The same in Spain she was in Henry's court,

       She will be frank at least. And if I can

       Read any hope for Carlos in her looks—

       Find her inclined to grant an interview—

       Get her attendant ladies sent away——

       CARLOS.

       Most of them are my friends—especially

       The Countess Mondecar, whom I have gained

       By service to her son, my page.

       MARQUIS.

       'Tis well;

       Be you at hand, and ready to appear,

       Whene'er I give the signal, prince.

       CARLOS.

       I will—

       Be sure I will:—and all good speed attend thee!

       MARQUIS.

       I will not lose a moment; so, farewell.

       [Exeunt severally.