Don Carlos. Friedrich von Schiller

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         How great thou art, my angel! Yes, I'll do

         All, all thou canst desire. So let it be.

         Here in the sight of heaven I stand and swear —

         I swear to thee, eternal – no, great Heaven! —

         Eternal silence only, – not oblivion!

         How can I ask from you what I myself

         Am not disposed to grant?

                       The king!

                            Oh God!

         Away, away! fly from these precincts, prince!

         His jealousy is dreadful – should he see you —

         I'll stay.

               And who will be the victim then?

         Away, away! Come, Roderigo, come!

                    [Goes and returns.

         What may I hope to carry hence with me?

         Your mother's friendship.

                       Friendship! Mother!

                                  And

         These tears with it – they're from the Netherlands.

         How, madam, alone; not even one of all

         Your ladies in attendance? Strange! Where are they?

         My gracious lord!

                   Why thus alone, I say?

         I'll take a strict account of this neglect.

         'Tis not to be forgiven. Who has the charge

         Of waiting on your majesty to-day?

         Oh, be not angry! Good, my lord, 'tis I

         Myself that am to blame – at my request

         The Princess Eboli went hence but now.

         At your request!

                  To call the nurse to me,

         With the Infanta, whom I longed to see.

         And was your retinue dismissed for that?

         This only clears the lady first in waiting.

         Where was the second?

                     Your majesty, I feel

         I am to blame for this.

                      You are, and so

         I give you ten years to reflect upon it,

         At a most tranquil distance from Madrid.

            The bystanders all look in confusion towards the QUEEN.

         What weep you for, dear marchioness?

                            If I

         Have erred, my gracious liege, the crown I wear,

         And which I never sought, should save my blushes

         Is there a law in this your kingdom, sire,

         To summon monarch's daughters to the bar?

         Does force alone restrain your Spanish ladies?

         Or need they stronger safeguard than their virtue?

         Now pardon me, my liege; 'tis not my wont

         To send my ladies, who have served me still

         With smiling cheerfulness, away in tears.

                  You have displeased the king,

         Not me. Take this remembrance of my favor,

         And of this hour. I'd have you quit the kingdom.

         You have only erred in Spain. In my dear France,

         All men are glad to wipe such tears away.

         And must I ever be reminded thus?

         In my dear France it had been otherwise.

         Can a reproach, that in my love had birth,

         Afflict you so? A word so trouble you,

         Which the most anxious tenderness did prompt?

         Here stand the assembled vassals of my throne.

         Did ever sleep descend upon these eyes,

         Till at the close of the returning day

         I've pondered, how the hearts of all my subjects

         Were beating 'neath the furthest cope of heaven?

         And should I feel more anxious for my throne

         Than for the partner of my bosom? No!

         My sword and Alva can protect my people,

         My eye alone assures thy love.

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