PHILIP. -- THE SAME.
PHILIP [aside]. If to find my death I come,
Why precipitate my doom?
But so patient who could be
As to not desire to see
What impends, how dark its gloom?
LUIS. Then, what pledge may I demand
Of your faith?
POLONIA. This hand.
PHILIP. Not so,
How to hinder it I shall know;
More of this I must withstand.
POLONIA. Woe is me!
PHILIP. Wilt give thy hand
to this outcast of the wave?
And, oh thou, to whom pride gave
The presumption to aspire
To a sun's celestial fire,
Knowing that thou wert my slave,
Why thus dare to come between
Me and mine?
LUIS. Because I dare
Be what now I am, nor care
More to be what I have been.
It is true that I was seen
Once your slave: for who, indeed,
Can the fickle wheel control?
But in nobleness of soul
The best blood of all your breed
I can equal, nay, exceed.
PHILIP. Exceed ME? Vile homicide!
Wretch . . . .
LUIS. In having thus replied
You have made a slight mistake.
PHILIP. No.
LUIS. If such you did not make,
You've done worse.
PHILIP. Say, what?
LUIS. You've lied!
PHILIP. Villain! traitor
[Strikes him in the face.
POLONIA. Oh, ye skies!
LUIS. For so many injuries
Why not instant vengeance take,
When volcanic fires awake
In my breast, and hell-flames rise?
[They draw their swords.
* * * * *