_Enter KING._
_King._ Don Mendo comes not back, and must not come,
Till he have done his errand. I myself
Can have no rest till justice have her due.
A son to strike his father in my realm
Unawed, and then unpunisht!
But by great Heaven the law shall be avenged
So long as I shall reign in Arragon.
Don Mendo!
_Enter MENDO._
_Mendo._ Let me kiss your Highness’ hand.
_King._ Welcome, thou other Atlas of my realm,
Who sharest the weight with me. For I doubt not,
Coming thus readily into my presence,
You bring Don Lope with you.
_Men._ Yes, my liege;
Fast prisoner in my house, that none may see
Or talk with him.
_King._ Among your services
You have not done a better.
The crime is strange, ’tis fit the sentence on it
Be memorably just.
_Men._ Most true, my liege,
Who I am sure will not be warp’d away
By the side current of a first report,
But on the whole broad stream of evidence
Move to conclusion. I do _know_ this charge
Is not so grave as was at first reported.
_King._ But is not thus much clear—that a son smote
His father?
_Men._ Yes, my liege.
_King._ And can a charge
Be weightier?
_Men._ I confess the naked fact,
But ’tis the special cause and circumstance
That give the special colour to the crime.
_King._ I shall be glad to have my kingdom freed
From the dishonour of so foul a deed
By any extenuation.
_Men._ Then I think
Your Majesty shall find it here. ’Tis thus:
Don Lope, on what ground I do not know,
Fights with Don Guillen—in the midst o’ the fray,
Comes old Urrea, at the very point
When Guillen was about to give the lie
To his opponent—which the old man, enraged
At such unseemly riot in his house,
Gives for him; calls his son a fouler name
Than gentleman can bear, and in the scuffle
Receives a blow that in his son’s blind rage
Was aim’d abroad—in the first heat of passion
Throws himself at your feet, and calls for vengeance,
Which, as I hear, he now repents him of.
He’s old and testy—age’s common fault—
And, were not this enough to lame swift justice,
There’s an old law in Arragon, my liege,
That in our courts father and son shall not
Be heard in evidence against each other;
In which provision I would fain persuade you
Bury this quarrel.
_King._ And this seems just to you?
_Men._ It does, my liege.
_King._ Then not to me, Don Mendo,
Who will examine, sentence, and record,
Whether in such a scandal to the realm
The son be guilty of impiety,
Or the sire idle to accuse him of ’t.
Therefore I charge you have Urrea too
From home to-night, and guarded close alone;
It much imports the business.
_Men._ I will, my liege.
[_Exeunt severally._