_Mel._ And as you bid, your sisters do agree. [_Exeunt._
_Cari._ My noble son, since first I did recount The noble acts your predecessors did In Arragon against their warlike foes, I never yet could see thee joy at all, But hanging down thy head as malcontent, Thy youthful days in mourning have been spent. Tell me, Alphonsus, what might be the cause That makes thee thus to pine away with care? Hath old Carinus done thee any offence In reckoning up these stories unto thee? What ne'er a word but mum? Alphonsus, speak, Unless your father's fatal day you seek.
_Alphon._ Although, dear father, I have often vow'd Ne'er to unfold the secrets of my heart To any man or woman, whosome'er Dwells underneath the circle of the sky; Yet do your words so cónjure me, dear sire, That needs I must fulfil that you require. Then so it is. Amongst the famous tales Which you rehears'd done by our sires in war, Whenas you came unto your father's days, With sobbing notes, with sighs and blubbering tears, And much ado, at length you thus began: "Next to Alphonsus should my father come For to possess the diadem by right Of Arragon, but that the wicked wretch His younger brother, with aspiring mind, By secret treason robb'd him of his life, And me his son of that which was my due." These words, my sire, did so torment my mind, As had I been with Ixion[32] in hell, The ravening bird could never plague me worse; For ever since my mind hath troubled been Which way I might revenge this traitorous fact, And that recover which is ours by right.
_Cari._ Ah, my Alphonsus, never think on that! In vain it is to strive against the stream: The crown is lost, and now in hucksters' hands, And all our hope is cast into the dust. Bridle these thoughts, and learn the same of me,-- A quiet life doth pass an empery.
_Alphon._ Yet, noble father, ere Carinus' brood Shall brook his foe for to usurp his seat, He'll die the death with honour in the field, And so his life and sorrows briefly end. But did I know my froward fate were such As I should fail in this my just attempt, This sword, dear father, should the author be To make an end of this my tragedy. Therefore, sweet sire, remain you here a while, And let me walk my Fortune for to try. I do not doubt but, ere the time be long, I'll quite his cost, or else myself will die.