SCENE 4.
The KING; the INFANTA.
I:4:1 KING.I see my daughter?I:4:2 SOL.Sir, your duteous child.I:4:3 KING.Art thou indeed my child? I had some doubtI was a father.I:4:4 SOL.These are bitter words.I:4:5 KING.Even as thy conduct.I:4:6 SOL.Then it would appearMy conduct and my life are but the same.I:4:7 KING.I thought thou wert the Infanta of Castille,Heir to our realm, the paragon of SpainThe Princess for whose smiles crowned ChristendomSends forth its sceptred rivals. Is that bitter?Or bitter is it with such privilege,And standing on life’s vantage ground, to crossA nation’s hope, that on thy nice careerHas gaged its heart?I:4:8 SOL.Have I no heart to gage?A sacrificial virgin, must I bindMy life to the altar, to redeem a state,Or heal some doomed People?I:4:9 KING.Is it so?Is this an office alien to thy sex?Or what thy youth repudiates? We but askWhat nature sanctions.I:4:10 SOL.Nature sanctions Love;Your charter is more liberal. Let that pass.I am no stranger to my duty, sir,And read it thus. The blood that shares my sceptreShould be august as mine. A woman losesIn love what she may gain in rank, who topsHer husband’s place; though throned, I would exchangeAn equal glance. His name should be a spell· To rally soldiers. Politic he should be;And skilled in climes and tongues; that stranger knightsShould bruit on, high Castillian courtesies.Such chief might please a state?I:4:11 KING.Fortunate realm!I:4:12 SOL.And shall I own less niceness than my realm?No! I would have him handsome a god;Hyperion in his splendor, or the mienOf conquering Bacchus, one whose very stepShould guide a limner, and whose common wordsAre caught by Troubadours to frame their songs!And O, my father, what if this bright princeShould I have a heart as tender as his soulWas high and peerless? If with this same heartHe loved thy daughter?I:4:13 KING.Close the airy pageOf thy romance; such princes are not foundExcept in lays and legends! yet a manWho would become a throne, I found thee, girl;The princely Hungary.I:4:14 SOL.A more princely fate,Than an unwilling wife, he did deserve.I:4:15 KING.Yet wherefore didst thou pledge thy troth to him?I:4:16 SOL.And wherefore do I smile when I should sigh?And wherefore do I feed when I would fast?And wherefore do I dance when I should pray?And wherefore do I live when I should die?Canst answer that, good Sir? O there are womenThe world deem mad, or worse, whose life but seemsOne vile caprice, a freakish thing of whimsAnd restless nothingness; yet if we pierceThe soul, may be we’ll touch some cause profoundFor what seems causeless. Early love despised,Or baffled, which is worse; a faith betrayed,For vanity or lucre; chill regards,Where to gain constant glances we have paidSome fearful forfeit: here are many springs,Unmarked by shallow eyes, and some, or allOf these, or none, may prompt my conduct now—But I’ll not have thy prince.I:4:17 KING.My, gentle child—I:4:18 SOL.I am not gentle. I might have been once;But gentle thoughts and I have parted long;The cause of such partition thou shouldst knowIf memories were just.I:4:19 KING.Harp not, I pray,On an old sorrow.I:4:20 SOL.Old! he calls it old!The wound is green, and staunch it, or I die.I:4:21 KING.Have I the skill?I:4:22 SOL.Why! art thou not a King?Wherein consists the magic of a crownBut in the bold achievement of a deedWould scare a clown to dream?I:4:23 KING.I’d read thy thought.I:4:24 SOL.Then have it; I would marry.I:4:25 KING.It is well;It is my wish.I:4:26 SOL.And unto such a princeAs I’ve described withal. For though a princeOf Fancy’s realm alone, as thou dost deem,Yet doth he live indeed.I:4:27 KING.To me unknown.I:4:28 SOL.O! father mine, before thy reverend kneesEre this we twain have knelt.I:4:29 KING.Forbear, my child;Or can it be my daughter doth not knowHe is no longer free?I:4:30 SOL.The power that bound him,That bondage might dissolve? To holy churchThou hast given great alms?I:4:31 KING.There’s more to gain thy wish,If more would gain it; but it cannot be,Even were he content.I:4:32 SOL.He is content.I:4:33 KING.Hah!I:4:34 SOL.For he loves me still.I:4:35 KING.I would do muchTo please thee. I’m prepared to bear the bruntOf Hungary’s ire; but do not urge, Solisa,Beyond capacity of sufferanceMy temper’s proof.I:4:36 SOL.Alarcos is my husband,Or shall the sceptre from our line depart.Listen, ye saints of Spain, I’ll have his hand,Or by our faith, my fated womb shall beAs barren as thy love, proud King.I:4:37 KING.Thou’rt mad!Thou’rt mad!I:4:38 SOL.Is he not mine? Thy very hand,Did it not consecrate our vows? What claimSo sacred as my own?I:4:39 KING.He did conspire—I:4:40 SOL.‘Tis false, thou know’st ‘tis false: against themselvesMen do not plot: I would as soon believeMy hand could hatch a treason ‘gainst my sight,As that Alarcos would conspire to seizeA diadem I would myself have placedUpon his brow.I:4:41 KING.[taking her hand]Nay, calmness. Say ‘tis trueHe was not guilty, say perchance he was not—I:4:42 SOL.Perchance, O! vile perchance. Thou know’st full well,Because he did reject her loose desiresAnd wanton overtures—I:4:43 KING.Hush, hush, O hush!I:4:44 SOL.The woman called my mother—I:4:45 KING.Spare me, spare—I:4:46 SOL.Who spared me?Did not I kneel, and vouch his faith, and batheThy hand with my quick tears, and clutch thy robeWith frantic grasp? Spare, spare indeed? In faithThou hast taught me to be merciful, thou hast,—Thou and my mother!I:4:47 KING.Ah! no more, no more!A crowned King cannot recall the past,And yet may glad the future. She thou namest,She was at least thy mother; but to me,Whate’er her deeds, for truly, there were timesSome spirit did possess her, such as gleamsNow in her daughter’s eye, she was a passion,A witching form that did inflame my lifeBy a breath or glance. Thou art our child; the linkThat binds me to my race; thou host her placeWithin my shrined heart, where thou’rt the priestAnd others are unhallowed; for, indeed,Passion and time have so dried up my soul,And drained its generous juices, that I ownNo sympathy with man, and all his hopesTo me are mockeries.I:4:48 SOL.Ah! I see, my father,That thou will’st aid me!I:4:49 KING.Thou canst aid thyself.Is there a law to let him from thy presence?His voice may reach thine ear; thy gracious glanceMay meet his graceful offices. Go to.Shall Hungary frown, if his right royal spouseSmile on the equal of her blood and state,Her gentle cousin?I:4:50 SOL.And is this thine aid!I:4:51 KING.What word has roughed the brow, but now confidingIn a fond father’s love?I:4:52 SOL.Alas! what word?What have I said? what done? that thou should’st deemI could do this, this, this, that is so foul,My baffled tongue deserts me. Thou should’st know me,Thou hast set spies on me. What! have they told theeI am a wanton? I do love this manAs fits a virgin’s heart. Heaven sent such thoughtsTo be our solace. But to act a toyFor his loose hours, or worse, to find him oneProcured for mine, grateful for opportunitiesContrived with decency, spared skillfullyFrom claims more urgent; not to dare to showBefore the world my homage; when he’s illTo be away, and only share his gayAnd lusty pillow; to be shut out from allThat multitude of cares and charms that waitsBut on companionship; and then to feelThese joys another shares, another handThese delicate rites performing, and thou’rt remembered,In the serener heaven of his bliss,But as the transient flash: this is not love;This is pollution.I:4:53 KING.Daughter, I were pleasedMy cousin could a nearer claim preferTo my regard. Ay, girl, ‘twould please me wellHe were my son, thy husband; but what then?My pleasure and his conduct jar; his fateBaulks our desire. He’s married and has heirs.I:4:54 SOL.Heirs, didst thou say heirs?I:4:55 KING.What ails thee?I:4:56 SOL.Heirs, heirs?I:4:57 KING.Thou art very pale!I:4:58 SOL.The faintness of the mornClings to me still; I pray thee, father, grantThy child one easy boon.I:4:59 KING.She has to speakBut what she wills.I:4:60 SOL.Why, then, she would renounceHer heritage; yes, place our ancient crownOn brows it may become. A veil more suitsThis feminine brain; in Huelgas’ cloistered shadesI’ll find oblivion.I:4:61 KING.Woe is me! The doomFalls on our house. I had this daughter leftTo lavish all my wealth on and my might.I’ve treasured for her; for her I have slainMy thousands, conquered provinces, betrayed,Renewed, and broken faith. She was my joy;She has her mother’s eyes, and when she speaksHer voice is like Brunhalda’s. Cursed hour,That a wild fancy touched her brain to crossAll my great hopes!I:4:62 SOL.My father, my dear father,Thou call’dst me fondly, but some moments past,Thy gentle child. I call my saint to witnessI would be such. To say I love this manIs shallow phrasing. Since man’s image firstFlung its wild shadow on my virgin soul,It has borne no other reflex. I know wellThou deemest he was forgotten; this day’s passionPassed as unused confrontment, and so transientAs it was turbulent. No, no, full oft,When thinking on him, I have been the same.Fruitless or barren, this same form is his,Or it is God’s. My father, my dear father,Remember he was mine, and thou didst pourThy blessing on our heads! O God, O God!When I recall the passages of loveThat have ensued between me and this man,And with thy sanction, and then just bethinkHe is another’s, O it makes me mad.Talk not to me of sceptres: can she ruleWhose mind is anarchy? King of Castille,Give me the heart that thou didst rob me of!The penal hour’s at hand. Thou didst destroyMy love, and I will end thy line—thy lineThat is thy life.I:4:63 KING.Solisa, I will do allA father can,—a father and a King.I:4:64 SOL.Give me Alarcos!I:4:65 KING.Hush, disturb me not;I’m in the throes of some imaginingsA human voice might scare.
END OF THE FIRST ACT.
SCENE 1
A Street in Burgos.[Enter the COUNT OF SIDONIA and the COUNT OF LEON.]
II:1:1 SIDO.Is she not fair?II:1:2 LEON.What then? She but fulfilsHer office as a woman. For to beA woman and not fair, is, in my creed,To be a thing unsexed.II:1:3 SIDO.Happy Alarcos!They say she was of Aquitaine, a daughterOf the De Foix. I would I had been banished.II:1:4 LEON.Go and plot then. They cannot take your head,For that is gone.II:1:5 SIDO.But banishment from BurgosWere worse than fifty deaths. O, my good Leon,Didst ever see, didst ever dream could be,Such dazzling beauty?II:1:6 LEON.Dream! I never dream;Save when I’ve revelled over late, and thenMy visions are most villanous; but you,You dream when you’re awake.II:1:7 SIDO.Wert ever, Leon,In pleasant Aquitaine?II:1:8 LEON.O talk of Burgos;It is my only subject—matchless town,Where all I ask are patriarchal yearsTo feel satiety like my sad friend.II:1:9 SIDO.‘Tis not satiety now makes me sad;So check thy mocking tongue, or cure my cares.II:1:10 LEON.Absence cures love. Be off to Aquitaine.II:1:11 SIDO.I chose a jester for my friend, and feelHis value now.II:1:12 LEON.You share the lover’s lotWhen you desire and you despair. What then?You know right well that woman is but one,Though she take many forms, and can confoundThe young with subtle aspects. VanityIs her sole being. Make the myriad vowsThat passionate fancy prompts. At the next tourneyMaintain her colours ‘gainst the two CastillesAnd Aragon to boot. You’ll have her!II:1:13 SIDO.Why!This was the way I woo’d the haughty Lara,But I’ll not hold such passages approachThe gentle lady of this morn.II:1:14 LEON.Well, then,Try silence, only sighs and hasty glancesWithdrawn as soon as met. Could’st thou but blush:But there’s no hope. In time our sighs becomeA sort of plaintive hint what hopeless roguesOur stars have made us. Would we had but metEarlier, yet still we hope she’ll spare a tearTo one she met too late. Trust me she’ll spare it;She’ll save this sinner who reveres a saint.Pity or admiration gains them all.You’ll have her!II:1:15 SIDO.Well, whate’er the course pursued,Be thou a prophet![Enter ORAN.]II:1:16 ORAN.Stand, Senors, in God’s name.II:1:17 LEON.Or the devil’s.Well, what do you want?II:1:18 ORAN.Many things, but oneMost principal.II:1:19 SIDO.And that’s—II:1:20 ORAN.A friend.II:1:21 LEON.You’re rightTo seek one in the street, he’ll prove as trueAs any that you’re fostered with.II:1:22 ORAN.In brief,I’m as you see a Moor; and I have slainOne of our princes. Peace exists betweenOur kingdom and Castille; they track my steps.You’re young, you should be brave, generous you may be.I shall be impaled. Save me!II:1:23 LEON.Frankly spoken.Will you turn Christian?II:1:24 ORAN.Show me Christian acts,And they may prompt to Christian thoughts.II:1:25 SIDO.AlthoughThe slain’s an infidel, thou art the same.The cause of this rash deed?II:1:26 ORAN.I am a soldier,And my sword’s notched, sirs. This said Emir struck me.Before the people too, in the great squareOf our chief place, Granada, and forsooth,Because I would not yield the way at mosque.His life has soothed my honour: if I die,I die content; but with your gracious aidI would live happy.II:1:27 LEON.You love life?II:1:28 ORAN.Most dearly.II:1:29 LEON.Sensible Moor, although he be impaledFor mobbing in a mosque. I like this fellow;His bearing suits my humour. He shall liveTo do more murders. Come, bold infidel,Follow to the Leon Palace; and, sir, pritheeDon’t stab us in the back.[Exeunt omnes.]
SCENE 2
Chamber in the Palace of COUNT ALARCOS.At the back of the Scene the Curtains of a large Jalousie withdrawn.[Enter COUNT ALARCOS.]
II:2:1 ALAR.‘Tis circumstance makes conduct; life’s a ship,The sport of every wind. And yet men tackAgainst the adverse blast. How shall I steer,Who am the pilot of Necessity?But whether it be fair or foul, I know not;Sunny or terrible. Why let her wed him?What care I if the pageant’s weight may fallOn Hungary’s ermined shoulders, if the springOf all her life be mine? The tiar’d browAlone makes not a King. Would that my wifeConfessed a worldlier mood! Her recluse fancyHaunts still our castled bowers. Then civic airInflame her thoughts! Teach her to vie and revel,Find sport in peerless robes, the pomp of feastsAnd ambling of a genet—[A serenade is heard.]Hah! that voiceShould not be strange. A tribute to her charms.‘Tis music sweeter to a spouse’s earThan gallants dream of. Ay, she’ll find adorers.Or Burgos is right changed.[Enter the COUNTESS.]Listen, child.[Again the serenade is heard.]II:2:2 COUN.‘Tis very sweet.II:2:3 ALAR.It is inspired by thee.II:2:4 COUN.Alarcos!II:2:5 ALAR.Why dost look so grave? Nay, now,There’s not a dame in Burgos would not giveHer jewels for such songs.II:2:6 COUN.Inspired by me!II:2:7 ALAR.And who so fit to fire a lover’s breast?He’s clearly captive.II:2:8 COUN.O! thou knowest I love notSuch jests, Alarcos.II:2:9 ALAR.Jest! I do not jest.I am right proud the partner of my stateShould count the chief of our Castillian knightsAmong her train.II:2:10 COUN.I pray thee let me closeThese blinds.II:2:11 ALAR.Poh, poh! what, baulk a serenade?‘Twould be an outrage to the courtesiesOf this great city. Faith! his voice is sweet.II:2:12 COUN.Would that he had not sung! It is a sportIn which I find no pastime.II:2:13 ALAR.Marry, come,It gives me great delight. ‘Tis well for thee,On thy first entrance to our world, to findSo high a follower.II:2:14 COUN.Wherefore should I needHis following?II:2:15 ALAR.Nought’s more excellent for woman,Than to be fixed on as the cynosureOf one whom all do gaze on. ‘Tis a stampWhose currency, not wealth, rank, blood, can match;These are raw ingots, till they are impressedWith fashion’s picture.II:2:16 COUN.Would I were once moreWithin our castle!II:2:17 ALAR.Nursery days! The worldIs now our home, and we must worldly be,Like its bold stirrers. I sup with the King.There is no feast, and yet to do me honour,Some chiefs will meet. I stand right well at Court,And with thine aid will stand e’en better.II:2:18 COUN.Mine!I have no joy but in thy joy, no thoughtBut for thy honour, and yet, how to aidThee in these plans or hopes, indeed, Alarcos,Indeed, I am perplexed.II:2:19 ALAR.Art not my wife?Is not this Burgos? And this pile, the palaceOf my great fathers? They did raise these hallsTo be the symbols of their high estate,The fit and haught metropolis of allTheir force and faction. Fill them, fill them, wife,With those who’ll serve me well. Make this the centreOf all that’s great in Burgos. Let it beThe eye of the town, whereby we may perceiveWhat passes in his heart: the clustering pointOf all convergence. Here be troops of friendsAnd ready instruments. Wear that sweet smile,That wins a partisan quicker than power;Speak in that tone gives each a special shareIn thy regard, and what is generalLet all deem private. O! thou’lt play it rarely.II:2:20 COUN.I would do all that may become thy wife.II:2:21 ALAR.I know it, I know it. Thou art a treasure, Florimonde,And this same singer—thou hast not asked his name.Didst guess it? Ah! upon thy gentle cheekI see a smile.II:2:22 COUN.My lord—indeed—II:2:23 ALAR.Thou playestThy game less like a novice than I deemed.Thou canst not say thou didst not catch the voiceOf the Sidonia?II:2:24 COUN.My good lord, indeedHis voice to me is as unknown as mineMust be to him.II:2:25 ALAR.Whose should the voice but his,Whose stricken sight left not thy face an instant,But gazed as if some new-born star had risenTo light his way to paradise? I tell thee,Among my strict confederates I would countThis same young noble. He is a paramount chief;Perchance his vassals might outnumber mine,Conjoined we’re adamant. No monarch’s breathMakes me again an exile. Florimonde,Smile on him; smiles cost nothing; should he judgeThey mean more than they say, why smile again;And what he deems affection, registered,Is but chaste Mockery. I must to the citadel.Sweet wife, good-night.[Exit ALARCOS.]II:2:26 COUN.O! misery, misery, misery!Must we do this? I fear there’s need we must,For he is wise in all things, and well learnedIn this same world that to my simple senseSeems very fearful. Why should men rejoice,They can escape from the pure breath of heavenAnd the sweet franchise of their natural will,To such a prison-house? To be confinedIn body and in soul; to breathe the airOf dark close streets, and never use one’s tongueBut for some measured phrase that hath its bentWell gauged and chartered; to find ready smilesWhen one is sorrowful, or looks demureWhen one would laugh outright. Never to beExact but when dissembling. Is this life?I dread this city. As I passed its gatesMy litter stumbled, and the children shriekedAnd clung unto my bosom. Pretty babes!I’ll go to them. O! there is innocenceEven in Burgos.[Exit COUNTESS.]
SCENE 3
A Chamber in the Royal Palace. The INFANTA SOLISA alone.
II:3:1 SOL.I can but think my father will be justAnd see us righted. O ‘tis only honest,The hand that did this wrong should now supplyThe sovereign remedy, and balm the woundItself inflicted. He is with him now;Would I were there, unseen, yet seeing all!But ah! no cunning arras could concealThis throbbing heart. I’ve sent my little Page,To mingle with the minions of the Court,And get me news. How he doth look, bow eat,What says he and what does, and all the hapsOf this same night, that yet to me may bringA cloudless morrow. See, even now he comes.[Enter the PAGE.]Prithee what news? Now tell me all, my child,When thou’rt a knight, will I not work the scarfFor thy first tourney! Prithee tell me all.II:3:2 PAGE.O lady mine, the royal SeneschalHe was so crabbed, I did scarcely deemI could have entered.II:3:3 SOL.Cross-grained Seneschal!He shall repent of this, my pretty Page;But thou didst enters?II:3:4 PAGE.I did so contrive.II:3:5 SOL.Rare imp! And then?II:3:6 PAGE.Well, as you told me, thenI mingled with the Pages of the King.They’re not so very tall; I might have passedI think for one upon a holiday.II:3:7 SOL.O thou shalt pass for better than a pageBut tell me, child, didst see my gallant Count?II:3:8 PAGE.On the right hand—II:3:9 SOL.Upon the King’s right hand?II:3:10 PAGE.Upon the King’s right hand, and there were also—II:3:11 SOL.Mind not the rest; thou’rt sure on the right hand?II:3:12 PAGE.Most sure; and on the left—II:3:13 SOL.Ne’er mind the left,Speak only of the right. How did he seem?Did there pass words between him and the King?Often or scant? Did he seem gay or grave?Or was his aspect of a middle tint,As if he deemed that there were other joysNot found within that chamber?II:3:14 PAGE.Sooth to say,He did seem what he is, a gallant knight.Would I were such! For talking with the King,He spoke, yet not so much but he could spareWords to the other lords. He often smiled,Yet not so often, that a limner mightDescribe his mien as jovial.II:3:15 SOL.‘Tis himself!What next? Will they sit long?II:3:16 PAGE.I should not likeMyself to quit such company. In truth,The Count of Leon is a merry lord.There were some tilting jests, I warrant you,Between him and your knight.II:3:17 SOL.O tell it me!II:3:18 PAGE.The Count Alarcos, as I chanced to hear,For tiptoe even would not let me see,And that same Pedro, who has lately comeTo Court, the Senor of Montilla’s son,He is so rough, and says a lady’s pageShould only be where there are petticoats.II:3:19 SOL.Is he so rough? He shall be soundly whipped.But tell me, child, the Count Alarcos—II:3:20 PAGE.Well,The Count Alarcos—but indeed, sweet lady,I do not wish that Pedro should be whipped.II:3:21 SOL.He shall not then be whipped—speak of the Count.II:3:22 PAGE.The Count was showing how your SaracenDoth take your lion captive, thus and thus:And fashioned with his scarf a dexterous nooseMade of a tiger’s skin: your unicorn,They say, is just as good.II:3:23 SOL.Well, then Sir Leon—II:3:24 PAGE.Why then your Count of Leon—but just thenSancho, the Viscount of Toledo’s son,The King’s chief Page, takes me his handkerchiefAnd binds it on my eyes, he whispering roundUnto his fellows, here you see I’ve caughtA most ferocious cub. Whereat they kicked,And pinched, and cuffed me till I nearly roaredAs fierce as any lion, you be sure.II:3:25 SOL.Rude Sancho, he shall sure be sent from Court!My little Ferdinand—thou hast incurredGreat perils for thy mistress. Go againAnd show this signet to the Seneschal,And tell him that no greater courtesyBe shown to any guest than to my Page.This from myself—or I perchance will send,Shall school their pranks. Away, my faithful imp,And tell me how the Count Alarcos seems.II:3:26 PAGE.I go, sweet lady, but I humbly begSancho may not be sent from Court this time.II:3:27 SOL.Sancho shall stay.[Exit PAGE.]I hope, ere long, sweet child,Thou too shalt be a page unto a King.I’m glad Alarcos smiled not overmuch;Your smilers please me not. I love a facePensive, not sad; for where the mood is thoughtful,The passion is most deep and most refined.Gay tempers bear light hearts—are soonest gainedAnd soonest lost; but he who meditatesOn his own nature, will as deeply scanThe mind he meets, and when he loves, he castsHis anchor deep.[Re-enter PAGE.]Give me the news.II:3:28 PAGE.The news!I could not see the Seneschal, but gaveYour message to the Pages. WhereuponSancho, the Viscount of Toledo’s son,Pedro, the Senor of Montilla’s son,The young Count of Almeira, and—II:3:29 SOL.My child,What ails thee?II:3:30 PAGE.O the Viscount of Jodar,I think he was the very worst of all;But Sancho of Toledo was the first.II:3:31 SOL.What did they?II:3:32 PAGE.‘Las, no sooner did I sayAll that you told me, than he gives the word,‘A guest, a guest, a very potent guest,’Takes me a goblet brimful of strong wineAnd hands it to me, mocking, on his knee.This I decline, when on his back they layYour faithful Page, nor set me on my legsTill they had drenched me with this fiery stuff,That I could scarcely see, or reel my wayBack to your presence.II:3:33 SOL.Marry, ‘tis too muchE’en for a page’s license. Ne’er you mind,They shall to Prison by to-morrow’s dawn.I’ll bind this kerchief round your brow, its scentWill much revive you. Go, child, lie you downOn yonder couch.II:3:34 PAGE.I’m sure I ne’er can sleepIf Sancho of Toledo shall be sentTo-morrow’s dawn to prison.II:3:35 SOL.Well, he’s pardoned.II:3:36 PAGE.Also the Senor of Montilla’s son,II:3:37 SOL.He shall be pardoned too. Now prithee sleep.II:3:38 PAGE.The young Count of Almeira—II:3:39 SOL.O no more.They all are pardoned.II:3:40 PAGE.I do humbly prayThe Viscount of Jodar be pardoned too.[Exit SOLISA.]