ed
To feel my station's vanity. O, Death,
Thou endest all!

III:2:5 KING.
Thou art too young to die,
And yet may be too happy. Moody youth
Toys in its talk with the dark thought of death,
As if to die were but to change a robe.
It is their present refuge for all cares
And each disaster. When the sere has touched
Their flowing locks, they prattle less of death,
Perchance think more of it.

III:2:6 SOL.
Why, what is greatness?
Will't give me love, or faith, or tranquil thoughts?
No, no, not even justice.

III:2:7 KING.
'Tis thyself
That does thyself injustice. Let the world
Have other speculation than the breach
Of our unfilled vows. They bear too near
And fine affinity to what we would,
Ay, what we will. I would not choose this moment,
Men brood too curiously upon the cause
Of the late rupture, for the cause detected
May bar the consequence.

III:2:8 SOL.
A day, an hour
Sufficed to crush me. Weeks and weeks pass on
Since I was promised right.

III:2:9 KING.
Take thou my sceptre
And do thyself this right. Is't, then, so easy?

III:2:10 SOL.
Let him who did the wrong, contrive the means
Of his atonement.

III:2:11 KING.
All a father can,
I have performed.

III:2:12 SOL.
Ah! then there is no hope.
The Bishop of Ossuna, you did say
He was the learnedest clerk of Christendom,
And you would speak to him?

III:2:13 KING.
What says Alarcos?

III:2:14 SOL.
I spoke not to him since I first received
His princely pledge.

III:2:15 KING.
Call on him to fulfil it.

III:2:16 SOL.
Can he do more than kings?

III:2:17 KING.
Yes, he alone;
Alone it rests