ne
As high as her deserts, shall she become
A spoil for strangers? Have I cause to grieve
That Hungary quit us? O that I could find
Some noble of our land might dare to mix
His equal blood with our Castillian seed!
Art thou more learned in our pedigrees?
Hast thou no friend, no kinsman? Must this realm
Fall to the spoiler, and a foreign graft
Be nourished by our sap?

II:4:36 ALAR.
Alas! alas!

II:4:37 KING.
Four crowns; our paramount Castille, and Leon,
Seviglia, Cordova, the future hope
Of Murcia, and the inevitable doom
That waits the Saracen; all, all, all;
And with my daughter!

II:4:38 ALAR.
Ah! ye should have blasted
My homeward path, ye lightnings!

II:4:39 KING.
Such a son
Should grudge his sire no days. I would not live
To whet ambition's appetite. I'm old;
And fit for little else than hermit thoughts.
The day that gives my daughter, gives my crown:
A cell's my home.

II:4:40 ALAR.
O, life, I will not curse thee
Let hard and shaven crowns denounce thee vain;
To me thou wert no shade! I loved thy stir
And panting struggle. Power, and pomp, and beauty
Cities and courts, the palace and the fane,
The chace, the revel, and the battle-field,
Man's fiery glance, and woman's thrilling smile,
I loved ye all. I curse not thee, O life!
But on my start; confusion. May they fall
From out their spheres, and blast our earth no more
With their malignant rays, that mocking placed
All the delight of life within my reach,
And chained me film fruition.

II:4:41 KING.
Gentle cousin,
Thou art disturbed; I fear these words of mine,
Chance words ere I did say to thee good night,
For O, 'twas joy to see thee here again,
Who art my kinsman, and my only on