n;
'Tis men that force you to it: they themselves
Have cast away their own nobility,
Themselves have crouch'd to this degraded posture.
Man's innate greatness, like a spectre, frights them;
Their poverty seems safety; with base skill
They ornament their chains, and call it virtue
To wear them with an air of grace. Twas thus
You found the world; thus from your royal father
Came it to you: how in this distorted,
Mutilated image could you honour man?

KING. Some truth there is in this.

MAR. Pity, however,
That in taking man from the Creator,
And changing him into _your_ handiwork,
And setting up yourself to be the god
Of this new-moulded creature, you should have
Forgotten one essential; you yourself
Remained a man, a very child of Adam!
You are still a suffering, longing mortal,
You call for sympathy, and to a god
We can but sacrifice, and pray, and tremble!
O unwise exchange! unbless'd perversion!
When you have sunk your brothers to be play'd
As harp-strings, who will join in harmony
With you the player?

KING [_aside_]. By Heaven, he touches me!

MAR. For you, however, this is unimportant;
It but makes you separate, peculiar;
'Tis the price you pay for being a god.
And frightful were it if you failed in this!
If for the desolated good of millions,
You the Desolator should gain--nothing!
If the very freedom you have blighted
And kill'd were that alone which could exalt
Yourself!--Sire, pardon me, I must not stay:
The matter makes me rash: my heart is full,
Too strong the charm of looking on the one
Of living men to whom I might unfold it.

[_The Count de Lerma enters, and whispers a few words to the King. The
latter beckons to him to withdraw, and continues sitting in his former
posture._

KING [_to the Marquis, after Lerma is gone_].
Speak on!

MAR. [_after a pause_] I feel, Sire, all the worth--

KING. Speak on!
Y' had something more to say.

MAR. Not long since, Sire,
I chanced to pass through Flanders and Brabant.
So many rich and flourishing provinces;
A great, a mighty people, and still more,
An honest people!--And this people's Father!
That, thought I, must be divine: so thinking,
I stumbled on a heap of human bones.

[_He pauses; his eyes rest on the King, who endeavours to return his
glance, but with an air of embarrassment is forced to look upon the
ground._

You are in the right, you _must