eps, and who wears black; and your return
Will fix all eyes on every act of yours,
To see how you resent King Sancho's death.

_Raym._ What generous man can live with that constraint
Upon his soul, to bear, much less to flatter,
A court like this! Can I sooth tyranny?
Seem pleased to see my royal master murdered,
His crown usurped, a distaff in the throne,
A council made of such as dare not speak,
And could not, if they durst; whence honest men
Banish themselves, for shame of being there:
A government, that, knowing not true wisdom,
Is scorned abroad, and lives on tricks at home?

_Alph._ Virtue must be thrown off; 'tis a coarse garment,
Too heavy for the sun-shine of a court.

_Raym._ Well then, I will dissemble, for an end
So great, so pious, as a just revenge:
You'll join with me?

_Alph._ No honest man but must.

_Ped._ What title has this queen, but lawless force?
And force must pull her down.

_Alph._ Truth is, I pity Leonora's case;
Forced, for her safety, to commit a crime,
Which most her soul abhors.

_Raym._ All she has done, or e'er can do, of good,
This one black deed has damned.

_Ped,_ You'll hardly gain your son to our design.

_Raym._ Your reason for't?

_Ped._ I want time to unriddle it:
Put on your t'other face, the queen approaches.

_Enter_ LEONORA, BERTRAN, _and Attendants._

_Raym._ And that accursed Bertran
Stalks close behind her, like a witch's fiend,
Pressing to be employed; stand, and observe them.

_Leo._ to _Bert._ Buried in private, and so suddenly!
It crosses my design, which was to allow
The rites of funeral fitting his degree,
With all the pomp of mourning.

_Bert._ It was not safe:
Objects of pity, when the cause is new,
Would work too fiercely on the giddy crowd:
Had Caesar's body never been exposed,
Brutus had gained his cause.

_Leo._ Then, was he loved?

_Bert._ O, never man so much, for saint-like goodness.

_Ped._ Had bad men feared him, but as good men loved him,
He had not yet been sainted. [_Aside._

_Leo._ I wonder how the people bear his death.

_Bert._ Some discontents there are; some idle murmurs.

_Ped._ How, idle murmurs! Let me plainly speak:
The doors are all shut up; the wealthier sort,
With arms across, and hats upon their eyes,
Walk to and fro before their silent shops;
Whole droves of lenders crowd the bankers' doors,
To call in money; those, who have none, mark
Where money goes; for when they r