This may not be, for while I think of her
With just repugnance, this her painted image
Stirs up the burning passion in my breast.
Then, too, within her hands my picture rests!
They talk of magic, unallowed arts,
Which this folk practises with such-like things
And something as of magic o'er me comes--

(_To the servant._)

Here, pick this up and spur thee on until
Thou overtake them.

SERVANT. Whom, my liege?

KING. Whom? Whom?
The girls of course, I mean, and Garceran;
Return this picture to the girls and ask--

SERVANT. What, Sire?

KING. Shall my own servants then become
The sharers in the knowledge of my shame?
I'll force th' exchange myself, if it must be!
Take up the picture--I will touch it not!

[_The servant has picked up the picture._]

KING. How clumsy! Hide it in your breast; but nay,
If there, it would be warmed by other's glow!
Give 't here, myself will take it; follow me--We'll
overtake them yet! But I surmise,
Since now suspicion's rife, there may some harm,
Some accident befall them unawares.
My royal escort were the safest guide.
Thou, follow me!

[_He has looked at the picture, then has put it in his bosom._]

Stands there not, at the side,
The Castle Retiro, where, all concealed,
My forebear, Sancho, with a Moorish maid--!

SERVANT. Your Majesty, 'tis true!

KING. We'll imitate
Our forebears in their bravery, their worth,
Not when they stumble in their weaker hours.
The task is, first of all to conquer self--And
then against the foreign conqueror!
Retiro hight the castle?--Let me see!
Oh yes, away! And be discreet! But then--Thou
knowest nothing! All the better. Come!

[_Exit with servant._]

ACT III

_Garden in the royal villa. In the background flows the Tagus. A roomy
arbor toward the front at the right. At the left, several suppliants in
a row, with petitions in their hands._ ISAAC _stands near them._

ISAAC. You were already told to linger not.