so highly, yet awake
No pang of envy in the breasts of three
Who speak his praise? The character he owns
Must be of noble stamp indeed, or else
A very blank. I'm curious to behold
This wondrous man.
[To DUKE ALVA.
Conduct him to the council
When mass is over.
[Exit DUKE. The KING calls FERIA.
And do you preside
Here in my place.
[Exit.

FERIA.
The king is kind to-day.

MEDIA SIDONIA.
Call him a god! So he has proved to me!

FERIA.
You well deserve your fortune, admiral!
You have my warmest wishes.

ONE OF THE GRANDEES.
Sir, and mine.

A SECOND.
And also mine.

A THIRD.
My heart exults with joy--
So excellent a general!

THE FIRST.
The king
Showed you no kindness, 'twas your strict desert.

LERMA (to MEDINA SIDONIA, taking leave).
Oh, how two little words have made your fortune!

[Exeunt all.

SCENE VIII.

The KING's Cabinet.
MARQUIS POSA and DUKE ALVA.

MARQUIS (as he enters).
Does he want me? What me? Impossible!
You must mistake the name. What can he want
With me?

ALVA.
To know you.

MARQUIS.
Curiosity!
No more; I regret the precious minutes
That I must lose: time passes swiftly by.

ALVA.
I now commend you to your lucky stars.
The king is in your hands. Employ this moment
To your own best advantage; for, remember,
If it is lost, you are alone to blame.

SCENE IX.

The MARQUIS alone.

MARQUIS.
Duke, 'tis well spoken! Turn to good account
The moment which presents itself but once!
Truly this courtier reads a useful lesson
If not in his sense good, at least in mine.

[Walks a few steps backwards and forwards.

How came I here? Is it caprice or chance
That shows me now my image in this mirror?
Why, out of millions, should it picture me--
The most unlikely--and present my form
To the king's memory? Was this but chance?
Perhaps 'twas something more!--what else is chance
But the rude stone which from the sculptor's hand
Receives its life? Chance comes from Providence,
And man must mould it to his own designs.
What the king wants with me but little matters;
I know the business I shall have with him.
Were but one spark of truth with boldness flung
Into the despot's soul, how fruitful 'twere
In the kind hand of Providence; and so
What first appeared capricious act of chalice,
May be designed for some momentous end.
Whate'er