s nobly born valor does not depend upon age [_lit._ wait for
the number of years].

_Count._ To measure thyself with me! Who [_or_, what] has rendered thee
so presumptuous--thou, whom men have never seen with a sword [_lit._
arms] in thine hand?

_Don Rodrigo._ Men like me do not cause themselves to be known at a
second trial, and they wish [to perform] masterly strokes for their
first attempt.

_Count._ Dost thou know well who I am?

_Don Rodrigo._ Yes! Any other man except myself, at the mere mention of
thy name, might tremble with terror. The laurels with which I see thine
head so covered seem to bear written [upon them] the prediction of my
fall. I attack, like a rash man, an arm always victorious; but by
courage I shall overcome you [_lit._ I shall have too much strength in
possessing sufficient courage]. To him who avenges his father nothing is
impossible. Thine arm is unconquered, but not invincible.

_Count._ This noble courage which appears in the language you hold has
shown itself each day by your eyes; and, believing that I saw in you the
honor of Castile, my soul with pleasure was destining for you my
daughter. I know thy passion, and I am delighted to see that all its
impulses yield to thy duty; that they have not weakened this magnanimous
ardor; that thy proud manliness merits my esteem; and that, desiring as
a son-in-law an accomplished cavalier, I was not deceived in the choice
which I had made. But I feel that for thee my compassion is touched. I
admire thy courage, and I pity thy youth. Seek not to make thy first
attempt [_or_, maiden-stroke] fatal. Release my valor from an unequal
conflict; too little honor for me would attend this victory. In
conquering without danger we triumph without glory. Men would always
believe that thou wert overpowered without an effort, and I should have
only regret for thy death.

_Don Rodrigo._ Thy presumption is followed by a despicable [_lit._
unworthy] pity! The man who dares to deprive me of honor, fears to
deprive me of life!

_Count._ Withdraw from this place.

_Don Rodrigo._ Let us proceed without further parley.

_Count._ Art thou so tired of life?

_Don Rodrigo._ Hast thou such a dread of death?

_Count._ Come, thou art doing thy duty, and the son becomes degenerate
who survives for one instant the honor of his father.

Scene III.--The INFANTA, CHIMENE and LEONORA.

_Infanta._ Soothe, my Chimene, soothe thy grief; summon up thy firmness
in th