MARQUIS.
Do you go
To Flanders?

CARLOS.
No!

MARQUIS.
Alas! my blighted hopes!

CARLOS.
Of this hereafter. Oh, Roderigo! since
We parted last, what have I not endured?
But first thy counsel? I must speak with her!

MARQUIS.
Your mother? No! But wherefore?

CARLOS.
I have hopes--
But you turn pale! Be calm--I should be happy.
And I shall be so: but of this anon--
Advise me now, how I may speak with her.

MARQUIS.
What mean you? What new feverish dream is this?

CARLOS.
By the great God of wonders 'tis no dream!