Can do far more--make bonfires of the laws
His father left--o'erthrow his monuments--
Nay, more than this--for what shall hinder him?--
Drag from his tomb, in the Escurial,
The sacred corpse of his departed sire,
Make it a public spectacle, and scatter
Forth to the winds his desecrated dust.
And then, at last, to fill the measure up----

CARLOS.
Merciful heavens, finish not the picture!

QUEEN.
End all by wedding with his mother.

CARLOS.
Oh!
Accursed son!
[He remains for some time paralyzed and speechless.
Yes, now 'tis out, 'tis out!
I see it clear as day. Oh, would it had
Been veiled from me in everlasting darkness!
Yes, thou art gone from me--gone--gone forever.
The die is cast; and thou art lost to me.
Oh, in that thought lies hell; and a hell, too,
Lies in the other thought, to call thee mine.
Oh, misery! I can bear my fate no longer,
My very heart-strings strain as they would burst.

QUEEN.