CARLOS.
That will never be.
What need hast thou of me? What cause hast thou
To stoop thy knee, a suppliant at the throne?
Does gold allure thee? Thou'rt a richer subject
Than I shall be a king! Dost covet honors?
E'en in thy youth, fame's brimming chalice stood
Full in thy grasp--thou flung'st the toy away.
Which of us, then, must be the other's debtor,
And which the creditor? Thou standest mute.
Dost tremble for the trial? Art thou, then,
Uncertain of thyself?

MARQUIS.
Carlos, I yield!
Here is my band.

CARLOS.
Is it mine own?

MARQUIS.
Forever--
In the most pregnant meaning of the word!

CARLOS.
And wilt thou prove hereafter to the king
As true and warm as to the prince to-day?

MARQUIS.