CARLOS.
I must brave
My king's displeasure, and prefer my suit
Once more, it is the last. Trust Flanders to me!
I must away from Spain. To linger here
Is to draw breath beneath the headsman's axe:
The air lies heavy on me in Madrid
Like murder on a guilty soul--a change,
An instant change of clime alone can cure me.
If you would save my life, despatch me straight
Without delay to Flanders.

KING (with affected coldness).
Invalids,
Like thee, my son--need not be tended close,
And ever watched by the physician's eye--
Thou stayest in Spain--the duke will go to Flanders.

CARLOS (wildly).
Assist me, ye good angels!

KING (starting).
Hold, what mean
Those looks so wild?

CARLOS.
Father, do you abide
Immovably by this determination?

KING.