No one doubts that--envy herself must own it.
For me, I'm but a youth--so thought the king.

CARLOS.
The king was right, quite right. I see it now
Myself, and am content--and so no more.
God speed your journey, as you see, just now
My hands are full, and weighty business presses.
The rest to-morrow, or whene'er you will,
Or when you come from Brussels.

ALVA.
What is this?

CARLOS.
The season favors, and your route will lie
Through Milan, Lorraine, Burgundy, and on
To Germany! What, Germany? Ay, true,
In Germany it was--they know you there.
'Tis April now, May, June,--in July, then,
Just so! or, at the latest, soon in August,--
You will arrive in Brussels, and no doubt
We soon shall hear of your victorious deeds.
You know the way to win our high esteem,
And earn the crown of fame.

ALVA (significantly).
Indeed! condemned
By my own conscious insignificance!