CARLOS.
You're sensitive, my lord, and with some cause,
I own it was not fair to use a weapon
Against your grace you were unskilled to wield.

ALVA.
Unskilled!

CARLOS.
'Tis pity I've no leisure now
To fight this worthy battle fairly out
But at some other time, we----

ALVA.
Prince, we both
Miscalculate--but still in opposite ways.
You, for example, overrate your age
By twenty years, whilst on the other band,
I, by as many, underrate it----

CARLOS.
Well

ALVA.
And this suggests the thought, how many nights
Beside this lovely Lusitanian bride--
Your mother--would the king right gladly give
To buy an arm like this, to aid his crown.
Full well he knows, far easier is the task
To make a monarch than a monarchy;