Part 26 (2/2)

ELE. Proud cardinal, my unjust banishment.

MEN. 'Twas we that did it, and our words are laws.

KING. 'Twas we repeal'd him, and our words are laws.

ZAR. BAL. If not, these are.

[_All the Moors draw._

PHIL. How! threaten'd and outdar'd!

KING. Shall we give arm to hostile violence?

Sheathe your swords, sheathe them: it's we command.

ELE. Grant Eleazar justice, my dread liege.

MEN. Eleazar hath had justice from our hands, And he stands banish'd from the court of Spain.

KING. Have you done justice? Why, Lord Cardinal, From whom do you derive authority To banish him the court without our leave?

MEN. From this, the staff of our protectors.h.i.+p; From this, which the last will of your dead father Committed to our trust; from this high place, Which lifts Mendoza's spirits beyond the pitch Of ordinary honour, and from this----

[KING _takes the staff from_ MENDOZA, _and gives it to_ ELEAZAR.

KING. Which too much overweening insolence Hath quite ta'en from thee. Eleazar, up, And from us sway this staff of Regency.

ALL. How's this!

PHIL. Dare sons presume to break their father's will?

KING. Dare subjects countercheck their sovereign's will?

'Tis done, and who gainsays it, is a traitor.

PHIL. I do, Fernando, yet am I no traitor.

MEN. Fernando, I am wrong'd; by Peter's chair, Mendoza vows revenge. I'll lay aside My cardinal's hat, and in a wall of steel, The glorious livery of a soldier, Fight for my late-lost honour.

KING. Cardinal!

MEN. King! thou shalt be no king for wronging me.

The Pope shall send his bulls through all thy realm, And pull obedience from thy subjects' hearts, To put on armour of the Mother Church.

Curses shall fall like lightnings on thy head, Bell, book, and candle: holy water, prayers, Shall all chime vengeance to the court of Spain, Till they have power to conjure down that fiend, That d.a.m.n'd Moor, that devil, that Lucifer, That dares aspire the staff the card'nal sway'd.

ELE. Ha, ha, ha! I laugh yet, that the cardinal's vex'd.

PHIL. Laugh'st thou, base slave! the wrinkles of that scorn Thine own heart's blood shall fill. Brother, farewell; Since you disprove the will our father left For base l.u.s.t of a loathed concubine.

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