Chapter 11

LUIS and POLONIA

LUIS. Yes, Polonia, yes, for he Who betrays inconstancy Has no reason for complaining That another love is gaining On his own; that fault will be Ever punished so. For who Proudly soars that doth not fall? Therefore 'tis that I forestall Philip's love howe'er so true. He is nobler to the view, As one nobly born may be; But in that nobility, Which one's self can win and wear, I with justice may declare I am nobler far than he; I more honour have obtained Than on Philip's cradle rained: Let the fact excuse the boast, For this land from coast to coast Rings with victories I have gained. Three years is it since I came To these isles (it seems a day); Three swift years have rolled away Since I made it my chief aim Thee to serve -- my highest fame. Trophies numerous as the sand, Mars might envy, has my hand Won for thy great sire and thee -- Being the wonder of the sea, And th' amazement of the land.

POLONIA. Luis, yes, thy gallant bearing, Or inherited or acquired, Has within my breast inspired A strange fear, a certain daring,-- Ah, I know not if, declaring This, 'tis love, for blushes rise At perceiving with surprise That at last hath come the hour, When my heart must own the power Of a deity I despise. This alone I'll say, that here Long thy hope had been fruition, But that I the disposition Of the king, my father, fear, But still hope and persevere.

* * * * *