What then, my lord?
III:2:40 ALAR.
Why then you might be worshipped,
If your image were in front; I'd bow down
To anything so fair.
III:2:41 KING.
Dost know, my cousin,
Who waits me now? The deputies from Murcia.
The realm is ours,
[whispers him]
is thine.
III:2:42 ALAR.
The church has realms
Wider than both Castilles. But which of them
Will be our lot; that's it.
III:2:43 KING.
Mine own Solisa,
They wait me in my cabinet;
[aside to her]
Bethink thee
With whom all rests.
[Exit the KING.]
III:2:44 SOL.
You had sport to-day, my lord?
The King was at the chace.
III:2:45 ALAR.
I breathed my barb.
III:2:46 SOL.
They say the chace hath charm to cheer the spirit,
III:2:47 ALAR.
'Tis better than prayers.
III:2:48 SOL.
Indeed, I think I'll hunt.
You and my father seem so passing gay.
III:2:49 ALAR.
Why this is no confessional, no shrine
Haunted with presaged gloom. I should be gay
To look at thee and listen to thy voice;
For if fair pictures and sweet sounds enchant
The soul of man, that are but artifice,
How then am I entranced, this living picture
Bright by my side, and listening to this music
That nature gave thee.
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