Marquis monologue (Act 4) — Don Carlos: A Play

Yes, in all other women--but in one, One only, 'tis not so. For you, I swear it. And should you blush to indulge the pure desire To call heroic virtue into life? Can it affect King Philip, that his works Of noblest art, in the Escurial, raise Immortal longings in the painter's soul, Who stands entranced before them? Do the sounds That slumber in the lute, belong alone To him who buys the chords? With ear unmoved He may preserve his treasure:--he has bought The wretched right to shiver it to atoms, But not the power to wake its silver tones, Or, in the magic of its sounds, dissolve. Truth is created for the sage, as beauty Is for the feeling heart. They own each other. And this belief, no coward prejudice Shall make me e'er disclaim. Then promise, queen, That you will ever love him. That false shame, Or fancied dignity, shall never make you Yield to the voice of base dissimulation:-- That you will love him still, unchanged, forever. Promise me this, oh, queen! Here solemnly Say, do you promise?