Don Diego. I know it; you serve the king well.  I have seen you fight and command under me, when [old] age has caused its freezing currents to flow within my nerves [i.e. “when the frosts of old age had numbed my nerves”—­Jules Bue], your unexampled [lit. rare] valor has worthily [lit. well] supplied my place; in fine, to spare unnecessary words, you are to-day what I used to be.  You see, nevertheless, that in this rivalry a monarch places some distinction between us.

Count. That prize which I deserved you have carried off.

Don Diego. He who has gained that [advantage] over you has deserved it best.

Count. He who can use it to the best advantage is the most worthy of it.

Don Diego. To be refused that prize [lit. it] is not a good sign.

Count. You have gained it by intrigue, being an old courtier.

Don Diego. The brilliancy of my noble deeds was my only recommendation [lit. support].

Count. Let us speak better of it [i.e. more plainly]:  the king does honor to your age.

Don Diego. The king, when he does it [i.e. that honor], gives it [lit. measures it] to courage.

Count. And for that reason this honor was due only to me [lit. my arm].

Don Diego. He who has not been able to obtain it did not deserve it.

Count. Did not deserve it?  I!

Don Diego. You.

Count. Thy impudence, rash old man, shall have its recompense. [He gives him a slap on the face.] Don Diego (drawing his sword [lit._ putting the sword in his hand_]).  Finish [this outrage], and take my life after such an insult, the first for which my race has ever had cause to blush [lit. has seen its brow grow red].

Count. And what do you think you can do, weak us you are [lit. with such feebleness]?

Don Diego. Oh, heaven! my exhausted strength fails me in this necessity!

Count. Thy sword is mine; but thou wouldst be too vain if this discreditable trophy had laden my hand [i.e. if I had carried away a trophy so discreditable].  Farewell—­adieu!  Cause the prince to read, in spite of jealous feelings, for his instruction, the history of thy life.  This just punishment of impertinent language will serve as no small embellishment for it.

Scene V.—­DON DIEGO.

O rage!  O despair!  O inimical old age!  Have I then lived so long only for this disgrace?  And have I grown grey in warlike toils, only to see in one day so many of my laurels wither?  Does my arm [i.e. my valor], which all Spain admires and looks up to [lit. with respect]—­[does] my arm, which has so often saved this empire, and so often strengthened anew the throne of its king, now [lit. then] betray my cause, and do nothing