r power
Had thrust you headlong in the Louvre toils,
Then had you died: For know, my haughty lord,
Had I not been, offended majesty
Had doomed you to the death you well deserved.

_Gui._ Then was't not Henry's fear preserved my life?

_Mar._ You know him better, or you ought to know him:
He's born to give you fear, not to receive it.

_Gui._ Say this again; but add, you gave not up
Your honour as the ransom of my life;
For, if you did, 'twere better I had died.

_Mar._ And so it were.

_Gui._ Why said you, so it were?
For though 'tis true, methinks 'tis much unkind.

_Mar._ My lord, we are not now to talk of kindness.
If you acknowledge I have saved your life,
Be grateful in return, and do an act,
Your honour, though unasked by me, requires.

_Gui._ By heaven, and you, whom next to heaven I love,
(If I said more, I fear I should not lie,)
I'll do whate'er my honour will permit.

_Mar._ Go, throw yourself at Henry's royal feet,
And rise not till approved a loyal subject.

_Gui._ A duteous loyal subject I was ever.

_Mar._ I'll put it short, my lord; depart from Paris.

_Gui._ I cannot leave
My country, friends, religion, all at stake.
Be wise, and be before-hand with your fortune;
Prevent the turn, forsake the ruined court;
Stay here, and make a merit of your love.

_Mar._ No; I'll return, and perish in those ruins.
I find thee now, ambitious, faithless, Guise.
Farewell, the basest and the last of men!

_Gui._ Stay, or--O heaven!--I'll force you: Stay--

_Mar._ I do believe
So ill of you, so villainously ill,
That, if you durst, you would:
Honour you've little, honesty you've less;
But conscience you have none:
Yet there's a thing called fame, and men's esteem,
Preserves me from your force. Once more, farewell.
Look on me, Guise; thou seest me now the last;
Though treason urge not thunder on thy head,
This one departing glance shall flash thee dead. [_Exit._

_Gui._ Ha, said she true? Have I so little honour?
Why, then, a prize so easy and so fair
Had never 'scaped my gripe: but mine she is;
For that's set down as sure as Henry's fall.
But my ambition, that she calls my crime;--
False, false, by fate! my right was born with me.
And heaven confest it in my very frame;
The fires, that would have formed ten thousand angels,
Were crammed together for my single soul.

_Enter_ MALICORN.

_Mal._ My lord, you trifle precious hours away;
The heavens look gaudily upon your greatnes