her bed.--
Bawd for him? no, he shall make me run my head
Into a cannon, when 'tis firing, first;
That's honourable sport. But I'll retire,
And if she plays me false, here's that shall mend her.
[_Touching his Dagger, exit._ MARMOUTIERE
_sits. Song and Dance._

_Enter the King._

_King._ After the breathing of a love-sick heart
Upon your hand, once more,--nay twice,--forgive me.

_Mar._ I discompose you, sir.

_King._ Thou dost, by heaven;
But with such charming pleasure,
I love, and tremble, as at angels' view.

_Mar._ Love me, my lord?

_King._ Who should be loved, but you?
So loved, that even my crown, and self are vile,
While you are by. Try me upon despair;
My kingdom at the stake, ambition starved,
Revenge forgot, and all great appetites
That whet uncommon spirits to aspire,
So once a day I may have leave--
Nay, madam, then you fear me.

_Mar._ Fear you, sir! what is there dreadful in you?
You've all the graces that can crown mankind;
Yet wear them so, as if you did not know them;
So stainless, fearless, free in all your actions,
As if heaven lent you to the world to pattern.

_King._ Madam, I find you are no petitioner;
My people would not treat me in this sort,
Though 'twere to gain a part of their design;
But to the Guise they deal their faithless praise
As fast, as you your flattery to me;
Though for what end I cannot guess, except
You come, like them, to mock at my misfortunes.

_Mar._ Forgive you, heaven, that thought! No, mighty monarch,
The love of all the good, and wonder of the great;
I swear, by heaven, my heart adores, and loves you.

_King._ O madam, rise.

_Mar._ Nay, were you, sir, unthroned
By this seditious rout that dare despise you,
Blast all my days, ye powers! torment my nights;
Nay, let the misery invade my sex,
That could not for the royal cause, like me,
Throw all their luxury before your feet,
And follow you, like pilgrims, through the world.

_Gril._ Sound wind and limb! 'fore God, a gallant girl! [_Aside._

_King._ What shall I answer to thee, O thou balm
To heal a broken, yet a kingly heart!
For, so I swear I will be to my last.
Come to my arms, and be thy Harry's angel,
Shine through my cares, and make my crown sit easy.

_Mar._ O never, sir.

_King._ What said you, Marmoutiere?
Why dost thou turn thy beauties into frowns?

_Mar._ You know, sir, 'tis impossible; no more.

_King._ No mo