noble zeal.

MAR. There is not such an office.

KING. How?

MAR. What the king desires to spread abroad
Through these weak hands, is it the good of men?
That good which my unfetter'd love would wish them?
Pale majesty would tremble to behold it!
No! Policy has fashioned in her courts
Another sort of human good; a sort
Which _she_ is rich enough to give away,
Awakening with it in the hearts of men
New cravings, such as _it_ can satisfy.
Truth she keeps coining in her mints, such truth
As she can tolerate; and every die
Except her own she breaks and casts away.
But is the royal bounty wide enough
For me to wish and work in? Must the love
I hear my brother pledge itself to be
My brother's jailor? Can I call him happy
When he dare not think? Sire, choose some other
To dispense the good which _you_ have stamped for us.
With me it tallies not; a prince's servant
I cannot be.

KING [_rather quickly_].
You are a Protestant.

MAR. [_after some reflection_]
Sire, your creed is also mine. [_After a pause._
I find
I am misunderstood: 'tis as I feared.
You see me draw the veil from majesty,
And view its mysteries with steadfast eye:
How should you know if I regard as holy
What I no more regard as terrible?
Dangerous I seem, for bearing thoughts too high:
My King, I am not dangerous: my wishes
Lie buried here. [_Laying his hand on his breast._
The poor and purblind rage
Of innovation, that but aggravates
The weight o' th' fetters which it cannot break,
Will never heat _my_ blood. The century
Admits not my ideas: I live a citizen
Of those that are to come. Sire, can a picture
Break your rest? Your breath obliterates it.

KING. No other knows you harbour such ideas?

MAR. Such, no one.

KING [_rises, walks a few steps, then stops opposite the Marquis.
--Aside_]. New at least, this dialect!
Flattery exhausts itself: a man of parts
Disdains to imitate. For once let's have
A trial of the opposite! Why not?
The strange is oft the lucky.--If so be
This is your principle, why let it pass!
I will conform; the crown shall have a servant
New in Spain,--a liberal!

MAR. Sire, I see
How very meanly you conceive of men;
How, in the language of the frank true spirit
You find but another deeper artifice
Of a more practis'd coz'ner: I can also
Partly see what causes this. 'Tis me