_Mar._ Hark! the king's coming.
Let me conjure you, for your own soul's quiet,
And for the everlasting rest of mine,
Stir not, till you have heard my heart's design.
_Gril._ Angel, or devil, I will.--Nay, at this rate,
She'll make me shortly bring him to 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.
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