_Gui._ O fear her not,
I will be there. [_Exeunt Arch-Bishop and Cardinal._
What can she mean?--repent?
Or is it cast betwixt the king and her
To sound me? come what will, it warms my heart
With secret joy, which these my ominous statesmen
Left dead within me;--ha! she turns away.
_Mar._ Do you not wonder at this visit, sir?
_Gui._ No, madam, I at last have gained the point
Of mightiest minds, to wonder now at nothing.
_Mar._ Believe me, Guise, 'twere gallantly resolved,
If you could carry it on the inside too.
Why came that sigh uncalled? For love of me,
Partly, perhaps; but more for thirst of glory,
Which now again dilates itself in smiles,
As if you scorned that I should know your purpose.
_Gui._ I change, 'tis true, because I love you still;
Love you, O heaven, even in my own despite;
I tell you all, even at that very moment,
I know you straight betray me to the king.
_Mar._ O Guise, I never did; but, sir, I come
To tell you, I must never see you more.
_Gui._ The king's at Blois, and you have reason for it;
Therefore, what am I to expect from pity,--
From yours, I mean,--when you behold me slain?
_Mar._ First answer me, and then I'll speak my heart.
Have you, O Guise, since your last solemn oath,
Stood firm to what you swore? Be plain, my lord,
Or run it o'er a while, because again
I tell you, I must never see you more.
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