The King. The one who—?
The Priest. Who was—
The King. Who was—? A harlot that wanted to sit on the throne?
The Priest. Those are your Majesty's word, not mine. (Wipes his forehead.)
The King. Confess that they express what you meant!
The Priest. I confess that I have heard—that people say—that—
The King. Pray to heaven that for a single day your thoughts may be as pure as hers were every day. (Bursts into tears. Then says impetuously.) How long have you been a clergyman?
The Priest. Fifteen years, your Majesty.
The King. Then you were already ordained at the time when I was leading a dissolute life. Why did you never say anything to me then?
The Priest. My most gracious King—