Marg. Command! base slave! reduced to this!—Command,
From thee? thou worm!
[Making majestically past him, with the Prince.
Gondi. Nay, nay; you fly not, lady.
[Holds his Sword, over them.
Marg. Oh, Heaven! my boy! strike not, on thy allegiance!
Save him, I charge thee, fellow! Save my son;—
The son of thy anointed king.
Gondi. My king!
[Drops his Sword at their Feet.