'Twixt her, and this young bud of royalty,
Would make me traitor to humanity,
Could I betray her. There is a rapturous something,
That plays about an English subject's heart,
When female majesty is seen employ'd
In these sweet duties of domestic love,
Which all can feel,—but very few describe!
La Var. Oh! how thou warm'st me, fellow, with thy zeal!
Come, my young lord!—now lead us to her majesty. [To Barton.
Barton. Why, as things are, I'll lead you where she is:—