Ast. She passes for a beauty.
Queen. Ay, she may pass:—But why do I speak of her?— Dear Asteria, lead me, I am not well o' the sudden. [She faints.
Ast. Who's near there?—help the queen!
[The guards are coming.
Queen. Bid them away: 'Twas but a qualm, And 'tis already going.
Ast. Dear madam, what's the matter?
You are of late so altered, I scarce know you.
You were gay humoured, and you now are pensive;
Once calm, and now unquiet:—
Pardon my boldness, that I press thus far
Into your secret thoughts: I have, at least,
A subject's share in you.
Queen. Thou hast a greater. That of a friend:—But I am froward, say'st thou?
Ast. It ill becomes me, madam, to say that.
Queen. I know I am:—Pr'ythee, forgive me for it,— I cannot help it;—but thou hast Not long to suffer it.
Ast. Alas!