Phil. No, madam, my forgiveness was your act of grace, And I lay hold of it.
Queen. Princes sometimes may pass Acts of oblivion, in their own wrong.
Phil. 'Tis true, but not recal them.
Queen. But, Philocles, since I have told you there is one
I love, I will go on, and let you know
What passed this day betwixt us; be our judge,
Whether my servant have dealt well with me.
Phil. I beseech your majesty, excuse me: Any thing more of him may make me Relapse too soon, and forfeit my late pardon.
Queen. But you'll be glad to know it.
Phil. May I not hope, then, You have some quarrel to him?
Queen. Yes, a great one.
But first to justify myself:
Know, Philocles, I have concealed my passion
With such care from him, that he knows not yet
I love, but only that I much esteem him.
Phil. O stupid wretch, That, by a thousand tokens, could not guess it!
Queen. He loves elsewhere, and that has blinded him.