Mar. Hear me, sir;
For, if 'tis possible, my lord, I'll move you.
Look back, return, implore the royal mercy,
Ere 'tis too late; I beg you by these tears,
These sighs, and by the ambitious love you bear me;
By all the wounds of your poor groaning country,
That bleeds to death. O seek the best of kings,
Kneel, fling your stubborn body at his feet:
Your pardon shall be signed, your country saved,
Virgins and matrons all shall sing your fame,
And every babe shall bless the Guise's name.
Gui. O rise, thou image of the deity!
You shall prevail, I will do any thing:
You've broke the very gall of my ambition,
And all my powers now float in peace again.
Be satisfied that I will see the king,
Kneel to him, ere I journey to Champaigne,
And beg a kind farewell.
Mar. No, no, my lord;
I see through that; you but withdraw a while,
To muster all the forces that you can,
And then rejoin the Council of Sixteen.
You must not go.
Gui. All the heads of the League
Expect me, and I have engaged my honour.
035 Mar. Would all those heads were off, so yours were saved!
Once more, O Guise, the weeping Marmoutiere
Entreats you, do not go.
Gui. Is't possible
That Guise should say, in this he must refuse you!
Mar. Go then, my lord. I late received a letter
From one at court, who tells me, the king loves me:
Read it,—there is no more than what you hear.
I've jewels offered too,—perhaps may take them;
And if you go from Paris, I'll to court.
Gui. But, madam, I have often heard you say,
You loved not courts.
Mar. Perhaps I've changed my mind:
Nothing as yet could draw me, but a king;
And such a king,—so good, so just, so great,
That, at his birth, the heavenly council paused,
And then, at last, cried out,—This is a man.
Gui. Come, 'tis but counterfeit; you dare not go.