Gril. Though I have reason, plain
As day, to judge thee false, I think thee true:
By heaven, methinks I see a glory round thee!
There's something says, thou wilt not lose thy honour:—
Death and the devil! that's my own honesty;
My foolish open nature, that would have
All like myself;—but off; I'll hence and curse thee!
Mar. O, stay!
Gril. I will not.
057 Mar. Hark! the king's coming.
Let me conjure you, for your own soul's quiet,
And for the everlasting rest of mine,
Stir not, till you have heard my heart's design.
Gril. Angel, or devil, I will.—Nay, at this rate,
She'll make me shortly bring him to her bed.—
Bawd for him? no, he shall make me run my head
Into a cannon, when 'tis firing, first;
That's honourable sport. But I'll retire,
And if she plays me false, here's that shall mend her.
[Touching his Dagger, exit. Marmoutiere sits. Song and Dance.
Enter the King.
King. After the breathing of a love-sick heart
Upon your hand, once more,—nay twice,—forgive me.
Mar. I discompose you, sir.
King. Thou dost, by heaven;
But with such charming pleasure,
I love, and tremble, as at angels' view.
Mar. Love me, my lord?