Mar. You know, sir, 'tis impossible; no more.
King. No more?—and with that stern resolved behaviour?
By heaven! were I a dying, and the priest
Should urge my last confession, I'd cry out,
Oh Marmoutiere! and yet thou say'st,—No more!
Mar. 'Tis well, sir; I have lost my aim, farewell.
King. Come back! O stay, my life flows after you.
Mar. No, sir, I find I am a trouble to you;
You will not hear my suit.
King. You cannot go,
059 You shall not.—O your suit, I kneel to grant it;
I beg you take whatever you demand.
Mar. Then, sir, thus low, or prostrate if you please,
Let me intreat for Guise.
King. Ha, madam, what!
For Guise; for Guise! that stubborn arrogant rebel,
That laughs at proffered mercy, slights his pardon,
Mocks royal grace, and plots upon my life?
Ha! and do you protect him? then the world
Is sworn to Henry's death: Does beauty too,
And innocence itself conspire against me?
Then let me tamely yield my glories up,
Which once I vowed with my drawn sword to wear
To my last drop of blood.—Come Guise, come cardinal,
All you loved traitors, come—I strip to meet you;
Sheathe all your daggers in curst Henry's heart.
Mar. This I expected; but when you have heard
How far I would intreat your majesty,
Perhaps you'll be more calm.
King. See, I am hushed;
Speak then; how far, madam, would you command?