King. O, thou hast set thy foot upon a snake!
Get quickly off, or it will sting thee dead.
Mar. Can I unknow it?
King. No, but keep it secret.
Mar. Think, sir, your thoughts are still as much your own,
As when you kept the key of your own breast;
But since you let me in, I find it filled
With death and horror: you would murder Guise.
King. Murder! what, murder! use a softer word,
And call it sovereign justice.
Mar. Would I could!
But justice bears the godlike shape of law,
And law requires defence, and equal plea
Betwixt the offender, and the righteous judge.
King. Yes, when the offender can be judged by laws:
But when his greatness overturns the scales,
Then kings are justice in the last appeal,
And, forced by strong necessity, may strike;
In which, indeed, they assert the public good,
And, like sworn surgeons, lop the gangrened limb:
Unpleasant, wholesome, work.
Mar. If this be needful.
King. Ha! didst not thou thyself, in fathoming
The depth of my designs, drop there the plummet?
098 Didst thou not say—Affronts so great, so public,
I never could forgive?
Mar. I did; but yet—