PEPIN.
Nay, nay, no substitute! You are my brother,
I know the secret how to humour you,
I weave your projects in our policy,
And now and then you marshal us the way
Of an archangel ... but no substitute!
CARLOMAN.
Yet love him for my sake; give him free training
In war and letters.
PEPIN.
Fie, fie! Geneviva
Will put you from this project. In the cloister
What would you see but men who dig and pray?—
No royal pageants.
[King Chilperic is borne in a litter with great pomp. His golden hair sweeps over the sides of the litter; his face is nerveless and exhausted.]
CARLOMAN.
[with an ironic smile] Such as this. The King!
Tell him I have transferred the Mayoralty
To you, and do not taunt me any more.