MARCOMIR.
You drew me on;
You cannot help it, you make life so royal
Men follow you and think they will be Kings,
And then—
CARLOMAN.
What ails you?
MARCOMIR.
Have you watched the lepers?
Waiting outside the churches to be blest?—
They pray, they linger, they receive their God,
And yet depart uncleansed.
Do not continue
To question me, but listen. Bend your eyes
Full on me! I have never told the Prior,
I cannot; and I would not breathe it now
But for her sake. The lady Geneviva
Is spotless; but my thoughts have been defiled.
I love her, I have never won her love,
Must never strive to win it. It is hell
To think of her.
CARLOMAN.
You never won her love?
MARCOMIR.
Never.