'Twas you, my lady, put this journey on me
With prating of my duty to my brother.
But I know why you came.
Mar. O me, you know?
La. Alb. That does not mark me wise. A fool might guess.
Mar. O, I am lost! Dear lady, be my friend!
La. Alb. Why such a fluttering like a lass in folly?
The king was here, and 'twas mere wit in you
To follow after, making me your foil.
Mar. The king?