Would’st throw thy arms about some lesser playmate.
“Why only these?” I cried, and wept aloud
“Am I not also worthy of thy heart?”
But thou—
So cold and serious before me kneeling,
“Homage” thou said’st, “to the King’s son is due.”
Marquis. A truce, O Prince, to all these tales of childhood,
They make my cheeks red even now with shame!
Karlos. And this from thee indeed I did not merit.
Contemn thou could’st, and even rend my heart,