KING. What more was she?
GARCERAN. But wanton, too, and light, with evil wiles.
KING. And that thou hidst from me while still was time?
GARCERAN. I said it, Sire!
KING. And I believed it not?
How came that? Pray, say on!
GARCERAN. My Sire—the Queen,
She thinks 'twas magic.
KING. Superstition, bah!
Which fools itself with idle make-believe.
GARCERAN. In part, again, it was but natural.
KING. That only which is right is natural.
And was I not a king, both just and mild—
The people's idol and the nobles', too?
Not empty-minded, no, and, sure, not blind!
I say, she was not fair!
GARCERAN. How meanest, Sire?