Brought in a chair?
Conduct her in.-- [_Exit Servant._

_Card._ You would be left alone?

_Gui._ I would; retire. [_Exeunt_ MAY. CARD. _&c._

_Re-enter Servant with_ MARMOUTIERE, _and exit._

_Starting back._] Is't possible? I dare not trust my eyes!
You are not Marmoutiere?

_Mar._ What am I then?

_Gui._ Why, any thing but she:
What should the mistress of a king do here?

_Mar._ Find him, who would be master of a king.

_Gui._ I sent not for you, madam.

_Mar._ I think, my lord, the king sent not for you.

_Gui._ Do you not fear, your visit will be known?

_Mar._ Fear is for guilty men, rebels, and traitors:
Where'er I go, my virtue is my guard.

_Gui._ What devil has sent thee here to plague my soul?
O that I could detest thee now as much
As ever I have loved, nay, even as much
As yet, in spite of all thy crimes, I love!
But 'tis a love so mixt with dark despair,
The smoke and soot smother the rising flame,
And make my soul a furnace. Woman, woman,
What can I call thee more? if devil, 'twere less.
Sure, thine's a race was never got by Adam,
But Eve played false, engendering with the serpent,
Her own part worse than his.

_Mar._ Then they got traitors.

_Gui._ Yes, angel-traitors, fit to shine in palaces,
Forked into ills, and split into deceits;
Two in their very frame. 'Twas well, 'twas well,
I saw thee not at court, thou basilisk;
For if I had, those eyes, without his guards,
Had done the tyrant's work.

_Mar._ Why then it seems
I was not false in all: I told you, Guise,
If you left Paris, I would go to court:
You see I kept my promise.

_Gui._ Still thy sex:
Once true in all thy life, and that for mischief.

_Mar._ Have I said I loved you?

_Gui._ Stab on, stab:
'Tis plain you love the king.

_Mar._ Nor him, nor you,
In that unlawful way you seem to mean.
My eyes had once so far betrayed my heart,
As to distinguish you from common men;
Whate'er you said, or did, was charming all.

_Gui._ But yet, it seems, you found a king more charming.

_Mar._ I do not say more charming, but more noble,
More truly royal, more a king in soul,
Than you are now in wishes.

_Gui._ May be so:
But love has oiled your tongue to run so glib,--
Curse on your eloquence!

_Mar._ Curse not that eloquence that saved your life:
For, when your wild ambition, which defied
A royal mandate, hurried you to town;
When over-weening pride of popula