me with insolence
and ingratitude."

"Sire," answered the Duke firmly, but respectfully, "I am unhappy in
your displeasure; yet thus far fortunate, that while your words can
confer honour, they cannot impair or take it away.--It is hard," he
added, lowering his voice, so as only to be heard by the King,--"It is
hard that the squall of a peevish wench should cancel the services of so
many years!"

"It is harder," said the King, in the same subdued tone, which both
preserved through the rest of the conversation, "that a wench's bright
eyes can make a nobleman forget the decencies due to his Sovereign's
privacy."

"May I presume to ask your Majesty what decencies are those?" said the
Duke.

Charles bit his lip to keep himself from smiling. "Buckingham," he said,
"this is a foolish business; and we must not forget (as we have nearly
done), that we have an audience to witness this scene, and should walk
the stage with dignity. I will show you your fault in private."

"It is enough that your Majesty has been displeased, and that I have
unhappily been the occasion," said the Duke, kneeling; "although quite
ignorant of any purpose beyond a few words of gallantry; and I sue thus
low for your Majesty's pardon."

So saying, he kneeled gracefully down. "Thou hast it, George," said the
placable Prince. "I believe thou wilt be sooner tired of offending than
I of forgiving."

"Long may your Majesty live to give the offence, with which it is your
royal pleasure at present to charge my innocence," said the Duke.

"What mean you by that, my lord?" said Charles, the angry shade
returning to his brow for a moment.

"My Liege," replied the Duke, "you are too honourable to deny your
custom of shooting with Cupid's bird-bolts in other men's warrens. You
have ta'en the royal right of free-forestry over every man's park. It
is hard that you should be so much displeased at hearing a chance arrow
whizz near your own pales."

"No more on't," said the King; "but let us see where the dove has
harboured."

"The Helen has found a Paris while we were quarrelling," replied the
Duke.

"Rather an Orpheus," said the King; "and what is worse, one that is
already provided with a Eurydice--She is clinging to the fiddler."

"It is mere fright," said Buckingham, "like Rochester's, when he crept
into the bass-viol to hide himself from Sir Dermot O'Cleaver."

"We must make the people show their talents," said the King, "and stop
their mouths w