In ev'ry other star or sun, or world;
If kings could be my subjects, and that I
Could call such pow'r and such a world my own,
I would not take it from a woman's hand.
Fame is my mistress, madam, and my sword
The only friend I ever wooed her with.
I hate all honours smelling of the distaff,
And, by this light, would as lief wear a spindle
Hung round my neck, as thank a lady's hand
For any favour greater than a kiss.--

QUEEN.

And how, if such a woman loved you,--how
If, while she crown'd your proud ambition, she
Could crown her own ungovernable passion,
And felt that all this earth possess'd, and she
Could give, were all too little for your love?
Oh good, my lord! there may be such a woman.

BOURBON (_aside._)

Amazement! can it be, sweet Margaret--
That she has read our love?--impossible!--and yet--
That lip ne'er wore so sweet a smile!--it is.
That look _is_ pardon and acceptance! (_aloud_)--
speak. (_He falls at the Queen's feet._)
Madam, in pity speak but one word more,--
Who is that woman?