QUEEN (_throwing off her veil._)

I am that woman!

BOURBON (_starting up._)

You, by the holy mass! I scorn your proffers;
Is there no crimson blush to tell of fame
And shrinking womanhood! Oh shame! shame! shame!

(_The Queen remains clasping her hands to her temples, while _De Bourbon_
walks hastily up and down; after a long pause the _Queen_ speaks._)

(_The _Queen_ summons her Confessor._)

_Enter _GONZALES.

Sir, we have business with this holy father;
You may retire.

BOURBON.

Confusion!

QUEEN.

Are we obeyed?

BOURBON (_aside._)