And, pr'ythee, tell him roundly of his faults,
No farther, honest Grillon.

_Gril._ Shall I fight him?

_King._ I charge thee, not.

_Gril._ If he provokes me, strike him;
You'll grant me that?

_King._ Not so, my honest soldier;
Yet speak to him.

_Gril._ I will, by heaven, to the purpose;
And, if he force a beating, who can help it? [_Exit._

_King._ Follow, Alphonso; when the storm is up,
Call me to part them.

_Qu. M._ Grillon, to ask him pardon,
Will let Guise know we are not in the dark.

_King._ You hit the judgment; yet, O yet, there's more;
Something upon my heart, after these counsels,
So soft, and so unworthy to be named!--

_Qu. M._ They say, that Grillon's niece is come to court,
And means to kiss your hand. [_Exit._

_King._ Could I but hope it!