O my dear father, pardon me in this,
And then enjoin me all that man can suffer;
But sure the powers above will take our tears
For such a fault--love is so like themselves. [_Exeunt._


SCENE II.--_The Louvre._

_Enter_ GUISE, _attended with his Family;_ MARMOUTIERE _meeting him
new drest, attended, &c._

_Gui._ Furies! she keeps her word, and I am lost;
Yet let not my ambition shew it to her;
For, after all, she does it but to try me,
And foil my vowed design.--Madam, I see
You're come to court; the robes you wear become you;
Your air, your mien, your charms, your every grace,
Will kill at least your thousand in a day.

_Mar._ What, a whole day, and kill but one poor thousand!
An hour you mean, and in that hour ten thousand.
Yes, I would make with every glance a murder.--
Mend me this curl.

_Gui._ Woman! [_Aside._

_Mar._ You see, my lord,
I have my followers, like you. I swear,
The court's a heavenly place; but--O, my heart!
I know not why that sigh should come uncalled;