As if heaven lent you to the world to pattern.

_King._ Madam, I find you are no petitioner;
My people would not treat me in this sort,
Though 'twere to gain a part of their design;
But to the Guise they deal their faithless praise
As fast, as you your flattery to me;
Though for what end I cannot guess, except
You come, like them, to mock at my misfortunes.

_Mar._ Forgive you, heaven, that thought! No, mighty monarch,
The love of all the good, and wonder of the great;
I swear, by heaven, my heart adores, and loves you.

_King._ O madam, rise.

_Mar._ Nay, were you, sir, unthroned
By this seditious rout that dare despise you,
Blast all my days, ye powers! torment my nights;
Nay, let the misery invade my sex,
That could not for the royal cause, like me,
Throw all their luxury before your feet,
And follow you, like pilgrims, through the world.

_Gril._ Sound wind and limb! 'fore God, a gallant girl! [_Aside._

_King._ What shall I answer to thee, O thou balm
To heal a broken, yet a kingly heart!
For, so I swear I will be to my last.
Come to my arms, and be thy Harry's angel,