Shine through my cares, and make my crown sit easy.

_Mar._ O never, sir.

_King._ What said you, Marmoutiere?
Why dost thou turn thy beauties into frowns?

_Mar._ You know, sir, 'tis impossible; no more.

_King._ No more?--and with that stern resolved behaviour?
By heaven! were I a dying, and the priest
Should urge my last confession, I'd cry out,
Oh Marmoutiere! and yet thou say'st,--No more!

_Mar._ 'Tis well, sir; I have lost my aim, farewell.

_King._ Come back! O stay, my life flows after you.

_Mar._ No, sir, I find I am a trouble to you;
You will not hear my suit.

_King._ You cannot go,
You shall not.--O your suit, I kneel to grant it;
I beg you take whatever you demand.

_Mar._ Then, sir, thus low, or prostrate if you please,
Let me intreat for Guise.

_King._ Ha, madam, what!
For Guise; for Guise! that stubborn arrogant rebel,