That laughs at proffered mercy, slights his pardon,
Mocks royal grace, and plots upon my life?
Ha! and do you protect him? then the world
Is sworn to Henry's death: Does beauty too,
And innocence itself conspire against me?
Then let me tamely yield my glories up,
Which once I vowed with my drawn sword to wear
To my last drop of blood.--Come Guise, come cardinal,
All you loved traitors, come--I strip to meet you;
Sheathe all your daggers in curst Henry's heart.

_Mar._ This I expected; but when you have heard
How far I would intreat your majesty,
Perhaps you'll be more calm.

_King._ See, I am hushed;
Speak then; how far, madam, would you command?

_Mar._ Not to proceed to last extremities,
Before the wound is desperate. Think alone,
For no man judges like your majesty:
Take your own methods; all the heads of France
Cannot so well advise you, as yourself.
Therefore resume, my lord, your god-like temper,
Yet do not bear more than a monarch should;
Believe it, sir, the more your majesty
Draws back your arm, the more of fate it carries.

_King._ Thou genius of my state, thou perfect model
Of heaven itself, and abstract of the angels,