+Queen.+ Would you had not vowed; For by the practice of my enemies My fame is 'mong the people yet unsettled, And my capacity for government Held much too feeble. Should I then by this Provoke them to disdain me, I might run Apparent hazard even of ruin, now War so distracts our kingdom. But, my lord, Your merits are too ponderous in the scale, And all respects weigh light--you have his pardon. +Asc.+ Your hand on that. The down on the swan's bosom, [_Kisses and holds it._ Not white and soft as this: here's such a dew As drops from bounteous heaven in the morning, To make the shadowy bank pregnant with violets. +Queen.+ My lord! +Asc.+ I kiss'd it, and the Phœnix seem'd (The last of the whole race) to yield a perfume More sweet than all his dying ancestors Breath'd from their funeral piles. O, shrink not back! My life is so concomitant with love, That if you frown on either, both expire, And I must part for ever hence. +Queen.+ How strange appears this ecstasy! My lord, I fear Your brain feels some disturbance: if I cause it, I will remove the object. +Asc.+ Pardon, madam, The error of my fancy (which oft seems To see things absent), if my tongue did utter What misbecame your ear; and do not forfeit Your servant to perpetual misery, For want of a short patience. +Queen.+ No, my lord; I have the memory of your great deeds Engrav'd so deep, no error can have power To raze them from a due respect. You begg'd To have a pardon: speak th' offender's name. +Asc.+ Th' offender's name is Love; his crime high treason; A plot, how to surprise and wound your heart: To this conspirator I have given harbour, And vow'd to beg your mercy for him. +Queen.+ How! +Asc.+ And if you break your grant, I will hereafter Scorn all your sex, since the most excellent Is cruel and inconstant. +Queen.+ Pray, my lord, Go recollect your reason, which your passion Hath too much scatter'd. Make me not have cause To hate whom I would ever strive to honour. +Asc.+ Madam, you haply scorn the vulgar earth, Of which I stand compacted: and because I cannot add a splendour to my name, Reflective from a royal pedigree, You interdict my language: but be pleas'd To know, the ashes of my ancestors, If intermingled in the tomb with kings, Could hardly be distinguished. The stars shoot An equal influence on the open cottage, Where the poor shepherd's child is rudely nurs'd, And on the cradle, where the prince is rock'd With care and whisper. +Queen.+ And what hence infer you? +Asc.+ That no distinction is 'tween man and man, But as his virtues add to him a glory, Or vices cloud him.