_Queen_. You offend me, Philocles. Whence had you leave to use those insolent terms, Of him I please to love? One, I must tell you, (Since foolishly I have gone thus far) Whom I esteem your equal, And far superior to prince Lysimantes; One, who deserves to wear a crown-- _Phil_. Whirlwinds bear me hence, before I live To that detested day!--That frown assures me I have offended, by my over-freedom; But yet, methinks, a heart so plain and honest, And zealous of your glory, might hope your pardon for it. _Queen_. I give it you; but, When you know him better, You'll alter your opinion; he's no ill friend of yours. _Phil_. I well perceive, He has supplanted me in your esteem; But that's the least of ills this fatal wretch Has practised--Think, for heaven's sake, madam, think, If you have drunk no philtre. _Queen_. Yes, he has given me a philtre; But I have drunk it only from his eyes. _Phil_. Hot irons thank 'em for't! [_Softly, or turning from her_. _Queen_. What's that you mutter? Hence from my sight! I know not whether I ever shall endure to see you more. _Phil_. But hear me, madam. _Queen_. I say, begone.--See me no more this day.-- I will not hear one word in your excuse: Now, sir, be rude again; and give laws to your queen. [_Exit_ PHILOCLES _bowing_. Asteria, come hither. Was ever boldness like to this of Philocles? Help me to reproach him, for I resolve Henceforth no more to love him. _Ast_. Truth is, I wondered at your patience, madam: Did you not mark his words, his mein, his action, How full of haughtiness, how small respect? _Queen_. And he to use me thus, he whom I favoured, Nay more, he whom I loved? _Ast_. A man, methinks, of vulgar parts and presence! _Queen_. Or, allow him something handsome, valiant, Or so--Yet this to me!-- _Ast_. The workmanship of inconsiderate favour, The creature of rash love; one of those meteors Which monarchs raise from earth, And people, wondering how they came so high, Fear, from their influence, plagues, and wars, and famine. _Queen_. Ha! _Ast_. One, whom, instead of banishing a day, You should have plumed of all his borrowed honours, And let him see what abject things they are, Whom princes often love without desert. _Queen_. What has my Philocles deserved from thee, That thou shouldst use him thus? Were he the basest of mankind, thou couldst not Have given him ruder language. _Ast_. Did not your majesty command me? Did not yourself begin? _Queen_. I grant I did, but I have right to do it: I love him, and may rail; in you 'tis malice; Malice in the most high degree; for never man Was more deserving than my Philocles. Or, do you love him, ha! and plead that title? Confess, and I'll forgive you-- For none can look on him, but needs must love. _Ast_. I love him, madam! I beseech your majesty, Have better thoughts of me.