_Queen_. Dost thou not love him then? Good heaven, how stupid, and how dull is she? How most invincibly insensible! No woman does deserve to live, That loves not Philocles. _Ast_. Dear madam, recollect yourself; alas! How much distracted are your thoughts; and how Disjointed all your words! The sibyl's leaves more orderly were laid. Where is that harmony of mind, that prudence, Which guided all you did? that sense of glory, Which raised you high above the rest of kings, As kings are o'er the level of mankind? _Queen_. Gone, gone, Asteria; all is gone, Or lost within me, far from any use. Sometimes I struggle, like the sun in clouds, But straight I am o'ercast. _Ast_. I grieve to see it. _Queen_. Then thou hast yet the goodness To pardon what I said? Alas! I use myself much worse than thee. Love rages in great souls, For there his power most opposition finds; High trees are shook, because they dare the winds. [_Exeunt_. ACT III. SCENE I.--_The Court Gallery_. PHILOCLES _solus_. 'Tis true, she banished me but for a day; But favourites, once declining, sink apace. Yet fortune, stop--this is the likeliest place To meet Asteria, and by her convey My humble vows to my offended queen. Ha! She comes herself; unhappy man, Where shall I hide?--[_Is going out_. _Enter Queen and_ ASTERIA. _Queen_. Is not that Philocles, Who makes such haste away? Philocles, Philocles!-- _Phil_. I feared she saw me. [_Coming back_. _Queen_. How now, sir, am I such a bugbear, That I scare people from me? _Phil_. 'Tis true, I should more carefully have shunned The place where you might be; as, when it thunders, Men reverently quit the open air, Because the angry gods are then abroad. _Queen_. What does he mean, Asteria? I do not understand him. _Ast_. Your majesty forgets, you banished him Your presence for this day. [_To her softly_. _Queen_. Ha! banished him! 'tis true indeed; But, as thou sayest, I had forgot it quite. _Ast_. That's very strange, scarce half an hour ago. _Queen_. But love had drawn his pardon up so soon, That I forgot he e'er offended me. _Phil_. Pardon me, that I could not thank you sooner; Your sudden grace, like some swift flood poured in On narrow banks, o'erflowed my spirits. _Queen_. No: 'tis for me to ask your pardon, Philocles, For the great injury I did you, In not remembering I was angry with you: But I'll repair my fault, And rouse my anger up against you yet. _Phil_. No, madam, my forgiveness was your act of grace, And I lay hold of it. _Queen_. Princes sometimes may pass Acts of oblivion, in their own wrong. _Phil_. 'Tis true, but not recal them. _Queen_. But, Philocles, since I have told you there is one I love, I will go on, and let you know What passed this day betwixt us; be our judge, Whether my servant have dealt well with me. _Phil_. I beseech your majesty, excuse me: Any thing more of him may make me Relapse too soon, and forfeit my late pardon. _Queen_. But you'll be glad to know it.