_King._ 'Tis searching there where heaven can only pry, Not man, who knows not man but by surmise; Nor devils, nor angels of a purer mould, Can trace the winding labyrinths of thought. I tell thee, Marmoutiere, I never speak, Not when alone, for fear some fiend should hear, And blab my secrets out. _Mar._ You hate the Guise. _King._ True, I did hate him. _Mar._ And you hate him still. _King._ I am reconciled. _Mar._ Your spirit is too high, Great souls forgive not injuries, till time Has put their enemies into their power, That they may shew, forgiveness is their own; For else, 'tis fear to punish, that forgives; The coward, not the king. _King._ He has submitted. _Mar._ In show; for in effect he still insults. _King._ Well, kings must bear sometimes. _Mar._ They must, till they can shake their burden off; And that's, I think, your aim. _King._ Mistaken still: All favours, all preferments, pass through them; I'm pliant, and they mould me as they please. _Mar._ These are your arts, to make them more secure; Just so your brother used the admiral. Brothers may think, and act like brothers too. _King._ What said you, ha! what mean you, Marmoutiere? _Mar._ Nay, what mean you? that start betrayed you, sir. _King._ This is no vigil of St Bartholomew, Nor is Blois Paris. _Mar._ 'Tis an open town. _King._ What then? _Mar._ Where you are strongest. _King._ Well, what then? _Mar._ No more; but you have power, and are provoked. _King._ O, thou hast set thy foot upon a snake! Get quickly off, or it will sting thee dead. _Mar._ Can I unknow it? _King._ No, but keep it secret. _Mar._ Think, sir, your thoughts are still as much your own, As when you kept the key of your own breast; But since you let me in, I find it filled With death and horror: you would murder Guise. _King._ Murder! what, murder! use a softer word, And call it sovereign justice. _Mar._ Would I could! But justice bears the godlike shape of law, And law requires defence, and equal plea Betwixt the offender, and the righteous judge. _King._ Yes, when the offender can be judged by laws: But when his greatness overturns the scales, Then kings are justice in the last appeal, And, forced by strong necessity, may strike; In which, indeed, they assert the public good, And, like sworn surgeons, lop the gangrened limb: Unpleasant, wholesome, work. _Mar._ If this be needful. _King._ Ha! didst not thou thyself, in fathoming The depth of my designs, drop there the plummet? Didst thou not say--Affronts so great, so public, I never could forgive? _Mar._ I did; but yet-- _King._ What means, _but yet?_ 'tis evidence so full, If the last trumpet sounded in my ears, Undaunted I should meet the saints half way, And in the face of heaven maintain the fact. _Mar._ Maintain it then to heaven, but not to me. Do you love me? _King._ Can you doubt it?