_King._ Why, can the devil dwell too in that form? This is their little engine by the bye, A scout to watch and tell when danger's nigh. Come, pretty sinner, thou'lt inform me all, How, where, and when; nay, do not fear--you shall. _Hen._ Ah, sir, unkind! [_Kneels._ _King._ Now hold thy siren's tongue: Who would have thought there was a witch so young? _Don John._ Can you to suing beauty stop your ears? [_Raises up_ HENRIETTA _and makes his address to her_. Heaven lays its thunder by, and gladly hears, When angels are become petitioners. _D. of Eboli._ Ha! what makes Austria so officious there? That glance seems as it sent his heart to her. [_Aside to_ GARCIA. _Don Car._ A banquet then of blood since you design, Yet you may satisfy yourself with mine. I love the queen, I have confessed, 'tis true: Proud too to think I love her more than you; Though she, by Heaven, is clear;--but I indeed Have been unjust, and do deserve to bleed. There were no lawless thoughts that I did want, Which love had power to ask, or beauty grant; Though I ne'er yet found hopes to raise them on, For she did still preserve her honour's throne, And dash the bold aspiring devils down. If to her cause you do not credit give, Fondly against your happiness you'll strive; As some lose Heaven, because they won't believe. _Queen._ Whilst, prince, my preservation you design, Blot not your virtue to add more to mine. The clearness of my truth I'd not have shown By any other light besides its own.-- No, sir, he through despair all this has said, And owns offences which he never made. Why should you think that I would do you wrong? Must I needs be unchaste because I'm young? _King._ Unconstant wavering heart, why heavest thou so? I shiver all, and know not what I do. I who ere now have armies led to fight, Thought war a sport, and danger a delight, Whole winter nights stood under Heaven's wide roof, Daring my foes, now am not beauty-proof. Oh, turn away those basilisks, thy eyes; The infection's fatal, and who sees them dies. [_Going away._ _Queen._ Oh, do not fly me; I have no design Upon your life, for you may yet save mine. [_Kneels._ Or if at last I must my breath submit, Here take it, 'tis an offering at your feet: Will you not look on me, my dearest lord? _King._ Why? wouldst thou live? _Queen._ Yes, if you'll say the word. _Don Car._ O Heaven! how coldly and unmoved he sees A praying beauty prostrate on her knees! Rise, madam-- [_Steps to take her up._