Ast.  Who’s near there?—­help the queen!

[The guards are coming.

Queen.  Bid them away:  ’Twas but a qualm, And ’tis already going.

Ast.  Dear madam, what’s the matter? 
You are of late so altered, I scarce know you. 
You were gay humoured, and you now are pensive;
Once calm, and now unquiet:—­
Pardon my boldness, that I press thus far
Into your secret thoughts:  I have, at least,
A subject’s share in you.

Queen.  Thou hast a greater.  That of a friend:—­But I am froward, say’st thou?

Ast.  It ill becomes me, madam, to say that.

Queen.  I know I am:—­Pr’ythee, forgive me for it,—­
I cannot help it;—­but thou hast
Not long to suffer it.

Ast.  Alas!

Queen.  I feel my strength each day and hour consume,
Like lilies wasting in a lymbeck’s heat. 
Yet a few days,
And thou shalt see me lie, all damp and cold,
Shrouded within some hollow vault, among
My silent ancestors.

Ast.  O dearest madam!  Speak not of death; or think not, if you die, That I will stay behind.

Queen.  Thy love has moved me;—­I, for once, will have
The pleasure to be pitied.  I’ll unfold
A thing so strange, so horrid of myself—­

Ast.  Bless me, sweet heaven!—­ So horrid, said you, madam?

Queen.  That sun, who with one look surveys the globe,
Sees not a wretch like me!—­And could the world
Take a right measure of my state within,
Mankind must either pity me, or scorn me.

Ast.  Sure none could do the last.

Queen.  Thou longest to know it,
And I to tell thee, but shame stops my mouth. 
First, promise me thou wilt excuse my folly;
And, next, be secret.

Ast.  Can you doubt it, madam?

Queen.  Yet you might spare my labour:—­ Can you not guess?

Ast.  Madam, please you, I’ll try.

Queen.  Hold, Asteria!—­
I would not have you guess; for should you find it,
I should imagine that some other might,
And then I were most wretched:—­
Therefore, though you should know it, flatter me,
And say you could not guess it.

Ast.  Madam, I need not flatter you, I cannot—­and yet, Might not ambition trouble your repose?

Queen.  My Sicily, I thank the Gods, contents me. 
But, since I must reveal it, know,—­’tis love: 
I, who pretended so to glory, am
Become the slave of love.

Ast.  I thought your majesty had framed designs
To subvert all your laws; become a tyrant,
Or vex your neighbours, with injurious wars;
Is this all, madam?

Queen.  Is not this enough? 
Then, know, I love below myself; a subject;
Love one, who loves another, and who knows not
That I love him.