Gril. Thou liest! and if thou hadst not glanced aside, And spied me coming, I had had it all.

Mar. By heaven! by all that’s good—­

Gril. Thou hast lost thy honour. 
Give me this hand, this hand by which I caught thee
From the bold ruffian in the massacre,
That would have stained thy almost infant honour,
With lust, and blood;—­dost thou remember it?

Mar. I do, and bless the godlike arm, that saved me.

Gril. ’Tis false! thou hast forgot my generous action; And now thou laugh’st, to think how thou hast cheated, For all his kindness, this old grisled fool.

Mar. Forbid it heaven!

Gril. But oh, that thou hadst died
Ten thousand deaths, ere blasted Grillon’s glory;
Grillon, that saved thee from a barbarous world. 
Where thou hadst starved, or sold thyself for bread;
Took thee into his bosom, fostered thee
As his own soul, and laid thee in his heart-strings;
And now, for all my cares, to serve me thus! 
O ’tis too much, ye powers! double confusion
On all my wars; and oh,—­out, shame upon thee! 
It wrings the tears from Grillon’s iron heart,
And melts me to a babe.

Mar. Sir! father! hear me!  I come to court, to save the life of Guise.

Gril. And prostitute thy honour to the king.

Mar. I have looked, perhaps, too nicely for my sex,
Into the dark affairs of fatal state;
And, to advance this dangerous inquisition,
I listened to the love of daring Guise.

Gril. By arms, by honesty, I swear thou lovest him!

Mar. By heaven, that gave those arms success, I swear
I do not, as you think! but take it all. 
I have heard the Guise, not with an angel’s temper,
Something beyond the tenderness of pity,
And yet, not love. 
Now, by the powers that framed me, this is all! 
Nor should the world have wrought this close confession,
But to rebate your jealousy of honour.

Gril. I know not what to say, nor what to think;
There’s heaven still in thy voice, but that’s a sign
Virtue’s departing; for thy better angel
Still makes the woman’s tongue his rising ground,
Wags there a while, and takes his flight for ever.

Mar. You must not go.

Gril. Though I have reason, plain
As day, to judge thee false, I think thee true: 
By heaven, methinks I see a glory round thee! 
There’s something says, thou wilt not lose thy honour:—­
Death and the devil! that’s my own honesty;
My foolish open nature, that would have
All like myself;—­but off; I’ll hence and curse thee!

Mar. O, stay!

Gril. I will not.
Mar. Hark! the king’s coming. 
Let me conjure you, for your own soul’s quiet,
And for the everlasting rest of mine,
Stir not, till you have heard my heart’s design.