Mar. First answer me, and then I’ll speak my heart. 
Have you, O Guise, since your last solemn oath,
Stood firm to what you swore?  Be plain, my lord,
Or run it o’er a while, because again
I tell you, I must never see you more.

Gui. Never!—­She’s set on by the king to sift me.  Why, by that never then, all I have sworn Is true, as that the king designs to end me.

Mar. Keep your obedience,—­by the saints, you live.

Gui. Then mark; ’tis judged by heads grown white in council, This very day he means to cut me off.

Mar. By heaven, then you’re forsworn; you’ve broke your vows.

Gui. By you, the justice of the earth, I have not.

Mar. By you, dissembler of the world, you have.  I know the king.

Gui. I do believe you, madam.

Mar. I have tried you both.

Gui. Not me, the king you mean.

Mar. Do these o’erboiling answers suit the Guise? 
But go to council, sir, there shew your truth;
If you are innocent, you’re safe; but O,
If I should chance to see you stretched along,
Your love, O Guise, and your ambition gone,
That venerable aspect pale with death,
I must conclude you merited your end.

Gui. You must, you will, and smile upon my murder.

Mar. Therefore, if you are conscious of a breach,
Confess it to me.  Lead me to the king;
He has promised me to conquer his revenge,
And place you next him; therefore, if you’re right,
Make me not fear it by asseverations,
But speak your heart, and O resolve me truly!

Gui. Madam, I’ve thought, and trust you with my soul. 
You saw but now my parting with my brother,
The prelate too of Lyons; it was debated
Warmly against me, that I should go on.

Mar. Did I not tell you, sir?

Gui. True; but in spite
Of those imperial arguments they urged,
I was not to be worked from second thought: 
There we broke off; and mark me, if I live,
You are the saint that makes a convert of me.

Mar. Go then:—­O heaven!  Why must I still suspect you?  Why heaves my heart, and overflow my eyes?  Yet if you live, O Guise,—­there, there’s the cause,—­ I never shall converse, nor see you more.

Gui. O say not so, for once again I’ll see you. 
Were you this very night to lodge with angels,
Yet say not never; for I hope by virtue
To merit heaven, and wed you late in glory.

Mar. This night, my lord, I’m a recluse for ever.

Gui. Ha! stay till morning:  tapers are too dim;
Stay till the sun rises to salute you;
Stay till I lead you to that dismal den
Of virgins buried quick, and stay for ever.

Mar. Alas! your suit is vain, for I have vowed it: 
Nor was there any other way to clear
The imputed stains of my suspected honour.