 | Marie de Méraine |  |
SCENE II.
Corridor in the Palace.Enter Sir Lucien and Anne.
Sir L.
She had been bless'd beyond compare if fortune
Obeyed desert!
Anne.
You'd weep to look on her;
Her patience touches more than could complaint.
When first I seek her chamber, she'll discourse
Awhile on trivial things, as if to veil
Grief at her heart; yet, what her words would hide,
Her faltering step and flitting smile reveal.
Alas, dear mistress!
[Weeps.
Sir L.
Why, these are tears!
I honour thee for this. Now is thy soul
Well mated with thy beauty!
[Attempting to take her hand.
Anne.
[Withdrawing it.]
Possibly.
But that concerns you little. [Aside.]
Stay, I'll try him!
107
Should not the king resign her?
Sir L.
Having sworn
To love and shield her? Never!
Anne.
Then Rome's curse
Still rests on France.
Sir L.
Not if he yield his throne.
Anne.
How, yield his throne?
Sir L.
The throne of earth were poor,
Save a royal spirit filled it. 'Tis not needful
For any man that he be styled a king;
But that each man be true to his own manhood,
That is most needful.
Anne.
Good; then, wert thou Philip,
How wouldst thou act?
Sir L.
If truth to her I chose
Brought ruin on my realm, I yield my realm,
Unclasp my kingly robes, cast off my crown,
Take my wife's hand in mine, and trust the soul,
That falsehood ne'er had flawed to win me fame.
Anne.
[Aside, with delight.]
So, so—the flash breaks out; a man, by heaven!
That's rightly said. My hand upon it, sir.
Sir L.
And may I keep it?
Anne.
Yes; until we reach
Her grace's antechamber. 'Tis your due.
[They go out.
| Marie de Méraine | |