--
QUEEN.
And how, if such a woman loved you,--how
If, while she crown'd your proud ambition, she
Could crown her own ungovernable passion,
And felt that all this earth possess'd, and she
Could give, were all too little for your love?
Oh good, my lord! there may be such a woman.
BOURBON (_aside._)
Amazement! can it be, sweet Margaret--
That she has read our love?--impossible!--and yet--
That lip ne'er wore so sweet a smile!--it is.
That look _is_ pardon and acceptance! (_aloud_)--
speak. (_He falls at the Queen's feet._)
Madam, in pity speak but one word more,--
Who is that woman?
QUEEN (_throwing off her veil._)
I am that woman!
BOURBON (_starting up._)
You, by the holy mass! I scorn your proffers;
Is there no crimson blush to tell of fame
And shrinking womanhood! Oh shame! shame! shame!
(_The Queen remains clasping her hands to her temples, while _De Bourbon_
walks hastily up and down; after a long pause the _Queen_ speaks._)
(_The _Queen_ summons her Confessor._)
_Enter _GONZALES.
Sir, we have business with this holy father;
You may retire.
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