I'll move the king; he is most strangely alter'd: I
guess the cause, I fear, too right. Heaven has some
secret end in't, and 'tis a scourge, no question, justly
laid upon him. He has follow'd me through twenty
rooms; and ever, when I stay to wait his command, he
blushes like a girl, and looks upon me as if modesty kept
in his business; so turns away from me; but, if I go on,
he follows me again.
See, here he is. I do not use this, yet, I know not how,
I cannot choose but weep to see him: his very enemies,
I think, whose wounds have bred his fame, if they should
see him now, would find tears i' their eyes.