Chapter VII: Act V: SCENE I.--The Castle of Blois

_Enter_ GRILLON, _and_ ALPHONSO CORSO.

_Gril._ Welcome, colonel, welcome to Blois.

_Alph._ Since last we parted at the barricadoes, The world's turned upside down.

_Gril._ No, 'faith, 'tis better now, 'tis downside up: Our part o'the wheel is rising, though but slowly.

_Alph._ Who looked for an assembly of the States?

_Gril._ When the king was escaped from Paris, and got out of the toils, 'twas time for the Guise to take them down, and pitch others: that is, to treat for the calling of a parliament, where, being sure of the major part, he might get by law what he had missed by force.

_Alph._ But why should the king assemble the States, to satisfy the Guise, after so many affronts?

_Gril._ For the same reason, that a man in a duel says he has received satisfaction, when he is first wounded, and afterwards disarmed.

_Alph._ But why this parliament at Blois, and not at Paris?

_Gril._ Because no barricadoes have been made at Blois. This Blois is a very little town, and the king can draw it after him; but Paris is a damned unwieldy bulk; and when the preachers draw against the king, a parson in a pulpit is a devilish fore-horse. Besides, I found in that insurrection what dangerous beasts these townsmen are; I tell you, colonel, a man had better deal with ten of their wives, than with one zealous citizen: O your inspired cuckold is most implacable.

_Alph._ Is there any seeming kindness between the king and the duke of Guise?

_Gril._ Yes, most wonderful: they are as dear to one another as an old usurer, and a rich young heir upon a mortgage. The king is very loyal to the Guise, and the Guise is very gracious to the king: Then the cardinal of Guise, and the archbishop of Lyons, are the two pendants that are always hanging at the royal ear; they ease his majesty of all the spiritual business, and the Guise of all the temporal; so that the king is certainly the happiest prince in Christendom, without any care upon him; so yielding up every thing to his loyal subjects, that he's infallibly in the way of being the greatest and most glorious king in all the world.

_Alph._ Yet I have heard he made a sharp reflecting speech upon their party at the opening of the parliament, admonished men of their duties, pardoned what was past, but seemed to threaten vengeance if they persisted for the future.

_Gril._ Yes; and then they all took the sacrament together: he promising to unite himself to them, and they to obey him, according to the laws; yet the very next morning they went on, in pursuance of their old commonwealth designs, as violently as ever.

_Alph._ Now, I am dull enough to think they have broken their oath.

_Gril._ Ay, but you are but one private man, and they are the three States; and if they vote that they have not broken their oaths, who is to be judge?

_Alph._ There's one above.

_Gril._ I hope you mean in heaven; or else you are a bolder man than I am in parliament time[18]; but here comes the master and my niece.

_Alph._ Heaven preserve him! if a man may pray for him without treason.

_Gril._ O yes, you may pray for him; the preachers of the Guise's side do that most formally; nay, you may be suffered civilly to drink his health; be of the court, and keep a place of profit under him: for, in short, 'tis a judged case of conscience, to make your best of the king, and to side against him.

_Enter_ KING _and_ MARMOUTIERE.

_King._ Grillon, be near me, There's something for my service to be done, Your orders will be sudden; now, withdraw.

_Gril._ [_Aside._] Well, I dare trust my niece, even though she comes of my own family; but if she cuckolds my good opinion of her honesty, there's a whole sex fallen under a general rule, without one exception. [_Exeunt_ GRIL. _and_ ALPH.

_Mar._ You bid my uncle wait you.

_King._ Yes.

_Mar._ This hour?

_King._ I think it was.

_Mar._ Something of moment hangs upon this hour.

_King._ Not more on this, than on the next, and next. My time is all ta'en up on usury; I never am beforehand with my hours, But every one has work before it comes.

_Mar._ "There's something for my service to be done;"-- Those were your words.

_King._ And you desire their meaning?

_Mar._ I dare not ask, and yet, perhaps, may guess.

_King._ 'Tis searching there where heaven can only pry, Not man, who knows not man but by surmise; Nor devils, nor angels of a purer mould, Can trace the winding labyrinths of thought. I tell thee, Marmoutiere, I never speak, Not when alone, for fear some fiend should hear, And blab my secrets out.

_Mar._ You hate the Guise.

_King._ True, I did hate him.

_Mar._ And you hate him still.

_King._ I am reconciled.

_Mar._ Your spirit is too high, Great souls forgive not injuries, till time Has put their enemies into their power, That they may shew, forgiveness is their own; For else, 'tis fear to punish, that forgives; The coward, not the king.

_King._ He has submitted.

_Mar._ In show; for in effect he still insults.

_King._ Well, kings must bear sometimes.

_Mar._ They must, till they can shake their burden off; And that's, I think, your aim.

_King._ Mistaken still: All favours, all preferments, pass through them; I'm pliant, and they mould me as they please.

_Mar._ These are your arts, to make them more secure; Just so your brother used the admiral. Brothers may think, and act like brothers too.

_King._ What said you, ha! what mean you, Marmoutiere?

_Mar._ Nay, what mean you? that start betrayed you, sir.

_King._ This is no vigil of St Bartholomew, Nor is Blois Paris.

_Mar._ 'Tis an open town.

_King._ What then?

_Mar._ Where you are strongest.

_King._ Well, what then?

_Mar._ No more; but you have power, and are provoked.

_King._ O, thou hast set thy foot upon a snake! Get quickly off, or it will sting thee dead.

_Mar._ Can I unknow it?

_King._ No, but keep it secret.

_Mar._ Think, sir, your thoughts are still as much your own, As when you kept the key of your own breast; But since you let me in, I find it filled With death and horror: you would murder Guise.

_King._ Murder! what, murder! use a softer word, And call it sovereign justice.

_Mar._ Would I could! But justice bears the godlike shape of law, And law requires defence, and equal plea Betwixt the offender, and the righteous judge.

_King._ Yes, when the offender can be judged by laws: But when his greatness overturns the scales, Then kings are justice in the last appeal, And, forced by strong necessity, may strike; In which, indeed, they assert the public good, And, like sworn surgeons, lop the gangrened limb: Unpleasant, wholesome, work.

_Mar._ If this be needful.

_King._ Ha! didst not thou thyself, in fathoming The depth of my designs, drop there the plummet? Didst thou not say--Affronts so great, so public, I never could forgive?

_Mar._ I did; but yet--

_King._ What means, _but yet?_ 'tis evidence so full, If the last trumpet sounded in my ears, Undaunted I should meet the saints half way, And in the face of heaven maintain the fact.

_Mar._ Maintain it then to heaven, but not to me. Do you love me?

_King._ Can you doubt it?

_Mar._ Yes, I can doubt it, if you can deny; Love begs once more this great offender's life. Can you forgive the man you justly hate, That hazards both your life and crown to spare him? One, whom you may suspect I more than pity,-- For I would have you see, that what I ask, I know, is wondrous difficult to grant,-- Can you be thus extravagantly good?

_King._ What then? for I begin to fear my firmness, And doubt the soft destruction of your tongue.

_Mar._ Then, in return, I swear to heaven and you, To give you all the preference of my soul; No rebel rival to disturb you there; Let him but live, that he may be my convert! [_King walks awhile, then wipes his eyes, and speaks._

_King._ You've conquered; all that's past shall be forgiven. My lavish love has made a lavish grant; But know, this act of grace shall be my last. Let him repent, yes, let him well repent; Let him desist, and tempt revenge no further: For, by yon heaven, that's conscious of his crimes, I will no more by mercy be betrayed.

_Deputies appearing at the Door._

The deputies are entering; you must leave me. Thus, tyrant business all my hours usurps, And makes me live for others.

_Mar._ Now heaven reward you with a prosperous reign, And grant, you never may be good in vain! [_Exit._

_Enter Deputies of the Three States: Cardinal of_ GUISE, _and
Archbishop of_ LYONS, _at the head of them._

_King._ Well, my good lords, what matters of importance Employed the States this morning?

_Arch._ One high point Was warmly canvassed in the Commons House, And will be soon resolved.

_King._ What was't?

_Card._ Succession.

_King._ That's one high point indeed, but not to be So warmly canvassed, or so soon resolved.

_Card._ Things necessary must sometimes be sudden.

_King._ No sudden danger threatens you, my lord.

_Arch._ What may be sudden, must be counted so. We hope and wish your life; but yours and ours Are in the hand of heaven.

_King._ My lord, they are; Yet, in a natural way, I may live long, If heaven, and you my loyal subjects, please.

_Arch._ But since good princes, like your majesty, Take care of dangers merely possible, Which may concern their subjects, whose they are, And for whom kings are made--

_King._ Yes; we for them, And they for us; the benefits are mutual, And so the ties are too.

_Card._ To cut things short, The Commons will decree, to exclude Navarre From the succession of the realm of France.

_King._ Decree, my lord! What! one estate decree? Where then are the other two, and what am I? The government is cast up somewhat short, The clergy and nobility cashiered, Five hundred popular figures on a row, And I myself, that am, or should be, king, An o'ergrown cypher set before the sum: What reasons urge our sovereigns for the exclusion?

_Arch._ He stands suspected, sir, of heresy.

_King._ Has he been called to make his just defence?

_Card._ That needs not, for 'tis known.

_King._ To whom?

_Card._ The Commons.

_King._ What is't those gods, the Commons, do not know? But heresy, you churchmen teach us vulgar, Supposes obstinate, and stiff persisting In errors proved, long admonitions made, And all rejected: Has this course been used?

_Arch._ We grant it has not; but--

_King._ Nay, give me leave,-- I urge, from your own grant, it has not been. If then, in process of a petty sum, Both parties having not been fully heard, No sentence can be given; Much less in the succession of a crown, Which, after my decease, by right inherent, Devolves upon my brother of Navarre.

_Card._ The right of souls is still to be preferred; Religion must not suffer for a claim.

_King._ If kings may be excluded, or deposed, Whene'er you cry religion to the crowd; That doctrine makes rebellion orthodox, And subjects must be traitors, to be saved.

_Arch._ Then heresy's entailed upon the throne.

_King._ You would entail confusion, wars, and slaughters: Those ills are certain; what you name, contingent. I know my brother's nature; 'tis sincere, Above deceit, no crookedness of thought; Says what he means, and what he says performs; Brave, but not rash; successful, but not proud; So much acknowledging, that he's uneasy, Till every petty service be o'erpaid.

_Arch._ Some say, revengeful.

_King._ Some then libel him; But that's what both of us have learned to bear. He can forgive, but you disdain forgiveness. Your chiefs are they no libel must profane; Honour's a sacred thing in all but kings; But when your rhymes assassinate our fame, You hug your nauseous, blundering ballad-wits, And pay them, as if nonsense were a merit, If it can mean but treason.

_Arch._ Sir, we have many arguments to urge--

_King._ And I have more to answer: Let them know, My royal brother of Navarre shall stand Secure by right, by merit, and my love. God, and good men, will never fail his cause, And all the bad shall be constrained by laws.

_Arch._ Since gentle means to exclude Navarre are vain, To-morrow, in the States, 'twill be proposed, To make the duke of Guise lieutenant-general; Which power, most graciously confirmed by you, Will stop this headlong torrent of succession, That bears religion, laws, and all before it. In hope you'll not oppose what must be done, We wish you, sir, a long and prosperous reign. [_Exeunt all but the King._

_King._ To-morrow Guise is made lieutenant-general;-- Why, then, to-morrow I no more am king. 'Tis time to push my slackened vengeance home, To be a king, or not to be at all. The vow that manacled my rage is loosed; Even heaven is wearied with repeated crimes, Till lightning flashes round, to guard the throne, And the curbed thunder grumbles to be gone.

_Enter_ GRILLON _to him._

_Gril._ 'Tis just the appointed hour you bid me wait.

_King._ So just, as if thou wert inspired to come; As if the guardian-angel of my throne, Who had o'erslept himself so many years, Just now was roused, and brought thee to my rescue.

_Gril._ I hear the Guise will be lieutenant-general.

_King._ And canst thou suffer it?

_Gril._ Nay, if you will suffer it, then well may I. If kings will be so civil to their subjects, to give up all things tamely, they first turn rebels to themselves, and that's a fair example for their friends. 'Slife, sir, 'tis a dangerous matter to be loyal on the wrong side, to serve my prince in spite of him; if you'll be a royalist yourself, there are millions of honest men will fight for you; but if you will not, there are few will hang for you.

_King._ No more: I am resolved. The course of things can be with-held no longer From breaking forth to their appointed end: My vengeance, ripened in the womb of time, Presses for birth, and longs to be disclosed. Grillon, the Guise is doomed to sudden death: The sword must end him:--has not thine an edge?

_Gril._ Yes, and a point too; I'll challenge him.

_King._ I bid thee kill him. [_Walking._

_Gril._ So I mean to do.

_King._ Without thy hazard.

_Gril._ Now I understand you; I should murder him: I am your soldier, sir, but not your hangman.

_King._ Dost thou not hate him?

_Gril._ Yes.

_King._ Hast thou not said, That he deserves it?

_Gril._ Yes; but how have I Deserved to do a murder?

_King._ 'Tis no murder; 'Tis sovereign justice, urged from self-defence.

_Gril._ 'Tis all confest, and yet I dare not do't.

_King._ Go; thou art a coward.

_Gril._ You are my king.

_King._ Thou say'st, thou dar'st not kill him.

_Gril._ Were I a coward, I had been a villain, And then I durst have done't.

_King._ Thou hast done worse, in thy long course of arms. Hast thou ne'er killed a man?

_Gril._ Yes, when a man would have killed me.

_King._ Hast thou not plundered from the helpless poor? Snatched from the sweating labourer his food?

_Gril._ Sir, I have eaten and drank in my own defence, when I was hungry and thirsty; I have plundered, when you have not paid me; I have been content with a farmer's daughter, when a better whore was not to be had. As for cutting off a traitor, I'll execute him lawfully in my own function, when I meet him in the field; but for your chamber-practice, that's not my talent.

_King._ Is my revenge unjust, or tyrannous? Heaven knows I love not blood.

_Gril._ No, for your mercy is your only vice. You may dispatch a rebel lawfully, but the mischief is, that rebel has given me my life at the barricadoes, and, till I have returned his bribe, I am not upon even terms with him.

_King._ Give me thy hand; I love thee not the worse: Make much of honour, 'tis a soldier's conscience. Thou shalt not do this act; thou art even too good; But keep my secret, for that's conscience too.

_Gril._ When I disclose it, think I am a coward.

_King._ No more of that, I know thou art not one. Call Lognac hither straight, and St Malin; Bid Larchant find some unsuspected means, To keep guards doubled at the council-door, That none pass in or out, but those I call: The rest I'll think on further; so farewell.

_Gril._ Heaven bless your majesty! Though I'll not kill him for you, I'll defend you when he's killed: For the honest part of the job let me alone[19]. [_Exeunt severally._

SCENE II.--SCENE _opens, and discovers Men and Women at a Banquet,_ MALICORN _standing by._

_Mal._ This is the solemn annual feast I keep, As this day twelve year, on this very hour, I signed the contract for my soul with hell. I bartered it for honours, wealth, and pleasure, Three things which mortal men do covet most; And 'faith, I over-sold it to the fiend: What, one-and-twenty years, nine yet to come! How can a soul be worth so much to devils? O how I hug myself, to out-wit these fools of hell! And yet a sudden damp, I know not why, Has seized my spirits, and, like a heavy weight, Hangs on their active springs. I want a song To rouse me; my blood freezes.--Music there.

A SONG BETWIXT A SHEPHERD AND SHEPHERDESS.

Shepherdess.

_Tell me, Thyrsis, tell your anguish,
Why you sigh, and why you languish;
When the nymph whom you adore,
Grants the blessing
Of possessing,
What can love and I do more?_

Shepherd.

_Think it's love beyond all measure,
Makes me faint away with pleasure;
Strength of cordial may destroy.
And the blessing
Of possessing,
Kills me with excess of joy._

Shepherdess.

_Thyrsis, how can I believe you!
But confess, and I'll forgive you;
Men are false, and so are you,
Never nature
Framed a creature
To enjoy, and yet be true._

Shepherd.

_Mine's a flame beyond expiring,
Still possessing, still desiring,
Fit for love's imperial crown;
Ever shining,
And refining,
Still the more 'tis melted down._

Chorus together.

_Mine's a flame beyond expiring.
Still possessing, still desiring,
Fit for love's imperial crown;
Ever shining,
And refining,
Still the more 'tis melted down._

_After a Song and Dance, loud knocking at the Door,_

_Enter a Servant._

_Mal._ What noise is that?

_Serv._ An ill-looked surly man, With a hoarse voice, says he must speak with you.

_Mal._ Tell him I dedicate this day to pleasure. I neither have, nor will have, business with him. [_Exit_ SERV. What, louder yet? what saucy slave is this? [_Knock louder._

_Re-enter Servant._

_Serv._ He says you have, and must have, business with him. Come out, or he'll come in, and spoil your mirth.

_Mal._ I will not.

_Serv._ Sir, I dare not tell him so; [_Knocking again more fiercely._ My hair stands up in bristles when I see him; The dogs run into corners; the spay'd bitch Bays at his back, and howls[20].

_Mal._ Bid him enter, and go off thyself. [_Exit Serv._

SCENE _closes upon the company._

_Enter_ MELANAX, _an hour-glass in his hand, almost empty._

How dar'st thou interrupt my softer hours? By heaven, I'll ram thee in some knotted oak, Where thou shalt sigh, and groan to whistling winds, Upon the lonely plain. Or I'll confine thee deep in the red sea, groveling on the sands, Ten thousand billows rolling o'er thy head.

_Mel._ Hoh, hoh, hoh!

_Mal._ Laughest thou, malicious fiend? I'll ope my book of bloody characters, Shall rumple up thy tender airy limbs, Like parchment in a flame.

_Mel._ Thou can'st not do it. Behold this hour-glass.

_Mal._ Well, and what of that?

_Mel._ Seest thou these ebbing sands? They run for thee, and when their race is run, Thy lungs, the bellows of thy mortal breath, Shall sink for ever down, and heave no more.

_Mal._ What, resty, fiend? Nine years thou hast to serve.

_Mel._ Not full nine minutes.

_Mal._ Thou liest; look on thy bond, and view the date.

_Mel._ Then, wilt thou stand to that without appeal?

_Mal.._ I will, so help me heaven!

_Mel._ So take thee hell. [_Gives him the bond._ There, fool; behold who lies, the devil, or thou?

_Mal._ Ha! one-and-twenty years are shrunk to twelve! Do my eyes dazzle?

_Mel._ No, they see too true: They dazzled once, I cast a mist before them, So what was figured twelve, to thy dull sight Appeared full twenty-one.

_Mal._ There's equity in heaven for this, a cheat.

_Mel._ Fool, thou hast quitted thy appeal to heaven, To stand to this.

_Mal._ Then I am lost for ever!

_Mel._ Thou art.

_Mal._ O why was I not warned before?

_Mel._ Yes, to repent; then thou hadst cheated me.

_Mal._ Add but a day, but half a day, an hour: For sixty minutes, I'll forgive nine years.

_Mel._ No, not a moment's thought beyond my time. Dispatch; 'tis much below me to attend For one poor single fare.

_Mal._ So pitiless? But yet I may command thee, and I will: I love the Guise, even with my latest breath, Beyond my soul, and my lost hopes of heaven: I charge thee, by my short-lived power, disclose What fate attends my master.

_Mel._ If he goes To council when he next is called, he dies.

_Mal._ Who waits?

_Enter Servant._

Go, give my lord my last adieu; Say, I shall never see his eyes again; But if he goes, when next he's called, to council, Bid him believe my latest breath, he dies.-- [_Exit Serv._ The sands run yet.--O do not shake the glass!-- [_Devil shakes the glass._ I shall be thine too soon!--Could I repent!-- Heaven's not confined to moments.--Mercy, mercy!

_Mel._ I see thy prayers dispersed into the winds, And heaven has past them by. I was an angel once of foremost rank, Stood next the shining throne, and winked but half; So almost gazed I glory in the face, That I could bear it, and stared farther in; 'Twas but a moment's pride, and yet I fell, For ever fell; but man, base earth-born man, Sins past a sum, and might be pardoned more: And yet 'tis just; for we were perfect light, And saw our crimes; man, in his body's mire, Half soul, half clod, sinks blindfold into sin, Betrayed by frauds without, and lusts within.

_Mel._ Then I have hope.

_Mal._ Not so; I preached on purpose To make thee lose this moment of thy prayer. Thy sand creeps low; despair, despair, despair!

_Mal._ Where am I now? upon the brink of life, The gulph before me, devils to push me on, And heaven behind me closing all its doors. A thousand years for every hour I've past, O could I 'scape so cheap! but ever, ever! Still to begin an endless round of woes, To be renewed for pains, and last for hell! Yet can pains last, when bodies cannot last? Can earthy substance endless flames endure? Or, when one body wears and flits away, Do souls thrust forth another crust of clay, To fence and guard their tender forms from fire? I feel my heart-strings rend!--I'm here,--I'm gone! Thus men, too careless of their future state, Dispute, know nothing, and believe too late. [_A flash of lightning, they sink together._

SCENE III.--_Enter Duke of_ GUISE; _Cardinal, and_ AUMALE.

_Card._ A dreadful message from a dying man, A prophesy indeed! For souls, just quitting earth, peep into heaven, Make swift acquaintance with their kindred forms, And partners of immortal secrets grow.

_Aum._ 'Tis good to lean on the securer side: When life depends, the mighty stake is such, Fools fear too little, and they dare too much.

_Enter Arch-Bishop._

_Gui._ You have prevailed, I will not go to council. I have provoked my sovereign past a pardon, It but remains to doubt if he dare kill me: Then if he dares but to be just, I die. 'Tis too much odds against me; I'll depart, And finish greatness at some safer time.

_Arch._ By heaven, 'tis Harry's plot to fright you hence, That, coward-like, you might forsake your friends.

_Gui._ The devil foretold it dying Malicorn.

_Arch._ Yes, some court-devil, no doubt: If you depart, consider, good my lord, You are the master-spring that moves our fabric, Which once removed, our motion is no more. Without your presence, which buoys up our hearts, The League will sink beneath a royal name; The inevitable yoke prepared for kings Will soon be shaken off; things done, repealed; And things undone, past future means to do.

_Card._ I know not; I begin to taste his reasons.

_Arch._ Nay, were the danger certain of your stay, An act so mean would lose you all your friends, And leave you single to the tyrant's rage: Then better 'tis to hazard life alone, Than life, and friends, and reputation too.

_Gui._ Since more I am confirmed, I'll stand the shock. Where'er he dares to call, I dare to go. My friends are many, faithful, and united; He will not venture on so rash a deed: And now, I wonder I should fear that force, Which I have used to conquer and contemn.

_Enter_ MARMOUTIERE.

_Arch._ Your tempter comes, perhaps, to turn the scale, And warn you not to go.

_Gui._ O fear her not, I will be there. [_Exeunt Arch-Bishop and Cardinal._ What can she mean?--repent? Or is it cast betwixt the king and her To sound me? come what will, it warms my heart With secret joy, which these my ominous statesmen Left dead within me;--ha! she turns away.

_Mar._ Do you not wonder at this visit, sir?

_Gui._ No, madam, I at last have gained the point Of mightiest minds, to wonder now at nothing.

_Mar._ Believe me, Guise, 'twere gallantly resolved, If you could carry it on the inside too. Why came that sigh uncalled? For love of me, Partly, perhaps; but more for thirst of glory, Which now again dilates itself in smiles, As if you scorned that I should know your purpose.

_Gui._ I change, 'tis true, because I love you still; Love you, O heaven, even in my own despite; I tell you all, even at that very moment, I know you straight betray me to the king.

_Mar._ O Guise, I never did; but, sir, I come To tell you, I must never see you more.

_Gui._ The king's at Blois, and you have reason for it; Therefore, what am I to expect from pity,-- From yours, I mean,--when you behold me slain?

_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.

_Gui._ Hear me a word!--one sigh, one tear, at parting, And one last look; for, O my earthly saint, I see your face pale as the cherubins' At Adam's fall.

_Mar._ O heaven! I now confess, My heart bleeds for thee, Guise.

_Gui._ Why, madam, why?

_Mar._ Because by this disorder, And that sad fate that bodes upon your brow, I do believe you love me more than glory.

_Gui._ Without an oath I do; therefore have mercy, And think not death could make me tremble thus; Be pitiful to those infirmities Which thus unman me; stay till the council's over; If you are pleased to grant an hour or two To my last prayer, I'll thank you as my saint: If you refuse me, madam, I'll not murmur.

_Mar._ Alas, my Guise!--O heaven, what did I say? But take it, take it; if it be too kind, Honour may pardon it, since 'tis my last.

_Gui._ O let me crawl, vile as I am, and kiss Your sacred robe.--Is't possible! your hand! [_She gives him her hand._ O that it were my last expiring moment, For I shall never taste the like again.

_Mar._ Farewell, my proselyte! your better genius Watch your ambition.

_Gui._ I have none but you: Must I ne'er see you more?

_Mar._ I have sworn you must not: Which thought thus roots me here, melts my resolves, [_Weeps._ And makes me loiter when the angels call me.

_Gui._ O ye celestial dews! O paradise! O heaven! O joys, ne'er to be tasted more!

_Mar._ Nay, take a little more: cold Marmoutiere, The temperate, devoted Marmoutiere Is gone,--a last embrace I must bequeath you.

_Gui._ And O let me return it with another!

_Mar._ Farewell for ever; ah, Guise, though now we part, In the bright orbs, prepared us by our fates, Our souls shall meet,--farewell!--and Io's sing above, Where no ambition, nor state-crime, the happier spirits prove, But all are blest, and all enjoy an everlasting love. [_Exit_ MARMOUTIERE.

GUISE _solus._

_Gui._ Glory, where art thou? fame, revenge, ambition, Where are you fled? there's ice upon my nerves; My salt, my metal, and my spirits gone, Palled as a slave, that's bed-rid with an ague, I wish my flesh were off. [_Blood falls from his nose._ What now! thou bleed'st:-- Three, and no more!--what then? and why, what then? But just three drops! and why not just three drops, As well as four or five, or five and twenty?

_Enter a Page._

_Page._ My lord, your brother and the arch-bishop wait you.

_Gui._ I come;--down, devil!--ha! must I stumble too? Away, ye dreams! what if it thundered now, Or if a raven crossed me in my way? Or now it comes, because last night I dreamt The council-hall was hung with crimson round, And all the ceiling plaistered o'er with black. No more!--Blue fires, and ye dull rolling lakes, Fathomless caves, ye dungeons of old night, Phantoms, be gone! if I must die, I'll fall True politician, and defy you all. [_Exit._

SCENE II.--_The Court before the Council-hall._

GRILLON, LARCHANT, _Soldiers placed, People crowding_

_Gril._ Are your guards doubled, captain?

_Larch._ Sir, they are.

_Gril._ When the Guise comes, remember your petition.-- Make way there for his eminence; give back.-- Your eminence comes late.

_Enter two Cardinals, Counsellors, the Cardinal of_ GUISE,
_Arch-bishop of Lyons, last the_ GUISE.

_Gui._ Well, colonel, are we friends?

_Gril._ 'Faith, I think not.

_Gui._ Give me your hand.

_Gril._ No, for that gives a heart.

_Gui._ Yet we shall clasp in heaven.

_Gril._ By heaven, we shall not, Unless it be with gripes.

_Gui._ True Grillon still.

_Larch._ My lord.

_Gui._ Ha! captain, you are well attended: If I mistake not, sir, your number's doubled.

_Larch._ All these have served against the heretics; And therefore beg your grace you would remember Their wounds and lost arrears[21].

_Gui._ It shall be done.-- Again, my heart! there is a weight upon thee, But I will sigh it off.--Captain, farewell. [_Exeunt Cardinal,_ GUISE, _&c._

_Gril._ Shut the hall-door, and bar the castle-gates: March, march there closer yet, captain, to the door. [_Exeunt._

SCENE III.--_The Council-hall._

_Gui._ I do not like myself to-day.

_Arch._ A qualm! he dares not.

_Card._ That's one man's thought; he dares, and that's another's.

_Enter_ GRILLON.

_Gui._ O Marmoutiere! ha, never see thee more? Peace, my tumultuous heart! why jolt my spirits In this unequal circling of my blood? I'll stand it while I may. O mighty nature! Why this alarm? why dost thou call me on To fight, yet rob my limbs of all their use? [_Swoons._

_Card._ Ha! he's fallen, chafe him. He comes again.

_Gui._ I beg your pardons; vapours, no more.

_Gril._ The effect Of last night's lechery with some working whore[22].

_Enter_ REVOL.

_Rev._ My lord of Guise, the king would speak with you.

_Gui._ O cardinal, O Lyons!--but no more; Yes, one word more: thou hast a privilege [_To the Cardinal._ To speak with a recluse; O therefore tell her, If never thou behold'st me breathe again, Tell her I sighed it last.--O Marmoutiere! [_Exit bowing._

_Card._ You will have all things your own way, my lord. By heaven, I have strange horror on my soul.

_Arch._ I say again, that Henry dares not do it.

_Card._ Beware, your grace, of minds that bear like him. I know he scorns to stoop to mean revenge; But when some mightier mischief shocks his toure, He shoots at once with thunder on his wings, And makes it air.--but hark, my lord, 'tis doing!

_Guise within._] Murderers, villains!

_Arch._ I hear your brother's voice; run to the door.

CARD. _and_ ARCH. _run to the door._

_Card._ Help, help, the Guise is murdered!

_Arch._ Help, help!

_Gril._ Cease your vain cries, you are the king's prisoners;-- Take them, Dugast, into your custody.

_Card._ We must obey, my lord, for heaven calls us. [_Exeunt._

_The_ SCENE _draws, behind it a Traverse._

_The_ GUISE _is assaulted by eight. They stab him in all parts, but
most in the head._

_Gui._ O villains! hell-hounds! hold. [_Half draws his sword, is held._ Murdered, O basely, and not draw my sword!-- Dog, Lognac,--but my own blood choaks me. Down, villain, down!--I'm gone,--O Marmoutiere! [_Flings himself upon him, dies[23]._

_The Traverse is drawn._

_The King rises from his Chair, comes forward with his
Cabinet-council._

_King._ Open the closet, and let in the council; Bid Dugast execute the cardinal; Seize all the factious leaders, as I ordered, And every one be answered, on your lives.

_Enter Queen-Mother followed by the Counsellors._

O, madam, you are welcome; how goes your health?

_Qu. M._ A little mended, sir.--What have you done?

_King._ That which has made me king of France; for there The king of Paris at your feet lies dead.

_Qu. M._ You have cut out dangerous work, but make it up With speed and resolution[24].

_King._ Yes, I'll wear The fox no longer, but put on the lion; And since I could resolve to take the heads Of this great insurrection, you, the members, Look to it; beware, turn from your stubbornness, And learn to know me, for I will be king.

_Gril._ 'Sdeath, how the traitors lower, and quake, and droop, And gather to the wing of his protection, As if they were his friends, and fought his cause!

_King._ [_Looking upon_ GUISE.] Be witness, heaven, I gave him treble warning! He's gone--no more.--Disperse, and think upon it. Beware my sword, which, if I once unsheath, By all the reverence due to thrones and crowns, Nought shall atone the vows of speedy justice, Till fate to ruin every traitor brings, That dares the vengeance of indulgent kings. [_Exuent._

Footnotes:
1. The Council of Sixteen certainly offered to place twenty thousand
disciplined citizens of Paris at the devotion of the Duke of Guise;
and here the intended parallel came close: for Shaftesbury used to
boast, that he could raise the like number of brisk boys in the
city of London, by merely holding up his finger.

2. During the cabals of the Council of Sixteen, the Duke of Aumale
approached Paris with five hundred veteran horse, levied in the
disaffected province of Picardy. Jean Conti, one of the sheriffs
(_Echevins_) of Paris, was tampered with to admit them by St
Martin's gate; but as he refused, the leaguers stigmatised him as a
heretic and favourer of Navarre. Another of these officers
consented to open to Aumale the gate of St Denis, of which the keys
were intrusted to him.

The conspirators had determined, as is here expressed, to seize the
person of the king, when he should attend the procession of the
Flagellants, as he was wont to do in time of Lent. But he was
apprised of their purpose by Poltrot, one of their number, and used
the pretext of indisposition to excuse his absence from the
penitential procession. _Davila_, lib. viii.

3. In the year 1565, an interview took place at Bayonne between
Catharine of Medicis, her son Charles IX., and the Queen of Spain,
attended by the famous Duke of Alva, and the Count of Benevento.
Many political discussions took place; and the opinion of Alva, as
expressed in the text, is almost literally versified from Davila's
account of the conference. "_Il Duca D'Alva, uomo di veemente
natura risolutamente diceva, che per distruggere la novità della
fede, e le sollevazioni di stato, bisognava levare le teste de'
papaveri, pescare i pesci grossi e non si curare di prendere le
ranocchie: erano questi i concetti proferiti da lui; perchè cessati
i venti, l'onde della plebe facilmente si sarebbono da se stesse
composte e acquietate: aggiugneva, che un prencipe non può far cosa
più vituperosa nè più dannosa a se stesso, quanto il permettere al
popolo il vivere secondo la loro coscienza, ponendo tanta varietà
di religioni in uno stato, quanto sono i capricci degli huomini e
le fantasíe delle persone inquiete, aprendo la porta alla discordia
e alla confusione: e dimostrava con lunga commemorazione di
segnalati esempj, che la diversità della fede aveva sempre messo
l'arme in mano ai sudditi, e sempre sollevate atroci perfidie e
funeste rebellioni contra i superiori: onde conchiudeva nel fine,
che siccome le controversie della fede avevan sempre servito di
pretesto e di argumento alle sollevazioni de' mal contenti, così
era necessario rimovere a primo tratto questa coperta, e poi con
severi rimedj, e senza riguardo di ferro, nè di fuoco, purgare le
radici di quel male, il quale colla dolcezza e con la sofferenza
perniciosamente germogliando si dilatava sempre, e si
accresceva._"--Delle Guerre Civili di Francia, lib. iii.

4. The popular arts of the Duke of Monmouth are here alluded to, which
his fine person and courteous manners rendered so eminently, and
for himself so unfortunately, successful. The lady, in whose mouth
these remonstrances are placed, may be supposed to be the duchess,
by whose prayers and tears he was more than once induced to suspend
his career.

5. Francis II. of France, a prince of delicate health and mean
talents, died of an imposthume in the head.

6. When Poltrot had discovered the intentions of the Council of
Sixteen against the king's person, it was warmly debated in the
council of Henry, whether the persons of the conspirators ought not
to be seized at their next meeting. But, upon considering the
numbers of the citizens, and their zeal for the League, together
with the small number of the king's guards and adherents, this
advice was rejected as too hazardous. It was upon this occasion
that Catherine quoted the Tuscan proverb in the text,--"_Bisogna
copriersi bene il viso inanzi che struzzicare il vespaio;_"
Davila, lib. IX.

7. Margaret of Navarre, sister of Henry II., was suspected of an
intrigue with the Duke of Guise.

8. Henry II., when Duke of Anjou, defeated the Huguenots, commanded by
the famous Admiral Coligni, with very great loss, taking all his
artillery and baggage, with two hundred standards and colours,
1569.

9. Alluding to a celebrated battle fought near Montargis, in 1587,
when Guise, with very disproportioned forces, surprised and cut to
pieces a large army of German auxiliaries, who had advanced into
France to join the king of Navarre, afterwards Henry IV. Upon that
occasion, the Duke of Guise kept his resolution to fight a profound
secret till the very day of the attack, when, after having dined,
and remained thoughtful and silent for a few minutes, he suddenly
ordered the trumpets to sound to horse, and, to the astonishment of
the Duke of Mayenne, and his other generals, who had never
suspected his intention, instantly moved forward against the
enemy.--_Davila_, lib. viii.

10. The king of Navarre (Henry IV.), by his manifesto, published in
1585, after discussing sundry points of state with the leaguers,
defied the Duke of Guise, their loader, to mortal combat, body to
body, or two to two, or ten to ten, or twenty to twenty. To this
romantic defiance the Duke returned no direct answer; but his
partizans alleged, that as the quarrel betwixt the king of Navarre
and their patron did not arise from private enmity, it could not
become the subject of single combat. _Davila_ lib. vii.]

11. This alludes to the defacing the Duke of York's picture at
Guildhall; an outrage stigmatized in the epilogue to "Venice
Preserved," where Otway says,

Nothing shall daunt his pen, when truth does call;
No, not the picture-mangler at Guildhall.
The rebel tribe, of which that vermin's one.
Have now set forward, and their course begun;
And while that prince's figure they deface,
As they before had massacred his name,
Durst their base fears but look him in the face,
They'd use his person as they've used his fame;
A face, in which such lineaments they read
Of that great Martyr's, whose rich blood they shed.

The picture-mangler is explained by a marginal note to be, "the
rascal, that cut the Duke of York's picture." The same circumstance
is mentioned in "_Musa Præfica_, or the London Poem, or a humble
Oblation on the sacred Tomb of our late gracious Monarch King
Charles II., of ever blessed and eternal Memory; by a Loyal
Apprentice of the honourable City of London." The writer mentions
the Duke of York as

--loaded with indignity,
Already martyred in effigy.
O blast the arm, that dared that impious blow!
Let heaven reward him with a vengeance meet,
Who God's anointed dared to overthrow!
His head had suffered, when they pierced his feet.

Explained to allude to the Duke of York's "picture in Guildhall,
cut from the legs downward undiscovered."

In another tory ballad, we have this stanza in the character of a
fanatic:

We'll smite the idol in Guildhall,
And then, as we are wont,
We'll cry it was a Popish plot,
And swear these rogues have done't.

12. This speech depends on the gesticulation of the sorcerer: Guise
first desires him report the danger to the people,--then bids him
halt, and express his judgment more fully. Malicorn makes signs of
assassination.--Guise goes on--

--Let him if he dare.
But more, more, more;--

i.e. I have a further reason than state policy for my
visit.--Malicorn makes repeated signs of ignorance and discontent;
and Guise urges him to speak out on a subject, which he himself was
unwilling to open.

13. The business of this scene is taken from the following passage.

_"Entrò il Duca di Guisa in Parigi il Lunedì nono giorno di Maggio,
ch' era gia vicino il mezzogiorno, non con maggior comitiva che di
sette cavalli tra gentiluomini e servitori: ma come una piccolo
palla di neve, che discende dall' erto si va tanto ingrossando, che
nel fine diviene quasi una montagna eminente; così abandonando il
popolo le case e le botteghe, con plauso e con allegrezza, per
seguitarlo, non fu a mezzo la città, che aveva dietro più di
trentamila persone, ed era tanta la calca, che a pena egli medesimo
poteva seguitare la sua strada. Andavan le grida del popolo insino
al cielo, nè mai fu con tanto plauso gridato, "Vita il Re" con
quanto ora si gridava "Vita Guisa." Chi lo sulutava, chi lo
ringraziava, chi se gl' inchinava, chi gli baciava le falde de'
vestimenti, chi, non potendo accostarsi, con le mani e con i gesti
di tutto il corpo dava segui profusi d' allegrezza; e furono veduti
di quelli che, adorandolo come santo, lo toccavano con le corone, e
le medesime poi o baciavano, o con esse si toccavano gli occhi e la
fronte; e sino le donne dalle finestra, spargendo fiori e fronde,
onoravano e benedicevano la sua venuta. Egli all' incontro, con
viso popolare e con faccia ridente, altri accarezzava con le
parole, altri risalutava con i gesti, altri rallegrava con l'
occhio, e traversando le caterve del popolo con la testa scoperta,
non permetteva cosa alcuna, che fosse a proposito per finire a
conciliarsi la benevolenza e l' applauso popolare. In questa
maniera, senza fermarsi alla sua casa, andò a dirittura a smontare
a Sant' Eustachio al palazzo della Reina Madre, la quale mezza
attonita per il suo venire improvviso; perchè Monsignor di
Bellieure arrivato tre ore innanzi aveva posto in dubbio la sua
venuta; lo ricevè pallida nel volto, tutta tremante e contra l'
ordinario costume della natura sua quasi smarrita. Le dimostrazioni
del Duca di Guisa furono piene d' affettuosa umiltà e di profonda
sommissione: le parole della Reina ambigue, dicendoli; che lo
vedeva volentieri, ma che molto più volontieri l' arebbe veduto in
altro tempo; alla quale egli rispose con sembiante modestissimo ma
con parole altiere: Ch' egli era buon servitore del Re, e che
avendo intese le calunnie date all' innocenza sua, e le cose che si
trattavano contra la religione e contra gli uomini dabbene di quel
popolo, era venuto, o per divertire il male, e espurgarese stesso,
ovvero per lasciar la vita in servizio di Santa Chiesa e della
salute universale. La Reina, interrotto il ragionamento, mentre
egli salutava, come è solito, le altre Dame della corte, chiamò
Luigi Davila suo Gentiluomo d' onore, e gli commise, che facesse
intendere al Re, ch' era arrivato il Duca di Guisa, e ch' ella fra
poco l' arebbe condotto al Lovero personalmente. Si commosse di
maniera il Re, ch' era nel suo gabinetto con Monsignore di
Villaclera, con Bellieure e con l' abbate del Bene, che fu
costretto appogiarsi col braccio, coprendosi la faccia, al
tavolino, e interrogato il Davila d' ogni particolare, gli
commandò, che dicesse segretamente alla Reina, che framettesse più
tempo che fosse possibile alla venuta. L' Abbate del Bene e il
Colonello Alfonso Corso, il quale entrò in questo punto nel
gabinetto, e era confidentissimo, servitore del Re, e pieno di
merito verso la corona, lo consigliavano, che ricevendo il Duca di
Guisa nel medesimo gabinetto, lo facese uccidere subito nell'
istesso luogo, dicendo l' abbate questo_ Percutiam pastorem, et
dispergentur oves_. Ma Villaclera, Bellieure, e il gran Cancelliere
che sopravvenne, furono di contrario parere allegando esesr tanta
la commozione del popolo, che in caso tale, sprezzando la Maestà
regia, e rompendo tutti i vincoli delle leggi, sarebbe corso a
precipitosa vendetta, e che non essendo le cose ancora
apparecchiate per la difesa propria, e per frenare il furore della
città le forze de' Parigini erano troppo poderose parole per
stuzzicarle."_ Lib. ix.

14. For this scene also, which gave great offence to the followers of
Monmouth, our author had the authority of Davila in the
continuation of the passage already quoted.

_"Mentre il Re sta dubbioso nell' animo, sopraggiunse la Reina, che
conduceva il Duca di Guisa essendo venuta nella sua seggetta, e il
Duca accompagnatala sempre a piedi; ma con tanto seguito e
frequenza di gente, che tutta la Città pareva ridotta nel giro del
cortile del Lovero e nelle strade vicine. Traversarono fra la
spalliera de' soldati, essendo presente Monsignor di Griglione
maestro di campo della guardia, il quale uomo libero e militare, e
poco amico del Duca di Guisa, mentre egli s' inchina ad ogni
privato soldato, fece pochissimo sembiante di riverirlo, il che da
lui fu con qualche pallidezza del volto ben osservato, la quale
continuò maggiormente, poichè vide gli Suizzeri far spalliera con
l'arme a piedi della scala, e nella sala gli arcieri, e nelle
camere i gentiluomini tutti radunati per aspettarlo. Entrarono
nella camera del Re, il quale mentre il Duca di Guisa con profonda
riverenza se gl' inchinò, con viso scorrucciato gli disse; Io v'
avevo fatto intendere, che non veniste. A queste parole il Duca con
l' istessa sommissione, che aveva fatto alla Reina, ma con parole
più ritenute, rispose. Ch' Egli era venuto a mettersi nelle braccia
della giustitia di Sua Maestà, per iscolparsi delle calunnie, che
gli erano apposte da' suoi nemici, e che nondimeno non sarebbe
venuto, quando gli fosse stato detto chiaramente, che Sua Maestà
comandata, che non venisse. Il Re rivolto a Bellieure,
alteratamente lo domandò s' era vero, che gli avesse data
commissione di dire al Duca di Guisa, che non venisse, se non
voleva esser tenuto per autore delli scandali, e delle sollevazioni
de' Parigini. Monseignor di Bellieure si feceinnanzi, e volle
render conto dell' ambasciata sua; ma nel principio del parlare, il
Re l' interruppe, dicendogli, che bastava, e rivolto al Duca di
Guisa disse; che non sapeva, ch' egii fosse stato calunniato da
persona alcuna, ma che la sua innocenza sarebbe apparsa chiara,
quando dalla sua venuta non fosse nata alcuna novità, e interrotta
la quiete del governo, come si prevedeva. La Reina pratica della
natura del Re, conoscendolo dalla faccia inclinato a qualche
gagliarda risoluzione, lo tirò da parte, e gli disse in sostanza
quel che aveva veduto della concorrenza del popolo, e che non
pensasse a deliberazioni precipitose, perchè non era tempo. Il
medesimo soggiunse la Duchessa d' Uzes, che gli era vicina, e il
Duca di Guisa osservando attentamente ogni minuzia, come vide
questa fluttazione, per non dar tempo al Re di deliberare, si
finse stracco dal viaggio, e licenziandosi brevemente da lui,
accompagnato dall' istessa frequenza di popolo, ma da niuno di
quelli della corte, si ritirò nella strada di Sant' Antonio alle
sue case."_ Lib. ix.]

15. See the speech of Ashtaroth and his companions, on taking leave of
Rinaldo, whom they had transported to the field of Roncisvalles:

_Noi ce n' andremo or, io e Farfarello,
Tra le campane, e soneremo a festa,
Quando vedrem, che tu farai macello.
In Roncisvalle una certa chiesetta
Era in quel tempo, ch' avea due campane,
Quivi stetton coloro alla veletta,
Per ciuffar di quell' anime pagane,
Come sparvier tra ramo e ramo aspetta;
E bisognò, che menassin le mane,
E che e' batessin tutto il giorno l' ali,
A presentarle a' guidici infernali._
Il Morgante Maggiore, Canto XXVI. St. 82, 89.

16. See the speech of Ashtaroth to Rinaldo, in the Morgante Maggiore.

_Noi abbiam come voi principe e duce
Giù nell' Inferno, e 'l primo è Belzebue,
Chi una cosa, e chi altra conduce,
Ognuno attende alle faccende sue;
Ma tutto a Belzebù, poi si riduce
Perchè Lucifer relegato fue
Ultimo a tutti, e nel centro più imo,
Poi ch' egli intese esser nel Ciel su primo._