SCENE I.--_The Council of Sixteen seated; an empty Chair prepared for

the Duke of Guise._

BUSSY _and_ POLIN, _two of the Sixteen._

_Buss._ Lights there! more lights! What, burn the tapers dim, When glorious Guise, the Moses, Gideon, David, The saviour of the nation, makes approach?

_Pol._ And therefore are we met; the whole sixteen, That sway the crowd of Paris, guide their votes, Manage their purses, persons, fortunes, lives, To mount the Guise, where merit calls him, high, And give him a whole heaven for room to shine.

_Enter Curate of St_ EUSTACE.

_Buss._ The curate of St Eustace comes at last: But, father, why so late?

_Cur._ I have been taking godly pains to satisfy some scruples raised amongst weak brothers of our party, that were staggering in the cause.

_Pol._ What could they find to object?

_Cur._ They thought, to arm against the king was treason.

_Buss._ I hope you set them right?

_Cur._ Yes; and for answer, I produced this book. A Calvinist minister of Orleans Writ this, to justify the admiral For taking arms against the king deceased; Wherein he proves, that irreligious kings May justly be deposed, and put to death.

_Buss._ To borrow arguments from heretic books, Methinks, was not so prudent.

_Cur._ Yes; from the devil, if it would help our cause. The author was indeed a heretic; The matter of the book is good and pious.

_Pol._ But one prime article of our Holy League Is to preserve the king, his power, and person.

_Cur._ That must be said, you know, for decency; A pretty blind to make the shoot secure.

_Buss._ But did the primitive Christians e'er rebel, When under heathen lords? I hope they did.

_Cur._ No sure, they did not; for they had not power; The conscience of a people is their power.

_Pol._ Well; the next article in our solemn covenant Has cleared the point again.

_Buss._ What is't? I should be glad to find the king No safer than needs must.

_Pol._ That, in case of opposition from any person whatsoever--

_Cur._ That's well, that well; then the king is not excepted, if he oppose us.--

_Pol._ We are obliged to join as one, to punish All, who attempt to hinder or disturb us.

_Buss._ 'Tis a plain case; the king's included in the punishment, in case he rebel against the people.

_Pol._ But how can he rebel?

_Cur._ I'll make it out: Rebellion is an insurrection against the government; but they that have the power are actually the government; therefore, if the people have the power, the rebellion is in the king.

_Buss._ A most convincing argument for faction.

_Cur._ For arming, if you please, but not for faction: For still the faction is the fewest number: So what they call the lawful government, Is now the faction; for the most are ours.

_Pol._ Since we are proved to be above the king, I would gladly understand whom we are to obey, or, whether we are to be all kings together?

_Cur._ Are you a member of the League, and ask that question? There's an article, that, I may say, is as necessary as any in the creed; namely, that we, the said associates, are sworn to yield ready obedience, and faithful service, to that head which shall be deputed.

_Buss._ 'Tis most manifest, that, by virtue of our oath, we are all subjects to the Duke of Guise. The king's an officer that has betrayed his trust; and therefore we have turned him out of service.

_Omn._ Agreed, agreed.

_Enter the Duke of_ GUISE, _Cardinal of_ GUISE, AUMALE: _Torches before them. The Duke takes the Chair._

_Buss._ Your highness enters in a lucky hour; The unanimous vote you heard, confirms your choice. As head of Paris and the Holy League.

_Card._ I say amen to that.

_Pol._ You are our champion, buckler of our faith.

_Card._ The king, like Saul, is heaven's repented choice; You his anointed one, on better thought.

_Gui._ I'm what you please to call me; any thing, Lieutenant-general, chief, or constable, Good decent names, that only mean--your slave.

_Buss._ You chased the Germans hence, exiled Navarre, And rescued France from heretics and strangers.

_Aum._ What he, and all of us have done, is known. What's our reward? Our offices are lost, Turned out, like laboured oxen after harvest, To the bare commons of the withered field.

_Buss._ Our charters will go next; because we sheriffs Permit no justice to be done on those The court calls rebels, but we call them saints.

_Gui._ Yes; we are all involved, as heads, or parties; Dipt in the noisy crime of state, called treason; And traitors we must be, to king, or country.

_Buss._ Why then my choice is made.

_Pol._ And mine.

_Omn._ And all.

_Card._ Heaven is itself head of the Holy League; And all the saints are cov'nanters and Guisards.

_Gui._ What say you, curate?

_Cur._ I hope well, my lord.

_Card._ That is, he hopes you mean to make him abbot, And he deserves your care of his preferment; For all his prayers are curses on the government, And all his sermons libels on the king; In short, a pious, hearty, factious priest.

_Gui._ All that are here, my friends, shall share my fortunes: There's spoil, preferments, wealth enough in France; 'Tis but deserve, and have. The Spanish king Consigns me fifty thousand crowns a-week To raise, and to foment a civil war. 'Tis true, a pension, from a foreign prince, Sounds treason in the letter of the law, But good intentions justify the deed.

_Cur._ Heaven's good; the cause is good; the money's good; No matter whence it comes.

_Buss._ Our city-bands are twenty thousand strong, Well-disciplined, well-armed, well-seasoned traitors, Thick-rinded heads, that leave no room for kernel; Shop-consciences, of proof against an oath, Preached up, and ready tined for a rebellion[1].

_Gui._ Why then the noble plot is fit for birth; And labouring France cries out for midwife hands. We missed surprising of the king at Blois, When last the states were held: 'twas oversight; Beware we make not such another blot.

_Card._ This holy time of Lent we have him sure; He goes unguarded, mixed with whipping friars. In that procession, he's more fit for heaven: What hinders us to seize the royal penitent, And close him in a cloister?

_Cur._ Or dispatch him; I love to make all sure.

_Gui._ No; guard him safe; Thin diet will do well; 'twill starve him into reason, 'Till he exclude his brother of Navarre, And graft succession on a worthier choice. To favour this, five hundred men in arms Shall stand prepared, to enter at your call, And speed the work; St Martin's gate was named; But the sheriff Conty, who commands that ward, Refused me passage there.

_Buss._ I know that Conty; A snivelling, conscientious, loyal rogue; He'll peach, and ruin all.

_Card._ Give out he's arbitrary, a Navarist, A heretic; discredit him betimes, And make his witness void.

_Cur._ I'll swear him guilty. I swallow oaths as easy as snap-dragon, Mock-fire that never burns.

_Gui._ Then, Bussy, be it your care to admit my troops, At Port St Honore: [_Rises._] Night wears apace, And day-light must not peep on dark designs. I will myself to court, pay formal duty, Take leave, and to my government retire; Impatient to be soon recalled, to see The king imprisoned, and the nation free[2]. [_Exeunt._