SCENE V.--_The Louvre.

_Enter King, Queen-Mother, Abbot, and_ GRILLON.

_King._ Dismissed with such contempt?

_Gril._ Yes, 'faith, we past like beaten Romans underneath the fork.

_King._ Give me my arms.

_Gril._ For what?

_King._ I'll lead you on.

_Gril._ You are a true lion, but my men are sheep; If you run first, I'll swear they'll follow you.

_King._ What, all turned cowards? not a man in France Dares set his foot by mine, and perish by me?

_Gril._ Troth, I can't find them much inclined to perishing.

_King._ What can be left in danger, but to dare? No matter for my arms, I'll go barefaced, And seize the first bold rebel that I meet.

_Abb._ There's something of divinity in kings, That sits between their eyes, and guards their life.

_Gril._ True, Abbot; but the mischief is, you churchmen Can see that something further than the crowd; These musket bullets have not read much logic, Nor are they given to make your nice distinctions: [_One enters, and gives the Queen a Note, she reads--_ One of them possibly may hit the king In some one part of him that's not divine; And so that mortal part of his majesty would draw the divinity of it into another world, sweet Abbot.

_Qu. M._ 'Tis equal madness to go out or stay; The reverence due to kings is all transferred To haughty Guise; and when new gods are made, The old must quit the temple; you must fly.

_King._ Death! had I wings, yet would I scorn to fly.

_Gril._ Wings, or no wings, is not the question: If you won't fly for't, you must ride for't, And that comes much to one.

_King._ Forsake my regal town!

_Qu. M._ Forsake a bedlam; This note informs me fifteen thousand men Are marching to inclose the Louvre round.

_Abb._ The business then admits no more dispute, You, madam, must be pleased to find the Guise; Seem easy, fearful, yielding, what you will; But still prolong the treaty all you can, To gain the king more time for his escape.

_Qu. M._ I'll undertake it.--Nay, no thanks, my son. My blessing shall be given in your deliverance; That once performed, their web is all unravelled, And Guise is to begin his work again. [_Exit Q.M._

_King._ I go this minute.

_Enter_ MARMOUTIERE.

Nay, then another minute must be given.-- O how I blush, that thou shouldst see thy king Do this low act, that lessens all his fame: Death, must a rebel force me from my love! If it must be--

_Mar._ It must not, cannot be.

_Gril._ No, nor shall not, wench, as long as my soul wears a body.

_King._ Secure in that, I'll trust thee;--shall I trust thee? For conquerors have charms, and women frailty:-- Farewell thou mayst behold me king again; My soul's not yet deposed:--why then farewell!-- I'll say't as comfortably as I can: But O cursed Guise, for pressing on my time, And cutting off ten thousand more adieus!

_Mar._ The moments that retard your flight are traitors. Make haste, my royal master, to be safe, And save me with you, for I'll share your fate.

_King._ Wilt thou go too? Then I am reconciled to heaven again: O welcome, thou good angel of my way, Thou pledge and omen of my safe return! Not Greece, nor hostile Juno could destroy The hero that abandoned burning Troy; He 'scaped the dangers of the dreadful night, When, loaded with his gods, he took his flight. [_Exuent, the King leading her._