Chapter 3

_Enter the Duke of_ GUISE, _and Duke of_ MAYENNE.

_May._ All offices and dignities he gives To your profest and most inveterate foes; But if he were inclined, as we could wish him, There is a lady-regent at his ear, That never pardons.

_Gui._ Poison on her name! Take my hand on't, that cormorant dowager Will never rest, till she has all our heads In her lap. I was at Bayonne with her, When she, the king, and grisly d'Alva met. Methinks, I see her listening now before me, Marking the very motion of his beard, His opening nostrils, and his dropping lids. I hear him croak too to the gaping council,-- Fish for the great fish, take no care for frogs, Cut off the poppy-heads, sir;--madam, charm The winds but fast, the billows will be still[3].

_May._ But, sir, how comes it you should be thus warm, Still pushing counsels when among your friends; Yet, at the court, cautious, and cold as age, Your voice, your eyes, your mien so different, You seem to me two men?

_Gui._ The reason's plain. Hot with my friends, because, the question given, I start the judgment right, where others drag. This is the effect of equal elements, And atoms justly poised; nor should you wonder More at the strength of body than of mind; 'Tis equally the same to see me plunge Headlong into the Seine, all over armed, And plow against the torrent to my point, As 'twas to hear my judgment on the Germans, This to another man would be a brag; Or at the court among my enemies, To be, as I am here, quite off my guard, Would make me such another thing as Grillon, A blunt, hot, honest, downright, valiant fool.

_May._ Yet this you must allow a failure in you,-- You love his niece; and to a politician All passion's bane, but love directly death.

_Gui._ False, false, my Mayenne; thou'rt but half Guise again. Were she not such a wond'rous composition, A soul, so flushed as mine is with ambition, Sagacious and so nice, must have disdained her: But she was made when nature was in humour, As if a Grillon got her on the queen, Where all the honest atoms fought their way, Took a full tincture of the mother's wit, But left the dregs of wickedness behind.

_May._ Have you not told her what we have in hand?

_Gui._ My utmost aim has been to hide it from her, But there I'm short; by the long chain of causes She has scanned it, just as if she were my soul; And though I flew about with circumstances. Denials, oaths, improbabilities; Yet, through the histories of our lives, she looked, She saw, she overcame.

_May._ Why then, we're all undone.

_Gui._ Again you err. Chaste as she is, she would as soon give up Her honour, as betray me to the king: I tell thee, she's the character of heaven; Such an habitual over-womanly goodness, She dazzles, walks mere angel upon earth. But see, she comes; call the cardinal Guise, While Malicorn attends for some dispatches, Before I take my farewell of the court. [_Exit_ MAY.

_Enter_ MARMOUTIERE.

_Mar._ Ah Guise, you are undone!

_Gui._ How, madam?

_Mar._ Lost, Beyond the possibility of hope: Despair, and die.

_Gui._ You menace deeply, madam: And should this come from any mouth but yours, My smile should answer how the ruin touched me.

_Mar._ Why do you leave the court?

_Gui._ The court leaves me.

_Mar._ Were there no more, but weariness of state, Or could you, like great Scipio, retire, Call Rome ungrateful, and sit down with that; Such inward gallantry would gain you more Than all the sullied conquests you can boast: But oh, you want that Roman mastery; You have too much of the tumultuous times, And I must mourn the fate of your ambition.

_Gui._ Because the king disdains my services, Must I not let him know I dare be gone? What, when I feel his council on my neck, Shall I not cast them backward if I can, And at his feet make known their villainy?

_Mar._ No, Guise, not at his feet, but on his head; For there you strike.

_Gui._ Madam, you wrong me now: For still, whate'er shall come in fortune's whirl, His person must be safe.

_Mar._ I cannot think it. However, your last words confess too much. Confess! what need I urge that evidence, When every hour I see you court the crowd, When with the shouts of the rebellious rabble, I see you borne on shoulders to cabals; Where, with the traitorous Council of Sixteen, You sit, and plot the royal Henry's death; Cloud the majestic name with fumes of wine, Infamous scrolls, and treasonable verse; While, on the other side, the name of Guise, By the whole kennel of the slaves, is rung. Pamphleteers, ballad-mongers sing your ruin. While all the vermin of the vile Parisians Toss up their greasy caps where'er you pass, And hurl your dirty glories in your face.

_Gui._ Can I help this?

_Mar._ By heaven, I'd earth myself, Rather than live to act such black ambition: But, sir, you seek it with your smiles and bows. This side and that side congeing to the crowd. You have your writers too, that cant your battles, That stile you, the new David, second Moses, Prop of the church, deliverer of the people. Thus from the city, as from the heart, they spread Through all the provinces, alarm the countries, Where they run forth in heaps, bellowing your wonders; Then cry,--The king, the king's a Hugonot, And, spite of us, will have Navarre succeed, Spite of the laws, and spite of our religion: But we will pull them down, down with them, down[4]. [_Kneels._

_Gui._ Ha, madam! Why this posture?

_Mar._ Hear me, sir; For, if 'tis possible, my lord, I'll move you. Look back, return, implore the royal mercy, Ere 'tis too late; I beg you by these tears, These sighs, and by the ambitious love you bear me; By all the wounds of your poor groaning country, That bleeds to death. O seek the best of kings, Kneel, fling your stubborn body at his feet: Your pardon shall be signed, your country saved, Virgins and matrons all shall sing your fame, And every babe shall bless the Guise's name.

_Gui._ O rise, thou image of the deity! You shall prevail, I will do any thing: You've broke the very gall of my ambition, And all my powers now float in peace again. Be satisfied that I will see the king, Kneel to him, ere I journey to Champaigne, And beg a kind farewell.

_Mar._ No, no, my lord; I see through that; you but withdraw a while, To muster all the forces that you can, And then rejoin the Council of Sixteen. You must not go.

_Gui._ All the heads of the League Expect me, and I have engaged my honour.

_Mar._ Would all those heads were off, so yours were saved! Once more, O Guise, the weeping Marmoutiere Entreats you, do not go.

_Gui._ Is't possible That Guise should say, in this he must refuse you!

_Mar._ Go then, my lord. I late received a letter From one at court, who tells me, the king loves me: Read it,--there is no more than what you hear. I've jewels offered too,--perhaps may take them; And if you go from Paris, I'll to court.

_Gui._ But, madam, I have often heard you say, You loved not courts.

_Mar._ Perhaps I've changed my mind: Nothing as yet could draw me, but a king; And such a king,--so good, so just, so great, That, at his birth, the heavenly council paused, And then, at last, cried out,--This is a man.

_Gui._ Come, 'tis but counterfeit; you dare not go.

_Mar._ Go to your government, and try.

_Gui._ I will.

_Mar._ Then I'll to court, nay--to the king.

_Gui._ By heaven, I swear you cannot, shall not,--dare not see him.

_Mar._ By heaven, I can, I dare, nay--and I will; And nothing but your stay shall hinder me; For now, methinks, I long for't.

_Gui._ Possible!

_Mar._ I'll give you yet a little time to think; But, if I hear you go to take your leave, I'll meet you there; before the throne I'll stand,-- Nay you shall see me kneel and kiss his hand. [_Exit._

_Gui._ Furies and hell! She does but try me,--Ha! This is the mother-queen, and Espernon, Abbot Delbene, Alphonso Corso too, All packed to plot, and turn me into madness. [_Reading the Letter._

_Enter Cardinal_ GUISE, _Duke Of_ MAYENNE, MALICORN, _&c._

Ha! can it be! "Madam, the king loves you."-- [_Reads._ But vengeance I will have; to pieces, thus, To pieces with them all. [_Tears the Letter._

_Card._ Speak lower.

_Gui._ No; By all the torments of this galling passion, I'll hollow the revenge I vow, so loud, My father's ghost shall hear me up to heaven.

_Card._ Contain yourself; this outrage will undo us.

_Gui._ All things are ripe, and love new points their ruin. Ha! my good lords, what if the murdering council Were in our power, should they escape our justice? I see, by each man's laying of his hand Upon his sword, you swear the like revenge. For me, I wish that mine may both rot off--

_Card._ No more.

_May._ The Council of Sixteen attend you.

_Gui._ I go--that vermin may devour my limbs; That I may die, like the late puling Francis[5], Under the barber's hands, imposthumes choak me,-- If while alive, I cease to chew their ruin; Alphonso Corso, Grillon, priest, together: To hang them in effigy,--nay, to tread, Drag, stamp, and grind them, after they are dead. [_Exeunt._