Chapter 4

_Enter Queen-Mother, Abbot_ DELBENE, _and_ POLIN.

_Qu. M._ Pray, mark the form of the conspiracy: Guise gives it out, he journeys to Champaigne, But lurks indeed at Lagny, hard by Paris, Where every hour he hears and gives instructions. Mean time the Council of Sixteen assure him, They have twenty thousand citizens in arms. Is it not so, Polin?

_Pol._ True, on my life; And, if the king doubts the discovery, Send me to the Bastile till all be proved.

_Qu. M._ Call colonel Grillon; the king would speak with him.

_Ab._ Was ever age like this? [_Exit_ POLIN.

_Qu. M._ Polin is honest; Beside, the whole proceeding is so like The hair-brained rout, I guessed as much before. Know then, it is resolved to seize the king, When next he goes in penitential weeds Among the friars, without his usual guards; Then, under shew of popular sedition, For safety, shut him in a monastery, And sacrifice his favourites to their rage.

_Ab._ When is this council to be held again?

_Qu. M._ Immediately upon the duke's departure.

_Ab._ Why sends not then the king sufficient guards, To seize the fiends, and hew them into pieces?

_Qu. M._ 'Tis in appearance easy, but the effect Most hazardous; for straight, upon the alarm, The city would be sure to be in arms; Therefore, to undertake, and not to compass, Were to come off with ruin and dishonour. You know the Italian proverb--_Bisogna copriersi_[6],-- He, that will venture on a hornet's nest, Should arm his head, and buckler well his breast.

_Ab._ But wherefore seems the king so unresolved?

_Qu. M._ I brought Polin, and made the demonstration; Told him--necessity cried out, to take A resolution to preserve his life, And look on Guise as a reclaimless rebel: But, through the natural sweetness of his temper, And dangerous mercy, coldly he replied,-- Madam I will consider what you say.

_Ab._ Yet after all, could we but fix him--

_Qu. M._ Right,-- The business were more firm for this delay; For noblest natures, though they suffer long, When once provoked, they turn the face to danger. But see, he comes, Alphonso Corso with him; Let us withdraw, and when 'tis fit rejoin him. [_Exeunt._

_Enter King, and_ ALPHONSO CORSO.

_King._ Alphonso Corso.

_Alph._ Sir.

_King._ I think thou lovest me.

_Alph._ More than my life.

_King._ That's much; yet I believe thee. My mother has the judgment of the world, And all things move by that; but, my Alphonso, She has a cruel wit.

_Alph._ The provocation, sir.

_King._ I know it well; But,--if thou'dst have my heart within thy hand,-- All conjurations blot the name of kings. What honours, interest, were the world to buy him, Shall make a brave man smile, and do a murder? Therefore I hate the memory of Brutus, I mean the latter, so cried up in story. Cæsar did ill, but did it in the sun, And foremost in the field; but sneaking Brutus, Whom none but cowards and white-livered knaves Would dare commend, lagging behind his fellows, His dagger in his bosom, stabbed his father. This is a blot, which Tully's eloquence Could ne'er wipe off, though the mistaken man Makes bold to call those traitors,--men divine.

_Alph._ Tully was wise, but wanted constancy.

_Enter Queen Mother, and Abbot_ DELBENE.

_Qu. M._ Good-even, sir; 'tis just the time you ordered To wait on your decrees.

_King._ Oh, madam!

_Qu. M._ Sir?

_King._ Oh mother,--but I cannot make it way;-- Chaos and shades,--'tis huddled up in night.

_Qu. M._ Speak then, for speech is morning to the mind; It spreads the beauteous images abroad, Which else lie furled and clouded in the soul.

_King._ You would embark me in a sea of blood.

_Qu. M._ You see the plot directly on your person; But give it o'er, I did but state the case. Take Guise into your heart, and drive your friends; Let knaves in shops prescribe you how to sway, And, when they read your acts with their vile breath, Proclaim aloud, they like not this or that; Then in a drove come lowing to the Louvre, And cry,--they'll have it mended, that they will, Or you shall be no king.

_King._ 'Tis true, the people Ne'er know a mean, when once they get the power; But O, if the design we lay should fail, Better the traitors never should be touched, If execution cries not out--'Tis done.

_Qu. M._ No, sir, you cannot fear the sure design: But I have lived too long, since my own blood Dares not confide in her that gave him being.

_King._ Stay, madam, stay; come back, forgive my fears, Where all our thoughts should creep like deepest streams: Know, then, I hate aspiring Guise to death; Whored Margarita,--plots upon my life,-- And shall I not revenge?[7]

_Qu. M._ Why, this is Harry; Harry at Moncontour, when in his bloom He saw the admiral Coligny's back.[8]

_King._ O this whale Guise, with all the Lorrain fry! Might I but view him, after his plots and plunges, Struck on those cowring shallows that await him,-- This were a Florence master-piece indeed.

_Qu. M._ He comes to take his leave.

_King._ Then for Champaigne; But lies in wait till Paris is in arms. Call Grillon in. All that I beg you now, Is to be hushed upon the consultation, As urns, that never blab.

_Qu. M._ Doubt not your friends; Love them, and then you need not fear your foes.

_Enter_ GRILLON.

_King._ Welcome, my honest man, my old tried friend. Why dost thou fly me, Grillon, and retire?

_Gril._ Rather let me demand your majesty, Why fly you from yourself? I've heard you say, You'd arm against the League; why do you not? The thoughts of such as you, are starts divine; And when you mould with second cast the spirit, The air, the life, the golden vapour's gone.

_King._ Soft, my old friend; Guise plots upon my life; Polin shall tell thee more. Hast thou not heard The insufferable affronts he daily offers,-- War without treasure on the Huguenots; While I am forced against my bent of soul, Against all laws, all custom, right, succession, To cast Navarre from the Imperial line?

_Gril._ Why do you, sir? Death, let me tell the traitor--

_King._ Peace, Guise is going to his government; You are his foe of old; go to him, Grillon; Visit him as from me, to be employed In this great war against the Huguenots; And, pr'ythee, tell him roundly of his faults, No farther, honest Grillon.

_Gril._ Shall I fight him?

_King._ I charge thee, not.

_Gril._ If he provokes me, strike him; You'll grant me that?

_King._ Not so, my honest soldier; Yet speak to him.

_Gril._ I will, by heaven, to the purpose; And, if he force a beating, who can help it? [_Exit._

_King._ Follow, Alphonso; when the storm is up, Call me to part them.

_Qu. M._ Grillon, to ask him pardon, Will let Guise know we are not in the dark.

_King._ You hit the judgment; yet, O yet, there's more; Something upon my heart, after these counsels, So soft, and so unworthy to be named!--

_Qu. M._ They say, that Grillon's niece is come to court, And means to kiss your hand. [_Exit._

_King._ Could I but hope it! O my dear father, pardon me in this, And then enjoin me all that man can suffer; But sure the powers above will take our tears For such a fault--love is so like themselves. [_Exeunt._