Queen Mother.
Marmoutiere, Niece to Grillon.
SCENE,—Paris.
THE DUKE OF GUISE.
ACT I.
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?
024 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.
025 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;
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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,
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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;
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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.
SCENE II.
Enter Malicorn solus.
Mal. Each dismal minute, when I call to mind
The promise, that I made the Prince of Hell,
In one-and-twenty years to be his slave,
Of which near twelve are gone, my soul runs back,
The wards of reason roll into their spring.
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O horrid thought! but one-and-twenty years,
And twelve near past, then to be steeped in fire,
Dashed against rocks, or snatched from molten lead,
Reeking, and dropping, piece-meal borne by winds,
And quenched ten thousand fathom in the deep!—
But hark! he comes: see there! my blood stands still,
[Knocking at the Door.
My spirits start on end for Guise's fate.
A Devil rises.
Mal. What counsel does the fate of Guise require?
Dev. Remember, with his prince there's no delay.
But, the sword drawn, to fling the sheath away;
Let not the fear of hell his spirit grieve,
The tomb is still, whatever fools believe:
Laugh at the tales which withered sages bring,
Proverbs and morals; let the waxen king,
That rules the hive, be born without a sting;
Let Guise by blood resolve to mount to power.
And he is great as Mecca's emperor.
He comes; bid him not stand on altar-vows,
But then strike deepest, when he lowest bows;
Tell him, fate's awed when an usurper springs,
And joins to crowd out just indulgent kings.[Vanishes.
SCENE III.
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,
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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,
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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;
032
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,
033
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:
034
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.
035
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,
036
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.
ACT II. SCENE I.
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.
038
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.
039
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;
040
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;
041
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;
042
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.
SCENE II.—The Louvre.
Enter Guise, attended with his Family; Marmoutiere meeting him new drest, attended, &c.
Gui. Furies! she keeps her word, and I am lost;
Yet let not my ambition shew it to her;
For, after all, she does it but to try me,
And foil my vowed design.—Madam, I see
You're come to court; the robes you wear become you;
Your air, your mien, your charms, your every grace,
Will kill at least your thousand in a day.
Mar. What, a whole day, and kill but one poor thousand!
An hour you mean, and in that hour ten thousand.
Yes, I would make with every glance a murder.—
043
Mend me this curl.
Gui. Woman![Aside.
Mar. You see, my lord,
I have my followers, like you. I swear,
The court's a heavenly place; but—O, my heart!
I know not why that sigh should come uncalled;
Perhaps, 'twas for your going; yet I swear,
I never was so moved, O Guise, as now,
Just as you entered, when from yonder window
I saw the king.
Gui. Woman, all over woman![Aside.
The world confesses, madam, Henry's form
Is noble and majestic.
Mar. O you grudge
The extorted praise, and speak him but by halves.
Gui. Priest, Corso, devils! how she carries it!
Mar. I see, my lord, you're come to take your leave;
And were it not to give the court suspicion,
I would oblige you, sir, before you go,
To lead me to the king.
Gui. Death and the devil!
Mar. But since that cannot be, I'll take my leave
Of you, my lord; heaven grant your journey safe!
Farewell, once more. [Offers her hand.] Not stir! does this become you,—
Does your ambition swell into your eyes?—
Jealousy by this light; nay then, proud Guise,
I tell you, you're not worthy of the grace;
But I will carry't, sir, to those that are,
And leave you to the curse of bosom-war.[Exit.
May. Is this the heavenly—
Gui. Devil, devil, as they are all.
'Tis true, at first she caught the heavenly form,
But now ambition sets her on her head,
By hell, I see the cloven mark upon her.
Ha! Grillon here! some new court-trick upon me.
Gril. Sir, I have business for your ear.
Gui. Retire.[Exeunt his Followers.
Gril. The king, my lord, commanded me to wait you,
And bid you welcome to the court.
Gui. The king
Still loads me with new honours; but none greater
Than this, the last.
Gril. There is one greater yet,
Your high commission 'gainst the Huguenots;
I and my family shall shortly wait you,
And 'twill be glorious work.
Gui. If you are there,
There must be action.
Gril. O, your pardon, sir;
I'm but a stripling in the trade of war:
But you, whose life is one continued broil,
What will not your triumphant arms accomplish!
You, that were formed for mastery in war.
That, with a start, cried to your brother Mayenne,—
"To horse!" and slaughtered forty thousand Germans[9].
Gui. Let me beseech you, colonel, no more.
Gril. But, sir, since I must make at least a figure
045
In this great business, let me understand
What 'tis you mean, and why you force the king
Upon so dangerous an expedition.
Gui. Sir, I intend the greatness of the king;
The greatness of all France, whom it imports
To make their arms their business, aim, and glory;
And where so proper as upon those rebels,
That covered all the state with blood and death?
Gril. Stored arsenals and armouries, fields of horse,
Ordnance, munition, and the nerve of war,
Sound infantry, not harassed and diseased,
To meet the fierce Navarre, should first be thought on.
Gui. I find, my lord, the argument grows warm,
Therefore, thus much, and I have done: I go
To join the Holy League in this great war,
In which no place of office, or command,
Not of the greatest, shall be bought or sold;
Whereas too often honours are conferred
On soldiers, and no soldiers: This man knighted,
Because he charged a troop before his dinner,
And sculked behind a hedge i'the afternoon:
I will have strict examination made
Betwixt the meritorious and the base.
Gril. You have mouthed it bravely, and there is no doubt
Your deeds would answer well your haughty words;
Yet let me tell you, sir, there is a man,
(Curse on the hearts that hate him!) that would better,
Better than you, or all your puffy race,
That better would become the great battalion;
That when he shines in arms, and suns the field,
Moves, speaks, and fights, and is himself a war.
Gui. Your idol, sir; you mean the great Navarre:
But yet—
Gril. No yet, my lord of Guise, no yet;
By arms, I bar you that; I swear, no yet;
For never was his like, nor shall again.
046
Though voted from his right by your cursed League.
Gui. Judge not too rashly of the Holy League,
But look at home.
Gril. Ha! darest thou justify
Those villains?
Gui. I'll not justify a villain,
More than yourself; but if you thus proceed,
If every heated breath can puff away,
On each surmise, the lives of free-born people,
What need that awful general convocation,
The assembly of the states?—nay, let me urge,—
If thus they vilify the Holy League,
What may their heads expect?
Gril. What, if I could,
They should be certain of,—whole piles of fire.
Gui. Colonel, 'tis very well I know your mind,
Which, without fear, or flattery to your person,
I'll tell the king; and then, with his permission,
Proclaim it for a warning to our people.
Gril. Come, you're a murderer yourself within,
A traitor.
Gui. Thou a —— hot old hair-brained fool.
Gril. You were complotter with the cursed League,
The black abettor of our Harry's death.
Gui. 'Tis false.
Gril. 'Tis true, as thou art double-hearted:
Thou double traitor, to conspire so basely;
And when found out, more basely to deny't.
Gui. O gracious Harry, let me sound thy name,
Lest this old rust of war, this knotty trifler,
Should raise me to extremes.
Gril. If thou'rt a man,
That didst refuse the challenge of Navarre,
Come forth[10].
047
Gui. Go on; since thou'rt resolved on death,
I'll follow thee, and rid thy shaking soul.
Enter King, Queen-Mother, Alphonso, Abbot, &c.
But see, the king: I scorn to ruin
thee,
Therefore go tell him, tell him thy own story.
King. Ha, colonel, is this your friendly visit?
Tell me the truth, how happened this disorder?
Those ruffled hands, red looks, and port of fury?
Gril. I told him, sir, since you will have it so,
He was the author of the rebel-league;
Therefore, a traitor and a murderer.
King. Is't possible?
Gui. No matter, sir, no matter;
A few hot words, no more, upon my life;
The old man roused, and shook himself a little:
So, if your majesty will do me honour,
I do beseech you, let the business die.
King. Grillon, submit yourself, and ask his pardon.
Gril. Pardon me, I cannot do't.
King. Where are the guards!
Gui. Hold, sir;—come, colonel, I'll ask pardon for you;
This soldierly embrace makes up the breach;
We will be sorry, sir, for one another.
Gril. My lord, I know not what to answer you;
I'm friends,—and I am not,—and so farewell.[Exit.
King. You have your orders; yet before you go,
048
Take this embrace: I court you for my friend,
Though Grillon would not.
Gui. I thank you on my knees;
And still, while life shall last, will take strict care
To justify my loyalty to your person.[Exit.
Qu. M. Excellent loyalty, to lock you up!
King. I see even to the bottom of his soul;
And, madam, I must say the Guise has beauties,
But they are set in night, and foul design:
He was my friend when young, and might be still.
Ab. Marked you his hollow accents at the parting?
Qu. M. Graves in his smiles.
King. Death in his bloodless hands.—
O Marmoutiere! now I will haste to meet thee:
The face of beauty, on this rising horror,
Looks like the midnight moon upon a murder;
It gilds the dark design that stays for fate,
And drives the shades, that thicken, from the state.[Exuent.
ACT III. SCENE I.
Enter Grillon and Polin.
Gril. Have then this pious Council of Sixteen
Scented your late discovery of the plot?
Pol. Not as from me; for still I kennel with them.
And bark as loud as the most deep-mouthed traitor,
Against the king, his government, and laws;
Whereon immediately there runs a cry
Of,—Seize him on the next procession! seize him.
And clap the Chilperick in a monastery!
Thus it was fixt, as I before discovered;
But when, against his custom, they perceived
The king absented, strait the rebels met,
049
And roared,—they were undone.
Gril. O, 'tis like them;
'Tis like their mongrel souls: flesh them with fortune,
And they will worry royalty to death;
But if some crabbed virtue turn and pinch them,
Mark me, they'll run, and yelp, and clap their tails,
Like curs, betwixt their legs, and howl for mercy.
Pol. But Malicorn, sagacious on the point,
Cried,—Call the sheriffs, and bid them arm their bands;
Add yet to this, to raise you above hope,
The Guise, my master, will be here to-day.—
For on bare guess of what has been revealed,
He winged a messenger to give him notice;
Yet, spite of all this factor of the fiends
Could urge, they slunk their heads, like hinds in storms.
But see, they come.
Enter Sheriffs, with the Populace.
Gril. Away, I'll have amongst them;
Fly to the king, warn him of Guise's coming,
That he may strait despatch his strict commands
To stop him.[Exit Polin.
1 Sher. Nay, this is colonel Grillon,
The blunderbuss o'the court; away, away,
He carries ammunition in his face.
Gril. Hark you, my friends, if you are not in haste,
Because you are the pillars of the city,
I would inform you of a general ruin.
2 Sher. Ruin to the city! marry, heaven forbid!
Gril. Amen, I say; for, look you, I'm your friend.
'Tis blown about, you've plotted on the king,
To seize him, if not kill him; for, who knows,
When once your conscience yields, how far 'twill stretch;
Next, quite to dash your firmest hopes in pieces,
050
The duke of Guise is dead.
1 Sher. Dead, colonel!
2 Sher. Undone, undone!
Gril. The world cannot redeem you;
For what, sirs, if the king, provoked at last,
Should join the Spaniard, and should fire your city;
Paris, your head,—but a most venomous one,—
Which must be blooded?
1 Sher. Blooded, colonel!
Gril. Ay, blooded, thou most infamous magistrate,
Or you will blood the king, and burn the Louvre;
But ere that be, fall million miscreant souls,
Such earth-born minds as yours; for, mark me, slaves,
Did you not, ages past, consign your lives,
Liberties, fortunes, to Imperial hands,
Made them the guardians of your sickly years?
And now you're grown up to a booby's greatness,
What, would you wrest the sceptre from his hand?
Now, by the majesty of kings I swear,
You shall as soon be saved for packing juries.
1 Sher. Why, sir, mayn't citizens be saved?
Gril. Yes, sir,
From drowning, to be hanged, burnt, broke o'the wheel.
1 Sher. Colonel, you speak us plain.
Gril. A plague confound you,
Why should I not? what is there in such rascals,
Should make me hide my thought, or hold my tongue?
Now, in the devil's name, what make you here,
Daubing the inside of the court, like snails,
Sliming our walls, and pricking out your horns?
To hear, I warrant, what the king's a doing,
And what the cabinet-council; then to the city,
To spread your monstrous lies, and sow sedition?
Wild fire choke you!
1 Sher. Well, we'll think of this;
And so we take our leaves.
051
Gril. Nay, stay, my masters;
For I'm a thinking now just whereabouts
Grow the two tallest trees in Arden forest.
1 Sher. For what, pray, colonel, if we may be so bold?
Gril. Why, to hang you upon the highest branches.
'Fore God, it will be so; and I shall laugh
To see you dangling to and fro i'the air,
With the honest crows pecking your traitors' limbs.
All. Good colonel!
Gril. Good rats, my precious vermin.
You moving dirt, you rank stark muck o'the world,
You oven-bats, you things so far from souls,
Like dogs, you're out of Providence's reach,
And only fit for hanging; but be gone,
And think of plunder.—You right elder sheriff,
Who carved our Henry's image on a table,
At your club-feast, and after stabbed it through,—[11]
1 Sher. Mercy, good colonel.
Gril. Run with your nose to earth;
Run, blood-hound, run, and scent out royal murder.—
052
You second rogue, but equal to the first,
Plunder, go hang,—nay, take your tackling with you,
For these shall hold you fast,—your slaves shall hang you.
To the mid region in the sun:
Plunder! Begone, vipers, asps, and adders!
[Exeunt Sheriffs and People.
Enter Malicorn.
Ha! but here comes a fiend, that soars above;
A prince o'the air, that sets the mud a moving.
Mal. Colonel, a word.
Gril. I hold no speech with villains.
Mal. But, sir, it may concern your fame and safety.
Gril. No matter; I had rather die traduced,
Than live by such a villain's help as thine.
Mal. Hate then the traitor, but yet love the treason.
Gril. Why, are you not a villain?
Mal. 'Tis confessed.
Gril. Then, in the name of all thy brother-devils,
What wouldst thou have with me?
Mal. I know you're honest;
Therefore it is my business to disturb you.
053 Gril. 'Fore God, I'll beat thee, if thou urge me farther.
Mal. Why, though you should, yet, if you hear me after,
The pleasure I shall take in your vexation,
Will heal my bruises.
Gril. Wert thou definite rogue,
I'faith, I think, that I should give thee hearing;
But such a boundless villainy as thine
Admits no patience.
Mal. Your niece is come to court,
And yields her honour to our Henry's bed.
Gril. Thou liest, damned villain.[Strikes him.
Mal. So: why this I looked for;
But yet I swear by hell, and my revenge,
'Tis true, as you have wronged me.
Gril. Wronged thee, villain!
And name revenge! O wert thou Grillon's match,
And worthy of my sword, I swear, by this
One had been past an oath; but thou'rt a worm,
And if I tread thee, darest not turn again.
Mal. 'Tis false; I dare, like you, but cannot act;
There is no force in this enervate arm.
Blasted I was ere born—curse on my stars!—
Got by some dotard in his pithless years,
And sent a withered sapling to the world.
Yet I have brain, and there is my revenge;
Therefore I say again, these eyes have seen
Thy blood at court, bright as a summer's morn,
When all the heaven is streaked with dappled fires.
And flecked with blushes like a rifled maid;
Nay, by the gleamy fires that melted from her,
Fast sighs and smiles, swol'n lips, and heaving breasts,
My soul presages Henry has enjoyed her.
Gril. Again thou liest! and I will crumble thee,
Thou bottled spider, into thy primitive earth,
Unless thou swear thy very thought's a lie.
054
Mal. I stand in adamant, and thus defy thee!
Nay, draw, and with the edge betwixt my lips,
Even while thou rak'st it through my teeth, I'll swear
All I have said is true, as thou art honest,
Or I a villain.
Gril. Damned infamous wretch!
So much below my scorn, I dare not kill thee;
And yet so much my hate, that I must fear thee.
For should it be as thou hast said, not all
The trophies of my laurelled honesty
Should bar me from forsaking this bad world,
And never draw my sword for Henry more.
Mal. Ha! 'tis well, and now I am revenged.
I was in hopes thou wouldst have uttered treason,
And forfeited thy head, to pay me fully.
Gril. Hast thou compacted for a lease of years
With hell, that thus thou ventured to provoke me?
Mal. Perhaps I have: (How right the blockhead hits!)
Yet more to rack thy heart, and break thy brain,
Thy niece has been before the Guise's mistress.
Gril. Hell-hound, avaunt!
Mal. Forgive my honest meaning.[Exit.
Gril. 'Tis hatched beneath, a plot upon mine honour;
And thus he lays his baits to catch my soul:—
Ha! but the presence opens; who comes here?
By heaven, my niece! led by Alphonso Corso!
Ha, Malicorn! is't possible? truth from thee!
'Tis plain! and I, in justifying woman,
Have done the devil wrong.
Enter Alphonso Corso, leading in Marmoutiere.
Alph. Madam, the king
(Please you to sit) will instantly attend you.[Exit.
Gril. Death, hell, and furies! ha! she comes to seek him!—
O prostitute!—and, on her prodigal flesh,
055
She has lavished all the diamonds of the Guise,
To set her off, and sell her to the king.
Mar. O heavens! did ever virgin yet attempt
An enterprise like mine? I, that resolved
Never to leave those dear delightful shades,
But act the little part that nature gave me,
On the green carpets of some guiltless grove,
And having finished it, forsake the world;
Unless sometimes my heart might entertain
Some small remembrance of the taking Guise:
But that far, far from any darkening thought,
To cloud my honour, or eclipse my virtue.
Gril. Thou liest! and if thou hadst not glanced aside,
And spied me coming, I had had it all.
Mar. By heaven! by all that's good—
Gril. Thou hast lost thy honour.
Give me this hand, this hand by which I caught thee
From the bold ruffian in the massacre,
That would have stained thy almost infant honour,
With lust, and blood;—dost thou remember it?
Mar. I do, and bless the godlike arm, that saved me.
Gril. 'Tis false! thou hast forgot my generous action;
And now thou laugh'st, to think how thou hast cheated,
For all his kindness, this old grisled fool.
Mar. Forbid it heaven!
Gril. But oh, that thou hadst died
Ten thousand deaths, ere blasted Grillon's glory;
Grillon, that saved thee from a barbarous world.
Where thou hadst starved, or sold thyself for bread;
Took thee into his bosom, fostered thee
As his own soul, and laid thee in his heart-strings;
And now, for all my cares, to serve me thus!
O 'tis too much, ye powers! double confusion
056
On all my wars; and oh,—out, shame upon thee!
It wrings the tears from Grillon's iron heart,
And melts me to a babe.
Mar. Sir! father! hear me!
I come to court, to save the life of Guise.
Gril. And prostitute thy honour to the king.
Mar. I have looked, perhaps, too nicely for my sex,
Into the dark affairs of fatal state;
And, to advance this dangerous inquisition,
I listened to the love of daring Guise.
Gril. By arms, by honesty, I swear thou lovest him!
Mar. By heaven, that gave those arms success, I swear
I do not, as you think! but take it all.
I have heard the Guise, not with an angel's temper,
Something beyond the tenderness of pity,
And yet, not love.
Now, by the powers that framed me, this is all!
Nor should the world have wrought this close confession,
But to rebate your jealousy of honour.
Gril. I know not what to say, nor what to think;
There's heaven still in thy voice, but that's a sign
Virtue's departing; for thy better angel
Still makes the woman's tongue his rising ground,
Wags there a while, and takes his flight for ever.
Mar. You must not go.
Gril. Though I have reason, plain
As day, to judge thee false, I think thee true:
By heaven, methinks I see a glory round thee!
There's something says, thou wilt not lose thy honour:—
Death and the devil! that's my own honesty;
My foolish open nature, that would have
All like myself;—but off; I'll hence and curse thee!
Mar. O, stay!
Gril. I will not.
057
Mar. Hark! the king's coming.
Let me conjure you, for your own soul's quiet,
And for the everlasting rest of mine,
Stir not, till you have heard my heart's design.
Gril. Angel, or devil, I will.—Nay, at this rate,
She'll make me shortly bring him to her bed.—
Bawd for him? no, he shall make me run my head
Into a cannon, when 'tis firing, first;
That's honourable sport. But I'll retire,
And if she plays me false, here's that shall mend her.
[Touching his Dagger, exit. Marmoutiere
sits. Song and Dance.
Enter the King.
King. After the breathing of a love-sick heart
Upon your hand, once more,—nay twice,—forgive me.
Mar. I discompose you, sir.
King. Thou dost, by heaven;
But with such charming pleasure,
I love, and tremble, as at angels' view.
Mar. Love me, my lord?
King. Who should be loved, but you?
So loved, that even my crown, and self are vile,
While you are by. Try me upon despair;
My kingdom at the stake, ambition starved,
Revenge forgot, and all great appetites
That whet uncommon spirits to aspire,
So once a day I may have leave—
Nay, madam, then you fear me.
Mar. Fear you, sir! what is there dreadful in you?
You've all the graces that can crown mankind;
Yet wear them so, as if you did not know them;
So stainless, fearless, free in all your actions,
As if heaven lent you to the world to pattern.
King. Madam, I find you are no petitioner;
My people would not treat me in this sort,
Though 'twere to gain a part of their design;
058
But to the Guise they deal their faithless praise
As fast, as you your flattery to me;
Though for what end I cannot guess, except
You come, like them, to mock at my misfortunes.
Mar. Forgive you, heaven, that thought! No, mighty monarch,
The love of all the good, and wonder of the great;
I swear, by heaven, my heart adores, and loves you.
King. O madam, rise.
Mar. Nay, were you, sir, unthroned
By this seditious rout that dare despise you,
Blast all my days, ye powers! torment my nights;
Nay, let the misery invade my sex,
That could not for the royal cause, like me,
Throw all their luxury before your feet,
And follow you, like pilgrims, through the world.
Gril. Sound wind and limb! 'fore God, a gallant girl! [Aside.
King. What shall I answer to thee, O thou balm
To heal a broken, yet a kingly heart!
For, so I swear I will be to my last.
Come to my arms, and be thy Harry's angel,
Shine through my cares, and make my crown sit easy.
Mar. O never, sir.
King. What said you, Marmoutiere?
Why dost thou turn thy beauties into frowns?
Mar. You know, sir, 'tis impossible; no more.
King. No more?—and with that stern resolved behaviour?
By heaven! were I a dying, and the priest
Should urge my last confession, I'd cry out,
Oh Marmoutiere! and yet thou say'st,—No more!
Mar. 'Tis well, sir; I have lost my aim, farewell.
King. Come back! O stay, my life flows after you.
Mar. No, sir, I find I am a trouble to you;
You will not hear my suit.
King. You cannot go,
059
You shall not.—O your suit, I kneel to grant it;
I beg you take whatever you demand.
Mar. Then, sir, thus low, or prostrate if you please,
Let me intreat for Guise.
King. Ha, madam, what!
For Guise; for Guise! that stubborn arrogant rebel,
That laughs at proffered mercy, slights his pardon,
Mocks royal grace, and plots upon my life?
Ha! and do you protect him? then the world
Is sworn to Henry's death: Does beauty too,
And innocence itself conspire against me?
Then let me tamely yield my glories up,
Which once I vowed with my drawn sword to wear
To my last drop of blood.—Come Guise, come cardinal,
All you loved traitors, come—I strip to meet you;
Sheathe all your daggers in curst Henry's heart.