107, 113. a glasse of ink: a mirror made of ink, i. e. the paper with the proofs of Tamyra's unfaithfulness.
107, 116. fames sepulchres: the foulness beneath which her good name is buried.
107, 120-21. were . . . rarely: were it never so uncommon, bear it with as unexampled courage.
109, 156. In her forc'd bloud. Dilke is followed in the substitution of her for his. The allusion is evidently to the letter that Tamyra afterwards writes to D'Ambois in her own blood. Cf. v, 1, 176-77.
110, 169-70. Lest . . . abuse: lest a furious outburst due to your foreknowledge of the plot against us.
111, 185. And . . . policy: and the Monsieur's stratagems shall be taken in the flank by my own.
111, 186. Center. Here and in l. 192 this word, though strictly meaning the central point of the earth, seems used for the earth itself, as the centre of the universe. For this use cf. Shaks. Tro. and Cress. i, 3, 85-86.
111, 191. calme . . . ruine: unsuspecting tranquillity previous to a convulsion of the elements.
113, 17-18. The stony . . . sleeper. The thunderstone, or thunderbolt, was supposed to have no power of harming any one who was asleep, or who wore laurel leaves. Leigh, in his Observations on the First Twelve Cæsars (1647), p. 43, says of Tiberius that "he feared thunder exceedingly, and when the aire or weather was any thing troubled, he even carried a chaplet or wreath of laurell about his neck, because that as (Pliny reporteth) is never blasted with lightning."
114, 50. determinate: apparently used in the sense of final, though the sense is rare, except as qualifying a word which implies previous deliberation.
115, 55-56. preventing . . . death: anticipating the last blast that is to kill those who live, and to give life anew to the dead.
115, 64. Fame growes in going. Borrowed from the Æneid, iv, 173-75, Fama . . . viresque acquirit eundo.
115, 67-68. come . . . lust. The syren is Tamyra; her song the letter she is to write to her lover (cf. l. 75); Montsurry; band of murderers the fatal rocks; and the ruffin gally, D'Ambois.
115, 69-71. the nets . . . danc'd. There is a play here upon nets in the sense of wiles, and in its usual signification. To "dance," or "march," or "hide" in a net was to delude oneself that one was acting secretly (cf. Henry V, i, 4, 173, and Span. Trag. iv, 4, 118).
116, 84. for all: in spite of all.
116, 86. their should be, in grammatical sequence, "her," referring to "a womans" in 83.
116, 91. nor in humane consort: nor do they find human fellowship. The metaphor of the wildernesse is still being carried on.
118, 128-30. Where . . . cruelty: in the same quarter [i. e. your person] where all these bonds have been violated, they are preserved by the infliction of just punishment, with some exhibition of the same quintessence of cruelty that you have shown me.
118, 142. Thus I expresse thee yet: thus I give a further stroke to my delineation of thee.
118, 143. thy . . . yet: the image of thy unnatural depravity is not yet fully completed.
118, 145. This other engine: the rack, on which Montsurry's servants place Tamyra. Cf. l. 157, "O let me downe, my lord."
119, 151-52. O who . . . None but my lord and husband. Tamyra thinks that some evil spirit has taken her husband's shape, and cries to Montsurry to appear and deliver her.
119, 161. Now . . . stands still. This statement of the leading principle of the Copernican system, as a mere rhetorical paradox, is remarkable.
119-120, 163-72. The too huge . . . with hypocrisie. In this curious passage the earth is conceived of as a recumbent figure, which usually lies face upwards to the sky. But the weight of her sins has caused her to roll over, so that her back part now braves heaven, while her face is turned to the Antipodes; and all the deceitful appearances which she has adopted through her cheating arts have come out in their true nature on her back, so that her hypocrisy stands revealed.
120, 181. his. We should expect a repetition of her in l. 180. His, however seems to be equivalent to man's, anticipating man in l. 182. Possibly we should read this.
121, 191. In, Ile after. These words are addressed to the body of the Friar.
122, 20. with terror: inspiring terror in their enemies.
123, 28. And . . . man: And consider it, though left headless, as a completely formed man.
123, 36. vertuous treasurie: stock of virtues.
124, 46-53. Not so . . . mens hate. An adaptation of Seneca's Agamemnon, 64-72:
These lines, with those immediately before and after, are more loosely adapted in Kyd's Spanish Tragedie, iii, 1, 1-11.
126, 23. this embodied shadow: this spirit while it had bodily form.
126, 24-27. With reminiscion . . . of art. Cf. iv, 2, 158-61.
127, 41-53. Terror of darknesse . . . greater light. After Bussy's statement in ll. 29-32 we should expect him to immediately summon the Prince of darknesse, Behemoth. But ll. 41-46 are apparently addressed to the sun-god, who is invoked to put to flight night and mystery. Then as an alternative, in ll. 47-53, Behemoth, to whom darkness is as light, is bidden appear. Dilke substitutes oh for or (the reading of all Qq) at the beginning of l. 47. If this change be right, the invocation commences at this line, and ll. 41-46 are merely a preliminary rhetorical appeal for more illumination. But in this case there is an incongruity between such an appeal and the summoning of the Prince of shades, who sees best where darkness is thickest. Lamb in his Specimens retains the reading of the Qq, and says of the passage: "This calling upon Light and Darkness for information, but, above all, the description of the spirit—'threw his changed countenance headlong into clouds'—is tremendous, to the curdling of the blood. I know nothing in poetry like it."
130, 103. all the signes: i. e. of the Zodiac.
131. Intrat Umbra Frier . . . Tamyra. The Ghost of the Friar enters and discovers, i. e. reveals to view, Tamyra, who since the close of v, 1, has remained wrapped in the arras, or, as the variant stage direction in A here puts it, wrapt in a canapie.
131, 9. before he be revenged: before vengeance is taken on him. The reading of A, engaged, is perhaps (as Dilke suggests) preferable.
133, 27-28. what . . . D'Amboys: what bugbear, such as this, is not afraid to visit D'Amboys, even in his sleep?
134, 45. Will . . . here? D'Ambois's sword fails to pierce the privy coat worn by the murderer. Cf. v, 2, 57.
134, 52. That . . . resembled: That was a successful artifice, and a skilful impersonation.
135, 65. enforce the spot: emphasize the stain on your honour.
136, 82. Then . . . fact: then these teachers of divinity deal with figments, not with realities.
136, 83-84. Man . . . servant: Man consists of two attached friends, the body and the mind, of which the latter is swayed by the former, as a lover by his mistress.
136, 90-93. And if Vespasian . . . groomes. Cf. Suetonius, Life of Vespasian, Ch. 24. Hic, quum super urgentem valetudinem creberrimo frigidæ aquæ usu etiam intestina vitiasset, nec eo minus muneribus imperatoriis ex consuetudine fungeretur, ut etiam legationes audiret cubans, alvo repente usque ad defectionem soluta, Imperatorem, ait, stantem mori oportere. Dumque consurgit, ac nititur, inter manus sublevantium exstinctus est.
137, 100-108. And haste . . . dwellers. An adaptation of Seneca, Her. Oet. 1518-1526:
137, 110-111. may . . . funerall: may celebrate fittingly my unworthy end with such a funeral volley as it deserves.
138, 135-40. My sunne . . . bloud. In these lines the killing spectacle, the prodigie, of l. 134, and its effect are described. Tamyra, the light of D'Ambois's life, with her reddened bosom and hands, is likened to a sun whose beams have turned to blood. So far the imagery is clear, but it is difficult to extract a satisfactory sense from what follows. What do Pindus and Ossa symbolize, and what exactly does their melting mean? This seems one of the few passages in the play which really deserve Dryden's stricture for "looseness of expression and gross hyperboles."
139, 146. struck. The Qq, and all editors, read stuck, but the word seems inapplicable to a thunderbolt. The editor has conjectured struck, which, with a minimum of change, gives the sense required.
139, 149 Joine flames with Hercules. Here the quartos of 1607 and 1608 contain the right reading. D'Ambois, who has met death in the spirit of Hercules (cf. ll. 100-108), is now to share his translation to the skies. For the description of Hercules as a star see Seneca, Her. Oet. 1564-1581.
142, 211-14 as . . . dies. The reference is to the wax in the taper, which retains in its savour the mark of its origin in the hive, till transient as life, it glances with the eye of a flame, and, so doing, expires.
The Revenge of Bussy D'Ambois was printed in quarto in 1613 by T. S. for John Helme. No reprint appeared till 1873, when it was included in the edition of Chapman's Tragedies and Comedies published by J. Pearson. The text of the quarto was reproduced, with the original spelling and punctuation, but with a few errors. There have been two later editions in modernized spelling, and with slight emendations, by R. H. Shepherd in 1874, and W. L. Phelps in 1895.
In the present edition the text of the quarto has been reproduced, with some additional emendations, and the original spelling has been retained. As regards punctuation, the use of capital letters and italics, and the division of the Acts into Scenes, the same methods have been followed as in the case of Bussy D'Ambois.
The story of a plot by Bussy D'Ambois's kinsfolk to avenge his murder is, in the main, of Chapman's own invention. But he had evidently read an account similar to that given later by De Thou of the design entertained for a time by Bussy's sister Renée (whom Chapman calls Charlotte) and her husband, Baligny, to take vengeance on Montsurry. Clermont D'Ambois is himself a fictitious character, but the episodes in which he appears in Acts II-IV are drawn from the account of the treacherous proceedings against the Count d'Auvergne in Edward Grimeston's translation of Jean de Serres's Inventaire Général de l'Histoire de France. This narrative, however, is not by De Serres, but by Pierre Matthieu, whose Histoire de France was one of the sources used by Grimeston for events later than 1598.
The portraiture of Clermont throughout the play as the high-souled philosopher is inspired by Epictetus's delineation in his Discourses of the ideal Stoic. But in his reluctance to carry out his duty of revenge he is evidently modelled upon Hamlet. In Act v, Scene i, the influence of Shakespeare's tragedy is specially manifest.
The Scenes in Act v relating to the assassination of Guise are based upon Grimeston's translation of De Serres's Inventaire Général.
The passages in Grimeston's volume which recount the Duke's murder, and those which tell the story of the Count d'Auvergne, are reprinted as an Appendix.
The frontispiece to this volume, the Château of La Coutancière, at which Bussy D'Ambois was killed, is reproduced from an illustration in A. Joubert's Louis de Clermont.
TO THE RIGHT
VERTUOUS, AND
truely Noble Knight, Sr.
Thomas Howard, &c.
Sir,
Since workes of this kinde have beene lately esteemed
worthy the patronage of some of our worthiest
Nobles, I have made no doubt to preferre this of mine
to your undoubted vertue and exceeding true noblesse,
as contayning matter no lesse deserving your reading, 5
and excitation to heroycall life, then any such late dedication.
Nor have the greatest Princes of Italie and other
countries conceived it any least diminution to their greatnesse
to have their names wing'd with these tragicke
plumes, and disperst by way of patronage through the 10
most noble notices of Europe.
Howsoever, therefore, in the scænicall presentation it
might meete with some maligners, yet, considering even
therein it past with approbation of more worthy judgements,
the ballance of their side (especially being held 15
by your impartiall hand) I hope will to no graine abide
the out-weighing. And for the autenticall truth of eyther
person or action, who (worth the respecting) will expect
it in a poeme, whose subject is not truth, but things like
truth? Poore envious soules they are that cavill at truths 20
want in these naturall fictions: materiall instruction, elegant
and sententious excitation to vertue, and deflection
from her contrary, being the soule, lims, and limits of an
autenticall tragedie. But whatsoever merit of your full
countenance and favour suffers defect in this, I shall soone 25
supply with some other of more generall account; wherein
your right vertuous name made famous and preserved to
posteritie, your future comfort and honour in your present
acceptation and love of all vertuous and divine expression
may be so much past others of your rancke encreast, as 30
they are short of your judiciall ingenuitie, in their due
estimation.
For howsoever those ignoble and sowre-brow'd
worldlings are carelesse of whatsoever future or present
opinion spreads of them; yet (with the most divine 35
philosopher, if Scripture did not confirme it) I make it
matter of my faith, that we truely retaine an intellectuall
feeling of good or bad after this life, proportionably
answerable to the love or neglect we beare here to all
vertue and truely-humane instruction: in whose favour 40
and honour I wish you most eminent, and rest ever,
Your true vertues
most true observer,
Geo. Chapman.
| Henry, the King. | |||
| Monsieur, his Brother. | |||
| Guise, D[uke]. | |||
| Renel, a Marquesse. | |||
| Montsureau, an Earle. | |||
| Baligny, Lord Lieutenant [of Cambray]. | |||
| Clermont D'Ambois. | |||
| Maillard. Challon. Aumal. |
|
Captaines. | |
| Espernone. | |||
| Soissone. | |||
| Perricot, [An Usher.] | |||
| [A Messenger.] | |||
| The Guard. | |||
| Souldiers. | |||
| Servants. | |||
| The ghost[s] of |
|
Bussy. Monsieur. Guise. Card. Guise. Shattilion. |
|
| Countesse of Cambray. | |||
| Tamyra, wife to Montsureau. | |||
| Charlotte [D'Ambois], wife to Baligny. | |||
| Riova, a Servant [to the Countesse]. | |||
[Scene: Paris, and in or near Cambrai.]
[A Room at the Court in Paris.]
Enter Baligny, Renel.
Baligny. To what will this declining kingdome turne,
Swindging in every license, as in this
Stupide permission of brave D'Ambois Murther?
Murther made paralell with Law! Murther us'd
To serve the kingdome, given by sute to men5
For their advancement! suffered scarcrow-like
To fright adulterie! what will policie
At length bring under his capacitie?
Renel. All things; for as, when the high births of Kings,
Deliverances, and coronations,10
We celebrate with all the cities bels
Jangling together in untun'd confusion,
All order'd clockes are tyed up; so, when glory,
Flatterie, and smooth applauses of things ill,
Uphold th'inordinate swindge of downe-right power,15
Justice, and truth that tell the bounded use,
Vertuous and well distinguisht formes of time,
Are gag'd and tongue-tide. But wee have observ'd
Rule in more regular motion: things most lawfull
Were once most royall; Kings sought common good,20
Mens manly liberties, though ne'er so meane,
And had their owne swindge so more free, and more.
But when pride enter'd them, and rule by power,
All browes that smil'd beneath them, frown'd; hearts griev'd
By imitation; vertue quite was vanisht,25
And all men studi'd selfe-love, fraud, and vice.
Then no man could be good but he was punisht.
Tyrants, being still more fearefull of the good
Then of the bad, their subjects vertues ever
Manag'd with curbs and dangers, and esteem'd30
As shadowes and detractions to their owne.
Bal. Now all is peace, no danger, now what followes?
Idlenesse rusts us, since no vertuous labour
Ends ought rewarded; ease, securitie,
Now all the palme weares. Wee made warre before35
So to prevent warre; men with giving gifts,
More then receiving, made our countrey strong;
Our matchlesse race of souldiers then would spend
In publike warres, not private brawles, their spirits;
In daring enemies, arm'd with meanest armes,40
Not courting strumpets, and consuming birth-rights
In apishnesse and envy of attire.
No labour then was harsh, no way so deepe,
No rocke so steepe, but if a bird could scale it,
Up would our youth flie to. A foe in armes45
Stirr'd up a much more lust of his encounter
Then of a mistresse never so be-painted.
Ambition then was onely scaling walles,
And over-topping turrets; fame was wealth;
Best parts, best deedes, were best nobilitie;50
Honour with worth, and wealth well got or none.
Countries we wonne with as few men as countries:
Vertue subdu'd all.
Ren. Just: and then our nobles
Lov'd vertue so, they prais'd and us'd it to;
Had rather doe then say; their owne deedes hearing55
By others glorified, then be so barraine
That their parts onely stood in praising others.
Bal. Who could not doe, yet prais'd, and envi'd not;
Civile behaviour flourisht; bountie flow'd;
Avarice to upland boores, slaves, hang-men banisht.60
Ren. Tis now quite otherwise. But to note the cause
Of all these foule digressions and revolts
From our first natures, this tis in a word:
Since good arts faile, crafts and deceits are us'd:
Men ignorant are idle; idle men65
Most practise what they most may doe with ease,
Fashion and favour; all their studies ayming
At getting money, which no wise man ever
Fed his desires with.
Bal. Yet now none are wise
That thinke not heavens true foolish, weigh'd with that.70
Well, thou most worthy to be greatest Guise,
Make with thy greatnesse a new world arise.
Such deprest nobles (followers of his)
As you, my selfe, my lord, will finde a time
When to revenge your wrongs.
In meane time, I could wish the wrong were righted
Of your slaine brother in law, brave Bussy D'Ambois.
Bal. That one accident was made my charge.
My brother Bussy's sister (now my wife)
By no suite would consent to satisfie80
My love of her with marriage, till I vow'd
To use my utmost to revenge my brother:
But Clermont D'Ambois (Bussy's second brother)
Had, since, his apparition, and excitement
To suffer none but his hand in his wreake;85
Which hee hath vow'd, and so will needes acquite
Me of my vow made to my wife, his sister,
And undertake himselfe Bussy's revenge.
Yet loathing any way to give it act,
But in the noblest and most manly course,90
If th'Earle dares take it, he resolves to send
A challenge to him, and my selfe must beare it;
To which deliverie I can use no meanes,
He is so barricado'd in his house,
And arm'd with guard still.
Ren. That meanes lay on mee, 95
Which I can strangely make. My last lands sale,
By his great suite, stands now on price with him,
And hee (as you know) passing covetous,
With that blinde greedinesse that followes gaine,
Will cast no danger where her sweete feete tread.100
Besides, you know, his lady, by his suite
(Wooing as freshly as when first love shot
His faultlesse arrowes from her rosie eyes)
Now lives with him againe, and shee, I know,
Will joyne with all helps in her friends revenge.105
Bal. No doubt, my lord, and therefore let me pray you
To use all speede; for so on needels points
My wifes heart stands with haste of the revenge,
Being (as you know) full of her brothers fire,
That shee imagines I neglect my vow;110
Keepes off her kinde embraces, and still askes,
"When, when, will this revenge come? when perform'd
Will this dull vow be?" And, I vow to heaven,
So sternely, and so past her sexe she urges
My vowes performance, that I almost feare115
To see her, when I have a while beene absent,
Not showing her, before I speake, the bloud
She so much thirsts for, freckling hands and face.
Ren. Get you the challenge writ, and looke from me
To heare your passage clear'd no long time after. Exit Ren[el]. 120
Bal. All restitution to your worthiest lordship!
Whose errand I must carrie to the King,
As having sworne my service in the search
Of all such malecontents and their designes,
By seeming one affected with their faction125
And discontented humours gainst the state:
Nor doth my brother Clermont scape my counsaile
Given to the King about his Guisean greatnesse,
Which (as I spice it) hath possest the King,
Knowing his daring spirit, of much danger130
Charg'd in it to his person; though my conscience
Dare sweare him cleare of any power to be
Infected with the least dishonestie:
Yet that sinceritie, wee politicians
Must say, growes out of envie since it cannot135
Aspire to policies greatnesse; and the more
We worke on all respects of kinde and vertue,
The more our service to the King seemes great,
In sparing no good that seemes bad to him:
And the more bad we make the most of good,140
The more our policie searcheth, and our service
Is wonder'd at for wisedome and sincerenesse.
Tis easie to make good suspected still,
Where good, and God, are made but cloakes for ill.
See Monsieur taking now his leave for Brabant;145
The Guise & his deare minion, Clermont D'Ambois,
Whispering together, not of state affaires,
I durst lay wagers, (though the Guise be now
In chiefe heate of his faction) but of some thing
Savouring of that which all men else despise,150
How to be truely noble, truely wise.
Monsieur. See how hee hangs upon the eare of Guise,
Like to his jewell!
Epernon. Hee's now whisp'ring in
Some doctrine of stabilitie and freedome,
Contempt of outward greatnesse, and the guises155
That vulgar great ones make their pride and zeale,
Being onely servile traines, and sumptuous houses,
High places, offices.
Mons. Contempt of these
Does he read to the Guise? Tis passing needfull,
And hee, I thinke, makes show t'affect his doctrine.160
Ep. Commends, admires it—
Mons. And pursues another.
Tis fine hypocrisie, and cheape, and vulgar,
Knowne for a covert practise, yet beleev'd
By those abus'd soules that they teach and governe
No more then wives adulteries by their husbands,165
They bearing it with so unmov'd aspects,
Hot comming from it, as twere not [at] all,
Or made by custome nothing. This same D'Ambois
Hath gotten such opinion of his vertues,
Holding all learning but an art to live well,170
And showing hee hath learn'd it in his life,
Being thereby strong in his perswading others,
That this ambitious Guise, embracing him,
Is thought t'embrace his vertues.
Ep. Yet in some
His vertues are held false for th'others vices:175
For tis more cunning held, and much more common,
To suspect truth then falshood: and of both
Truth still fares worse, as hardly being beleev'd,
As tis unusuall and rarely knowne.
Mons. Ile part engendring vertue. Men affirme,180
Though this same Clermont hath a D'Ambois spirit,
And breathes his brothers valour, yet his temper
Is so much past his that you cannot move him:
Ile try that temper in him.—Come, you two
Devoure each other with your vertues zeale,185
And leave for other friends no fragment of yee:
I wonder, Guise, you will thus ravish him
Out of my bosome, that first gave the life
His manhood breathes spirit, and meanes, and luster.
What doe men thinke of me, I pray thee, Clermont?190
Once give me leave (for tryall of that love
That from thy brother Bussy thou inherit'st)
T'unclaspe thy bosome.
Clermont. As how, sir?
Mons. Be a true glasse to mee, in which I may
Behold what thoughts the many-headed beast195
And thou thy selfe breathes out concerning me,
My ends and new upstarted state in Brabant,
For which I now am bound, my higher aymes
Imagin'd here in France: speake, man, and let
Thy words be borne as naked as thy thoughts.200
O were brave Bussy living!
Cler. Living, my lord!
Mons. Tis true thou art his brother, but durst thou
Have brav'd the Guise; mauger his presence, courted
His wedded lady; emptied even the dregs
Of his worst thoughts of mee even to my teeth;205
Discern'd not me, his rising soveraigne,
From any common groome, but let me heare
My grossest faults, as grosse-full as they were?
Durst thou doe this?
Cler. I cannot tell. A man
Does never know the goodnesse of his stomacke210
Till hee sees meate before him. Were I dar'd,
Perhaps, as he was, I durst doe like him.
Mons. Dare then to poure out here thy freest soule
Of what I am.
Cler. Tis stale, he tolde you it.
Mons. He onely jested, spake of splene and envie;215
Thy soule, more learn'd, is more ingenuous,
Searching, judiciall; let me then from thee
Heare what I am.
Cler. What but the sole support,
And most expectant hope of all our France,
The toward victor of the whole Low Countryes?220
Mons. Tush, thou wilt sing encomions of my praise!
Is this like D'Ambois? I must vexe the Guise,
Or never looke to heare free truth. Tell me,
For Bussy lives not; hee durst anger mee,
Yet, for my love, would not have fear'd to anger225
The King himselfe. Thou understand'st me, dost not?
Cler. I shall my lord, with studie.
Mons. Dost understand thy selfe? I pray thee tell me,
Dost never search thy thoughts, what my designe
Might be to entertaine thee and thy brother?230
What turne I meant to serve with you?
Cler. Even what you please to thinke.
Mons. But what thinkst thou?
Had I no end in't, think'st?
Cler. I thinke you had.
Mons. When I tooke in such two as you two were,
A ragged couple of decaid commanders,235
When a French-crowne would plentifully serve
To buy you both to any thing i'th'earth—
Cler. So it would you.
Mons. Nay bought you both out-right,
You and your trunkes—I feare me, I offend thee.
Cler. No, not a jot.
Mons. The most renowmed souldier, 240
Epaminondas (as good authors say)
Had no more suites then backes, but you two shar'd
But one suite twixt you both, when both your studies
Were not what meate to dine with, if your partridge,
Your snipe, your wood-cocke, larke, or your red hering,245
But where to begge it; whether at my house,
Or at the Guises (for you know you were
Ambitious beggars) or at some cookes-shop,
T'eternize the cookes trust, and score it up.
Dost not offend thee?
Mons. As for thy gentry, I dare boldly take
Thy honourable othe: and yet some say
Thou and thy most renowmed noble brother
Came to the Court first in a keele of sea-coale.
Dost not offend thee?
Mons. Why doe I love thee, then? Why have I rak'd thee
Out of the dung-hill? cast my cast ward-robe on thee?
Brought thee to Court to, as I did thy brother?
Made yee my sawcy bon companions?
Taught yee to call our greatest Noblemen260
By the corruption of their names—Jack, Tom?
Have I blowne both for nothing to this bubble?
Though thou art learn'd, thast no enchanting wit;
Or, were thy wit good, am I therefore bound
To keepe thee for my table?
Cler. Well, sir, 'twere 265
A good knights place. Many a proud dubb'd gallant
Seekes out a poore knights living from such emrods.
[Mons.] Or what use else should I designe thee to?
Perhaps you'll answere me—to be my pander.
Cler. Perhaps I shall.
Mons. Or did the slie Guise put thee 270
Into my bosome t'undermine my projects?
I feare thee not; for, though I be not sure
I have thy heart, I know thy braine-pan yet
To be as emptie a dull piece of wainscot
As ever arm'd the scalpe of any courtier;275
A fellow onely that consists of sinewes;
Meere Swisser, apt for any execution.
Cler. But killing of the King!
Mons. Right: now I see
Thou understand'st thy selfe.
Cler. I, and you better.
You are a Kings sonne borne.
Mons. Right.
Cler. And a Kings brother. 280
Mons. True.
Cler. And might not any foole have beene so too,
As well as you?
Mons. A poxe upon you!
Cler. You did no princely deedes
Ere you were borne (I take it) to deserve it;285
Nor did you any since that I have heard;
Nor will doe ever any, as all thinke.
Mons. The Divell take him! Ile no more of him.
Guise. Nay: stay, my lord, and heare him answere you.