 | The Duke of Guise |  |
SCENE I.
Enter Queen-Mother, Abbot Delbene, Polin.Q. M.
Pray mark the Form of the Conspiracy;
Guise gives it out he Journeys to Champagn,
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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 prov'd.
Q. M.
Call Colonel Grillon, the King would speak with him.
[Exit Polin.
Abbot.
Was ever Age like this?
Q. M.
Polin is honest:
Beside, the whole Proceeding is so like
The hair-brain'd Rout, I guess'd as much before.
Know then, it is resolv'd 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.
Abbot.
When is this Council to be held again?
Q. M.
Immediately upon the Duke's departure.
Abbot.
Why sends not then the King sufficient Guards,
To seise the Fiends, and hew 'em into pieces?
Q. M.
'Tis in appearance easie, but th'Effect
Most hazardous; for straight, upon th'Alarm,
The City would be sure to be in Arms:
Therefore to undertake, and not to compass,
Were to come off with Ruine and Dishonour.
You know th'Italian Proverb, Bisogna Copriersi:
He that will venture on a Hornets Nest,
Should Arm his Head, and Buckler well his Breast.
Abbot.
But wherefore seems the King so unresolv'd?
Q. M.
I brought Polin, and made the Demonstration,
Told him Necessity cry'd out to take
A Resolution to preserve his Life,
And look on Guise as a reclaimless Rebel.
But thro the Natural Sweetness of his Temper,
And dangerous Mercy, coldly he reply'd,
Madam, I will consider what you say.
Abbot.
Yet after all, could we but fix him.
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Right,
The Business were more firm for this Delay;
For Noblest Natures, tho they suffer long,
When once provok'd, they turn the Face to Danger.
But see, he comes, Alphonso Corso with him;
Let us withdraw, and when 'tis fit, rejoyn him.
[Exeunt.
Enter King, Alphonso Corso.
King.
Alphonso Corso.
Alph.
Sir.
King.
I think thou lov'st 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 cry'd 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-liver'd Knaves
Would dare commend, lagging behind his Fellows,
His Dagger in his Bosom, stabb'd his Father.
This is a Blot which Tully's Eloquence
Could ne're wipe off, tho the mistaken Man
Makes bold to call those Traytors, Men Divine.
Alph.
Tully was wise, but wanted Constancy.
Enter Queen-Mother, Abbot Delbene.
Q. M.
Good-even, Sir; 'tis just the time you order'd
To wait on your Decrees.
King.
Oh, Madam.
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Sir.
King.
Oh Mother, but I cannot make it way;
Chaos and Shades, 'tis huddl'd up in Night.
Q. M.
Speak then, for Speech is morning to the Mind,
It spreads the Beautious Images abroad,
Which else lie furl'd and clouded in the Soul.
King.
You would Embark me in a Sea of Blood.
Q. M.
You see the Plot directly on your Person;
But give it ore, 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'l have it mended, that they will;
Or you shall be no King.
King.
'Tis true, the People
Ne're know a Mean, when once they get the Power;
But O, if the Design we lay should fail,
Better the Traytors never should be touch'd,
If Execution cries not out 'tis done.
Q. M.
No Sir; you cannot fear the sure Design;
But I have liv'd 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,
Whor'd Margerite, Plots upon my life,
And shall I not Revenge?
Q. M.
Why this is Harry;
Harry at Moncontour, when in his Bloom
He saw the Admiral Colligny's Back.
King.
O this Whale Guise, with all the Lorain Fry,
Might I but view him after his Plots and Plunges,
Strook on those Cowring Shallows that await him.
This were a Florence Master-piece indeed.
Q. M.
He comes to take his leave.
King.
Then for Champagn;
But lies in wait till Paris is in Arms.
Call Grillon in, all that I beg you now,
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As Urns that never blab.
Q. M.
Doubt not your Friends;
Love 'em, and then you need not fear your Foes.
Enter Grillon.
King.
Welcome my Honest-Man, my old try'd Friend.
Why dost thou flye me Grillon, and Retire?
Grill.
Rather let me demand your Majesty,
Why fly you from your self? 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
Th'unsufferable Affronts he daily offers,
War without Treasure on the Hugonots,
While I am forc'd against my bent of Soul,
Against all Laws, all Custom, Right, Succession,
To cast Navar from the Imperial Line.
Grill.
Why do you Sir? Death, let me tell the Traytor?
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 Employ'd
In this great War against the Hugonots;
And prethee tell him roundly of his Faults;
No farther, Honest Grillon.
Grill.
Shall I fight him?
King.
I charge thee not.
Grill.
If he provokes me, strike him?
You'l Grant me that?
King.
Not so, my Honest Souldier.
Yet speak to him.
Grill.
I will by Heav'n to th'purpose,
And if he force a beating, who can help it.
[Exit. Grill.
King.
Follow Alphonso, when the storm is up,
Call me to part 'em.
Q. M.
Grillon, to ask him Pardon,
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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 nam'd.
Q. M.
They say that Grillon's Niece is come to Court,
And means to kiss Your Hand.
[Exit. Q. Mother.
King.
Could I but hope it.
O my Dear Father pardon me in this,
And then enjoyn 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.
| The Duke of Guise | |