 | The Duke of Guise |  |
A Night-Scene.
Mal.
Thus far the Cause of God: but God's or Devils,
I mean my Master's Cause, and mine succeed:
What shall the Guise do next?
[A flash of lightning.
Enter the Spirit Melanax.
Mel.
First seize the King, and after murder him.
Mal.
Officious Fiend, thou com'st uncall'd to Night.
Mel.
Always uncall'd, and still at hand for mischief.
Mal.
—But why in this Fanatick Habit, Devil?
Thou look'st like one that preaches to the Crowd,
Gospel is in thy Face, and outward Garb,
And Treason on thy Tongue.
Mel.
Thou hast me right,
Ten thousand Devils more are in this Habit,
Saintship and Zeal are still our best disguise:
We mix unknown with the hot thoughtless Crowd,
And quoting Scriptures, which too well we know,
With impious Glosses ban the holy Text,
And make it speak Rebellion, Schism and Murder,
So turn the Arms of Heaven against it self.
Mal.
What makes the Curate of St. Eustace here?
Mel.
Thou art mistaken Master, 'tis not he,
But 'tis a zealous, godly, canting Devil,
Who has assum'd the Churchman's lucky shape,
To talk the Crowd to Madness and Rebellion.
Mal.
O true Enthusiastick Devil, true;
For Lying is thy Nature, even to me:
Enter'd the Court, his Head should then lie low?
That was a Lye; he went, and is return'd.
Mel.
'Tis false; I said. Perhaps it should lie low.
And, but I chill'd the blood in Henry's veins,
And cram'd a thousand ghastly, frightful Thoughts,
Nay, thrust 'em foremost in his lab'ring Brain,
Even so it would have been.
Mal.
Thou hast deserv'd me,
And I am thine, dear Devil; What do we next?
Mel.
I said, First seize the King.
Mal.
Suppose it done:
He's clapt within a Covent, shorn a Saint,
My Master mounts the Throne.
Mel.
Not so fast, Malicorne;
Thy Master mounts not, till the King be slain.
Mal.
Not when depos'd?
Mel.
He cannot be depos'd:
He may be kill'd, a violent Fate attends him;
But at his Birth there shone a Regal Star.
Mal.
My Master had a stronger.
Mel.
No, not a stronger, but more popular.
Their Births were full oppos'd, the Guise now strongest;
But if th'ill Influence pass o'r Harry's Head,
As in a year it will, France ne're shall boast
A greater King than he, now cut him off
While yet his Stars are weak.
Mal.
Thou talk'st of Stars:
Canst thou not see more deep into Events,
And by a surer way?
Mel.
No, Malicorne,
The ways of Heaven are brok'n since our Fall,
Gulph, beyond Gulph, and never to be shot:
Once we cou'd read our mighty Maker's mind,
As in a Chrystal Mirror, see th'Idea's
Of things that always are, as He is always.
Now shut below in this dark Sphere,
By Second causes dimly we may guess,
And peep far off on Heavens revolving Orbs,
Which cast obscure Reflections from the Throne.
Then tell me thy Surmises of the future.
Mel.
I took the Revolution of the Year,
Just when the Sun was entering in the Ram:
Th'ascending Scorpion poyson'd all the Sky,
A sign of deep deceit and treachery.
Full on his Cusp his angry Master sate,
Conjoyn'd with Saturn, baleful both to Man:
Of secret Slaughters, Empires overturn'd,
Strife, Blood, and Massacres expect to hear,
And all th'Events of an ill omen'd Year.
Mal.
Then flourish Hell, and mighty Mischief reign,
Mischief to some, to others must be good;
But hark, for now, tho' 'tis the dead of Night,
When silence broods upon our darkned world,
Methinks I hear a murmuring hollow sound,
Like the deaf Chimes of Bells in Steeples touch'd.
Mel.
'Tis truly ghess'd:
But know, 'tis from no nightly Sexton's hand,
There's not a damned Ghost, nor hell-born Fiend,
That can from Limbo scape, but hither flies,
With leathern wings they beat the dusky Skies.
To sacred Churches all in Swarms repair,
Some crowd the Spires, but most the hallow'd Bells,
And softly Toll for Souls departing Knells,
Each Chime thou hear'st, a future death foretells.
Now there they perch to have 'em in their Eyes,
Till all go loaded to the Neather Skies.
Mal.
To morrow then.
Mel.
To morrow let it be:
Or thou deceiv'st those hungry, gaping Fiends,
And Beelzebub will rage.
Mal.
Why Beelzebub? Hast thou not often said,
That Lucifer's your King?
Mel.
I told thee true:
But Lucifer, as he who foremost fell,
So now lies lowest in th'Abyss of Hell.
Chain'd till the dreadful Doom, in place of whom
Sits Beelzebub, Vicegerent of the damn'd,
Who listning downward hears his roaring Lord,
And executes his purpose, but no more
And now the Guard is mine, to drive the Elves
And foolish Fairies from their Moon-light Play,
And lash the Laggers from the sight of day.
[Descends.
Enter Guise, Mayenne, Cardinal, and Archbishop.
May.
Sullen, methinks, and slow the Morning breaks,
As if the Sun were listless to appear,
And dark designs hung heavy on the day.
Guise.
Y'are an old Man too soon, y'are superstitious,
I'le trust my Stars, I know 'em now by proof,
The Genius of the King bends under mine,
Inviron'd with his Guards he durst not touch me;
But aw'd and craven'd as he had been spell'd,
Would have pronounc'd, Go kill the Guise, and durst not.
Card.
We have him in our power, coopt in his Court,
Who leads the first Attack? Now by yond Heaven—
That blushes at my Scarlet Robes, I'll d'off
This womanish Attire of godly peace,
And cry, Lie there Lord Cardinal of Guise.
Guise.
As much too hot, as Mayenne too cool,
But 'tis the manlier fault o'th' two.
Bishop.
Have you not heard the King, preventing day,
Receiv'd the Guards into the City Gates,
The jolly Swisses marching to their Fifes.
The Crowd stood gaping heartless, and amaz'd,
Shrunk to their shops, and left the passage free.
Guise.
I would it should be so, 'twas a good horror,
First let 'em fear for Rapes, and ransackt Houses;
That very fright when I appear to head 'em,
Will harden their soft City Courages:
Cold Burghers must be struck, and struck like Flints,
Ere their hid Fire will sparkle.
Bishop.
I am glad the King has introduc'd these Guards.
Card.
Your Reason.
Bishop.
They are too few for us to fear,
Our numbers in old martial Men are more,
The City not cast in, but the pretence
That hither they are brought to bridle Paris,
Will make this Rising pass for just defence.
Suppose the City should not rise.
Guise.
Suppose as well the Sun should never rise:
He may not rise, for Heaven may play a trick;
But he has risen from Adam's time to ours.
Is nothing to be left to Noble Hazard?
No Venture made, but all dull Certainty;
By Heav'n I'le tug with Harry for a Crown,
Rather than have it on tame terms of yielding,
I scorn to poach for Power.
Enter a Servant, who whispers Guise.
A Lady, say'st thou, Young, and Beautiful,
Brought in a Chair?
Conduct her in—
[Exit Serv.
Card.
You wou'd be left alone—
Guise.
I wou'd, Retire.
Re-enter Servant with Marmoutier, and Exit.
Starting back.
Is't possible I dare not trust my Eyes,
You are not Marmoutier.
Mar.
What am I then?
Guise.
Why any thing but she:
What should the Mistress of a King do here?
Mar.
Find him, who wou'd be Master of a King.
Guise.
I sent not for you, Madam.
Mar.
I think my Lord the King sent not for you.
Guise.
Do you not fear your Visit will be known?
Mar.
Fear is for guilty Men, Rebels, and Traytors;
Where e're I go, my Virtue is my Guard.
Guise.
What Devil has sent thee here to plague my Soul?
O that I could detest thee now as much
As ever I have lov'd, nay even as much
As yet in spite of all thy Crimes I love:
But 'tis a Love so mixt with dark Despair,
The Smoke and Soot smother the rising flame,
And make my Soul a Furnace: Woman, Woman,
What can I call thee more, if Devil 'twere less,
Sure thine's a Race was never got by Adam,
But Eve play'd false engendring with the Serpent,
Her own part worse than his.
Then they got Traytors.
Guise.
Yes, Angel Traytors fit to shine in Palaces,
Fork'd into Ills, and split into Deceits;
Two in their very frame: 'twas well, 'twas well,
I saw not thee at Court, thou Basilisk;
For if I had' those Eyes, without his Guards,
Had done the Tyrant's work.
Mar.
Why then, it seems,
I was not false in all; I told you, Guise,
If you left Paris, I would go to Court:
You see I kept my Promise.
Guise.
Still thy Sex:
Once true in all thy Life, and that for Mischief.
Mar.
Have I said I lov'd you?
Guise.
Stab on, Stab,
'Tis plain you love the King.
Mar.
Nor him, nor you,
In that unlawful way you seem to mean.
My Eyes had once so far betray'd my Heart,
As to distinguish you from Common Men,
What e're you said, or did, was Charming all.
Guise.
But yet, it seems, you found a King more Charming.
Mar.
I do not say more Charming, but more Noble,
More truly Royal, more a King in Soul,
Than you are now in wishes.
Guise.
May be so:
But Love has oyl'd your tongue to run so glib,
Curse on your Eloquence.
Mar.
Curse not that Eloquence, that sav'd your Life:
For when your wild Ambition, which defy'd
A Royal Mandat, hurried you to Town;
When over-weening pride of Popular Power,
Had thrust you headlong in the Louvre Toyls,
Then had you dy'd: For know, my haughty Lord,
Had I not been, offended Majesty
Had doom'd you to the death you well deserv'd.
Guise.
Then was't not Henry's fear preserv'd my Life?
Mar.
You know him better, or you ought to know him;
He's born to give you fear, not to receive it.
Guise.
Say this again, but add you gave not up
For if you did, 'twere better I had dy'd.
Mar.
And so it were.
Guise.
Why said you, So it were?
For thô 'tis true, methinks 'tis much unkind.
Mar.
My Lord, we are not now to talk of kindness,
If you acknowledge I have sav'd your Life.
Be grateful in return, and do an Act
Your Honour, though unaskt by me, requires.
Guise.
By Heav'n and you, whom next to Heaven I love,
(if I said more, I fear I should not lie,)
I'le do what e're my Honour will permit.
Mar.
Go throw your self at Henry's Royal Feet,
And rise not, till approv'd a Loyal Subject.
Guise.
A Dutious Loyal Subject I was ever.
Mar.
I'le put it short, my Lord, depart from Paris.
Guise.
I cannot leave
My Countrey, Friends, Religion, all at stake;
Be wise, and be before-hand with your Fortune;
Prevent the turn, forsake the ruin'd Court;
Stay here, and make a merit of your Love.
Mar.
No, I'le return, and perish in those Ruines;
I find thee now ambitious, faithless Guise,
Farewel the basest, and the last of Men.
Guise.
Stay, or—O Heav'n! I'le force you: Stay—
Mar.
I do believe
So ill of you, so villainously ill,
That if you durst, you wou'd:
Honour you've little, Honesty you've less;
But Conscience you have none.
Yet there's a thing call'd Fame, and Mens Esteem,
Preserves me from your force, once more farewel:
Look on me Guise, thou seest me now the last;
Thô Treason urge not Thunder on thy head,
This one departing Glance shall flash thee dead.
[Exit.
Guise.
Ha said she true? Have I so little Honour.
Why then a Prize so easie, and so fair,
Had never scap'd my Gripe; but mine she is,
For that's set down as sure as Harry's Fall:
But my Ambition, that she calls my Crime:
And Heaven confest it in my very frame;
The Fires that would have form'd ten thousand Angels,
Were cram'd together for my single Soul.
Enter Malicorne.
Mal.
My Lord, you trifle precious hours away,
The Heavens look gaudily upon your greatness,
And the crown'd moments court you as they fly;
Brisac and fierce Aumale have pent the Swisse,
And folded 'em like sheep in holy ground,
Where now with order'd Pikes, and Colours furl'd,
They wait the word that dooms 'em all to dye:
Come forth and bless the Triumph of the day.
Guise.
So slight a Victory requir'd not me:
I but sate still, and Nodded like a God
My World into Creation, now 'tis time
To walk abroad, and carelesly survey
How the dull Matter does the Form obey.
[Exit with Malicorne.
Enter Citizens, and Melanax in his Fanatick Habit, at the head of 'em.
Mel.
Hold, hold a little, Fellow Citizens, and you Gentlemen
of the Rabble, a word of Godly Exhortation to strengthen your
hands, ere you give the Onset.
1 Cit.
Is this a time to make Sermons? I wou'd not hear the
Devil now, thô he should come in God's Name, to preach Peace
to us.
2 Cit.
Look you, Gentlemen, Sermons are not to be despis'd,
We have all profited by godly Sermons that promote Sedition,
Let the precious man Hold-forth.
Omnes.
Let him Hold-forth, let him Hold-forth.
Mel.
To promote Sedition is my business: It has been so before
any of you were born, and will be so when you are all dead
and damn'd; I have led on the Rabble in all Ages.
1 Cit.
That's a Lye, and a loud one. He has led the Rabble
both Old and Young, that's all Ages: A heavenly sweet Man, I
warrant him, I have seen him somewhere in a Pulpit.
Mel.
I sown Rebellion every where.
1 Cit.
How every where? That's another Lye: How far have
you Travel'd Friend?
Over all the World.
1 Cit.
Now that's a Rapper.
2 Cit.
I say, No: For, look you Gentlemen, if he has been a
Traveller, he certainly says true, for he may lye by Authority.
Mel.
That the Rabble may depose their Prince,
Has in all Times, and in all Countries, been accounted lawful.
1 Cit.
That's the first true Syllable he has utter'd: But as how,
and whereby, and when may they depose him?
Mel.
When ever they have more power to Depose, than he
has to Oppose, and this they may do upon the least Occasion.
1 Cit.
Sirra, you mince the Matter; you should say, we may
do it upon no Occasion, for the less the better.
Mel.
aside.
Here's a Rogue now will out-shoot the Devil in
his own Bow.
2 Cit.
Some Occasion, in my mind, were not amiss; For, look
you Gentlemen, if we have no Occasion, then whereby we have
no Occasion to depose him; and therefore either Religion or Liberty,
I stick to those Occasions: for when they are gone, Goodnight
to Godliness and Freedom.
Mel.
When the most are of one side, as that's our case, we are
always in the right; for they that are in power, will ever be the
Judges: So that if we say White is Black, poor White must lose
the Cause, and put on Mourning, for White is but a single Syllable,
and we are a whole Sentence: Therefore go on boldly, and
lay on resolutely for your Solemn League and Covenant, and if
here be any squeamish Conscience who fears to fight against the
King, tho I that have known you Citizens these thousand years,
suspect not any, let such understand, That his Majesties Politick
Capacity is to be distinguish'd from his Natural; and though you
murder him in one, you may preserve him in the other, and so
much for this time, because the Enemy is at hand.
2 Cit.
looking out.
Look you, Gentlemen, 'tis Grillon the fierce Colonel,
He that devours our Wives, and ravishes our Children.
1 Cit.
He looks so Grum, I don't care to have to do with him,
Wou'd I were safe in my Shop behind the Counter.
2 Cit.
And wou'd I were under my Wives Petticoats,
Look you, Gentlemen.
You, Neighbour, behind your Compter yesterday, paid a
Bill of Exchange in Glass, Louisdors, and you Friend, that cry,
Look you Gentlemen, this very morning was under another
Womans Petticoats, and not your Wives.
2 Cit.
How the Devil does he know this?
Mel.
Therefore fight lustily for the Cause of Heaven, and to
make even Tallies for your Sins, which that you may do with a
better Conscience, I absolve you both, and all the rest of you:
Now go on merrily, for those that escape shall avoid killing; and
those who do not escape, I will provide for in another world.
[Cry within on the other side of the Stage, Vive le Roy, Vive le Roy.
Enter Grillon, and his Party.
Grill.
Come on, Fellow-Soldiers, Commilitones, that's my word,
as 'twas Julius Cæsar's of Pagan memory; 'fore God I am no
Speech-maker, but there are the Rogues, and here's Bilbo, that's
a word and a blow; we must either cut their Throats, or they
cut ours, that's pure necessity for your comfort: Now if any man
can be so unkind to his own Body, for I meddle not with your
Souls, as to stand still like a good Christian, and offer his Weeson
to a Butcher's Whittle, I say no more but that he may be sav'd,
and that's the best can come on him.
[Cry on both sides, Vive le Roy, Vive Guise. The Fight.
Mel.
Hey for the Duke of Guise and Property, Up with Religion
and the Cause, and down with those Arbitrary Rogues there:
Stand to't you Associated Cuckolds.
Citizens go back.
O Rogues, O Cowards, Damn these Half-strain'd Shop-keepers,
Got between Gentlemen and City-Wives, how Naturally they
quake, and run away from their own Fathers, Twenty Souls a
Penny were a dear Bargain of 'em.
[They all run off, Melanax with them, the 1 and 2 Cit. taken.
Grill.
Possess your selves of the place Maubert,
And hang me up those two Rogues for an example.
1 Cit.
O spare me sweet Colonel, I am but a young Beginner,
and new set up
Grill.
I'le be your Customer, and set you up a little better, Sirrah,
Go hang him at the next Sign post:
Why were you a Rebel?
2 Cit.
Look you, Colonel, 'twas out of no ill meaning to the
Government, all that I did, was pure Obedience to my Wife.
Grill.
Nay, if thou hast a Wife that wears the Breeches,
Thou shalt be condemn'd to live:
Get thee home for a Hen-peckt Traytor—
What, Are we encompass'd? Nay then, Faces this way;
Wee'l sell our Skins to the fairest Chapmen.
Enter Aumale and Soldiers on the one side, Citizens on the other, Grillon and his Party are disarm'd.
1 Cit.
Bear away that bloody-minded Colonel,
And hang him up at the next Sign-post:
Nay, when I am in power, I can make examples too.
Omnes.
Tear him piece-meal, tear him piece-meal.
[Pull and shake him.
Grill.
Rogues, Villains, Rebels, Traytors, Cuckolds,
'Swounds, What do you make of a Man? Do you think my
Legs and Arms are strung upon a Wire, like a Jointed Baby?
Carry me off quickly, you were best, and hang me decently,
according to my first Sentence.
2 Cit.
Look you, Colonel, you are too bulky to be carried off
all at once, a Leg or an Arm is one Man's Burden:
Give me a little Finger for a Sample of him, whereby
I'le carry it for a Token to my Soveraign Lady.
Grill.
'Tis too little, in all Conscience, for her,
Take a bigger Token, Cuckold. Et tu Brute whom I sav'd,
O the Conscience of a Shop-keeper!
2 Cit.
Look you, Colonel, for your saving me, I thank you
heartily, whereby that Debt's paid; but for speaking Treason
against my anointed Wife, that's new Reck'ning between us.
Enter Guise with a General's Staff in his hand, Mayenne, Cardinal, Archbishop, Malicorn, and Attendants.
Omnes.
Vive Guise.
Guise bowing, and Bare-headed.
I thank you Countrey-men, the hand of Heaven
In all our Safeties has appear'd this day,
Stand on your Guard, and double every Watch,
But stain your Triumph with no Christian blood,
Card.
What mean you, Brother, by this Godly talk?
Of sparing Christian Blood, why these are Dogs;
Now by the Sword that cut off Malchus Ear,
Meer Dogs that neither can be sav'd nor damn'd.
Archbishop.
Where have you learnt to spare inveterate Foes?
Guise.
You know the Book,
Archbishop.
And can expound it too:
But Christian Faith was in the Nonage then,
And Roman Heathens lorded o're the World,
What madness were it for the weak and few,
To fight against the many and the strong;
Grillon must dye, so must the Tyrant's Guards,
Least gathering head again, they make more work.
Mal.
My Lord, the People must be flesh'd in Blood,
To teach 'em the true Relish, dip 'em with you—
Or they'l perhaps repent.
Guise.
You are Fools to kill 'em were to shew I fear'd 'em;
The Court disarm'd, disheartned, and besieg'd,
Are all as much within my power, as if
I grip'd 'em in my Fist.
May.
'Tis rightly judg'd:
And let me add, who heads a Popular Cause,
Must prosecute that Cause by Popular Ways:
So whether you are merciful or no,
You must affect to be.
Guise.
Dismiss those Prisoners, Grillon, you are free,
I do not ask your Love, be still my Foe.
Grill.
I will be so: But let me tell you, Guise,
As this was greatly done, 'twas proudly too;
I'le give you back your life when next we meet,
Till then I am your Debtor.
Guise.
That's till Dooms-day.
[Grillon and his Exeunt one way, Rabble the other.
Haste Brother, draw out Fifteen thousand Men,
Surround the Louvre, least the Prey should scape,
I know the King will send to treat,
We'll set the Dice on him in high demands,
No less than all his Offices of Trust,
He shall be par'd, and canton'd out, and clipt,
So long he shall not pass.
What do we talk
Of paring, clipping, and such tedious work,
Like those that hang their Noses o're a Potion and Qualm, and
keck, and take it down by Sipps.
Archbishop.
Best make advantage of this Popular Rage,
Let in th'orewhelming Tyde on Harry's head,
In that promiscuous Fury who shall know
Among a thousand Swords who kill'd the King.
Mal.
O my dear Lord, upon this onely day
Depends the series of your following Fate:
Think your good Genius has assum'd my shape
In this Prophetick doom.
Guise.
Peace croaking Raven,
I'le seize him first, then make him a led Monarch;
I'le be declar'd Lieutenant General
Amidst the Three Estates that represent
The glorious, full, majestick Face of France,
Which in his own despight the King shall call:
So let him reign my Tenant during life,
His Brother of Navar shut out for ever,
Branded with Heresie, and barr'd from Sway,
That when Valois consum'd in Ashes lies,
The Phœnix Race of Charlemain may rise.
[Exeunt.
| The Duke of Guise | |