 | Francis the First |  |
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SCENE II.
—A SMALL APARTMENT IN THE LOUVRE.Enter Gonzales, with papers in his hand.
GONZALES.
Bourbon arrested! oh sweet mistress Fortune,
Who rails at thee, doth wrong thee, on my soul!
Thy blindness steads me well; for thou hast thrown,
All time, and place, and opportunity,
To boot into my path—these documents,
That, but this moment, seem'd foul witnesses
To my suspicious fears, must now become
The charts of my new born, though late dead purpose.
(Reading)
So! now I know my task, how far I may
Promise with truth; and how far with false promises
Garnish my snare—I'll straight unto the Queen,
And strive to win access to Bourbon's prison;
It shall fare ill, if I cannot outwit
Even this lynx-eyed woman.
Enter the Queen.
QUEEN.
Save you, father!
Throw by those papers now, and hearken to me:
De Bourbon is arrested; 'tis of that
I came to speak—you must straight to his prison.
GONZALES
(aside).
I cannot, for my life, remember me
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Yet do all things fall out so strangely well
For me, and for my purpose, as though fate
Serv'd an apprenticeship unto my will.
QUEEN.
How now, what counsel hold you with yourself?
GONZALES.
Debate of marvel, only, please your grace;
Is then the Duke so near his verge of life,
That he hath need of spiritual aid,
T'improve this brief and waning tenure?
QUEEN.
Good!
Oh excellent! I laugh; yet, by my fay,
This whin'd quotation from thy monkish part
Hath lent a clue to my unfixed purpose,
Which had not yet resolv'd by what pretext
Thou might'st unto his prison with best seeming.
Most reverend sir, and holy confessor!
Get thee unto the prison of this lord;
There, see thou do exhort him unto death;—
And, mark me—for all warriors hold acquaintance
With the grim monarch: when he rides abroad
The battle-skirts, they crown him with proud crests;
In human blood dye they his purple robes;
They place a flashing sword in his right hand,
And call him Glory!—therefore be thou sure
To speak of nought but scaffolds rob'd in black;
Grim executioners, and the vile mob
Staring, and jeering; 'neath whose clouted shoes,
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That flows thro' his proud veins soak in the earth.
GONZALES.
Madam, I will.
QUEEN.
Then, when thou hast o'ercome
The haughty spirit, mould it to thy will,
And tutor him so well, that presently
Bid them strike off his chains; and to the palace
Lead him in secret: above all, be sure
To lard thy speech, but chiefly at the first,
With sober strains of fitting holiness,
Quote me the saints, the fathers,—bring the church
With all its lumber, into active service.
Briefly, dissemble well—But pshaw! I prate!
I had forgot again—thou art a priest:
Tarry not, and conduct thy prisoner
Unto my chamber, where I wait for thee.
[Exit.
GONZALES.
Dissemble well! witness, deep hell, how well
I have, and will dissemble! Now, then, to seek
De Bourbon's prison; by my holidame!
Lady, you'll wait till doomsday ere he come.
He shall be free within this hour—and yet—
But ere I pour my proffer in his ear,
I'll work upon his hot and violent nature,
And make him sure, ere I attempt to win him.
But come, time tarries not—sweet Fortune! prithee
Still let me woo thee, till I have achiev'd
The task another's proud ambition sets me;
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No power to stem the headlong tide of will
That bears me onward to my own revenge.
| Francis the First | |