University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

The Admiral Dressing, with all the Hugonots about him
Adm.
A finger and an arm? what all this noise
About the shattering of a Limb? Away.
And in a Cause so great, so glorious too?
Nay, let 'em burn the other to the shoulder,
Or let that Badger Queen grind every Bone
Betwixt her teeth, and grin to hear 'em crack.

Cav.
Let's instantly resolve to bear him forth.

Adm.
No: with this mangled flesh held to Heav'n,
This horrid mash of Blood, and Bone, and Marrow,
Upon my knees I beg the Power Divine
T'establish thus the Protestant Religion,
To plant it in the Blood of lost Coligni,
If that, Alas, may satisfy their Fury.

Cav.
Take heart, Sir; hope one day for full Revenge.

Enter Antramont.
Ant.
'Tis well, my Lord! 'tis well, my Cato! well!
You call'd this Paris Utica at first:
The Stars of Great men have a cast Divine,
And when they mould with second thought, the Spirit,
The Air, the Life, the Golden Vapour's gone.
Langoiran! O Langoiran!

Adm.
Fate, my Martia;
There is a Providence that over-rules:
Therefore submit; haste, for thy life, away;
I beg thee fly, my Martia, to Geneva:
My little ones shall, with Teligny, follow.

Ant.
What, Sir, is't possible!
Is a planck in this great Vessel rived?
Is't necessary that a Wreck should follow?

Adm.
O, Antramont, there is no going forth;
If the King be not in th'Assassination,
Fear not; I shall have Justice: If he be,
Farewel for ever, I'll ne're see thee more.

Ant.
You shall, you shall: why burst you not away?
There are at least ten thousand, your Adherents,
Will clear your passage to Chasrillon:
Why do you drag then, when your Fate cryes on?

Adm.
Once more I say, my Fate is in the King;
Therefore away: If things go right, you come
To me again; if not, there's one preserv'd
T'embalm my Bowels. O my Antramont,
I mean my Babes, that thus have force to thaw me.
That Power, whose most unsearchable Decree
Thus dooms our parting, give thee strength to bear it;
To bear my Death; perhaps thou'lt hear it shortly:
Yet thou shalt hear nothing unworthy me,
Nothing that's faint and flagging at the Goal,
But my last Gasp like my first start of Glory.

Ant.
What, leave thee, Gaspar, e're I kiss thy wound?
O, let we touch the Batt'ry of his Arm!
Forgive me; thus far I will be a Roman:
There's Virtue here, in this most Sacred Relict,
I swear I think there is, to save a Soul.

Adm.
Be gone, I say; I cannot bear thy Kindness:
Force her away, and bear her to St. Germain.

Ant.
I go. For thee, this Prayer I leave behind me:
When-e're thou dy'st, the Arms of Angels wast thee
To those smooth Joys that have no gritty moments.
For her that brought thee to this barbarous end,
The Whips of Conscience drive her to Despair;
Conscience! Sh' has none: why then the stings of Pleasure,
Sores and Diseases, Disappointments plague her;
May all her Life be one continu'd Torment,
And that more Racking than a Mother's labour:
In meeting Death, may her least trouble be
As great, as now my parting is with thee.

[Exit.
Enter Alberto Gondi.
Alb.
My Lord, his Majesty, the Queen, his Mother,
Approach, to mourn your Chance, and give you Justice.

Enter King, Queen, Anjou, Lorrain.
King.
My Lord, I come to pour the Balm of Tears
Into your Wound; I come to threaten death
To that bold Villain who durst act this outrage:
And by my Soul I swear, my Father shall
Have such Revenge, as if a King were kill'd.

Adm.
I thank your Majesty, and humbly crave
Your leave, Sir, to retire home to Chastillon;
Where, from these tumultuous Parisians,
I may, my Lord, recover this Misfortune.

Q. M.
What, take a Journey, Sir, in this condition?
Your Death must follow: but, alas, I fear,
I fear the truth, with tears I must avow it,
My Lord, you dare not trust the King and Me.

Adm.
O, do not tax me with the least Suspicion:
I must believe the Royal Majesty;
But all my fear is for my dear Companions,
And these lov'd Princes, whom the Heav'ns defend.

King.
Therefore my Brother streight shall draw the Guards
Within the City, while for present Safety
I order Monsieur Cosen's Company
To keep your Quarters from all fear of Tumult.
O, Father, Father, do not wound my Soul
By a distrust unworthy of 'us both.

Q. M.
Ah, my Lord Admiral, can you imagine
That we are past all fear, or hope of Mercy,
That there's no Conscience, no regard of Vows,
No Grace, no Reverence, fear of Heav'n, nor Hell,
Nor common Care of Fame, ev'n in this World?

King.
To Bed, to Bed; let me intreat you rest.

Q. M.
Nay, you shall go, my Lord, supported thus
Betwixt your Bosom-Friends: believe me, Sir,
This is not feign'd; there are not two alive
That love you more, than those that now sustain you.

Adm.
Is't possible? Why, if it were dissembled,
The very Counterfeit of such a Friendship
Were worth a dying for. Alas, my Lord?
O, Madam! Why, why must this trouble be?
But lead me, lead your poor old Admiral,
Blind with his Tears, and faint with his Blood:
If I do well again, I'll thank you, Sir,
I'll thank you in the Field; O, grant it, Heav'n,
That I may end where no Assassins are,
And fall a Victim in the Glorious War.

[Exeunt.