University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

The Duke of Guise, Cardinal of Lorraine, Marguerite.
Gui.
Just from your Arms, by this great Guardian rais'd,
Call'd to the Council of a wary King,
On whom depends the Fortune of Lorraine,
O, Marguerite, yet to drag at this,
After such full possession thus to languish:
If this be not to love thee, say what is!
Cease then the rolling Torrent of thy Tears,
Which when I strive to climb the Hill of Honour,
Washes my hold away, and drives me down
Beneath Man's Scorn, into the vale of Ruine.

Mar.
Hear, hear him, O you Powers, because I love him
Above my Life, beyond all joys on Earth,
He says I am his Ruine; to my Face,
With a Court Metaphor, he Vows he loaths me.
For all Men hate their Ruine; nay, 'tis true,
I find your Falshood; 'tis the trick of great ones,
Like Beasts of Strength, to prey upon the Weakest.

Gui.
I swear—

Mar.
O, do not, dear, Ambitious Guise;
For Perjury so necessary seems
To great Men's Oaths, thou must of course be damn'd:
Yet as I am, thus plung'd in this dishonour,
Like a fall'n Angel roll'd through all my Hells,
I cannot hate thee, Guise, but sighing far,
Far from the shining Clime where I was born,
I beg those cruel Fates that hurl'd me down
To pity thee, and keep thee from my ruine:
For I'm so curs'd, that I do not wish my Foe,
Much less the Man I love above the World.

Gui.
As I love thee, and O be Witnesses
My Brain and Soul, there's not an Artery
That runs through all the Body of thy Guise,
But beats where e're it pass Marguerite;
Yet this is nothing: haste away, my Lord;
Go tell the King and Council I am sick;
For I'le to Bed again, or on a Couch
Sit gazing in her beauteous Eyes all day,
And let the business of a grave World pass.

Mar.
No more, my Lord; you shall, you shall to Council:
I see 'tis necessary; but I find
My Soul presages Mischief, if not Murder;
For if you should prove false, Crowns, Kingdoms, Empires,
Worlds should not save poor Marguerite from the Grave.
Ah, Guise, ah venerable Lorrain, view me,
Behold me on the Earth, I swear I love
As never Woman lov'd; I'm all a Brand,
With, or without you, I am ne're at rest:
Farewel; this Fever of my furious passion
Burns me to Madness, yet I say, farewel.

Gui.
Farewel. Yet why farewel, when e're the Evening
I shall again rush to eternal Sweets,
This bosom of the Spring!
[Marguerite going out.]
[Mar. returning.]
What, no endearments at so sad a parting!
Alas, perhaps I ne're shall see you more.
You bow'd, you kiss'd, but did not press my hand;
You shou'd, like me, have stagger'd when you left me,
And eat your Marguerite with your hungry Eyes;
But you are cold and pall'd, a lukewarm Lover,
Must to the business of the cursed State,
Which will not let you think of dying Marguerite,
Who to her last gasp will remember you.
But see, I rave again, my Fits return:
Yet pity me, for oh, I burn, I burn.

[Exit.
Car.
I think I never heard so fierce a Passion:
She's all Convulsion, and she gazes on you,
As you would do on him that kill'd your Father.
What have you done, my Lord, to make her thus?

Gui.
Causes are endless for a Woman's loving.
Perhaps she has seen me break a Lance on Horse-back,
Or, as my Custom is, all over Arm'd,
Plunge in the Seine or Loire; and where 'tis swiftest
Plow too my point against the headlong Stream.
Tis certain, were my Soul of that soft make
Which some believe, she has Charms, my Heav'nly Uncle,
Beyond the Art and Wit of Cleopatra:
Such was not she stretch'd in her Golden Barge,
As Marguerite was last Night in Bed,
Who, as she mourn'd at my unkind delay,
Hung all the Chambers round with Black; her Bed,
Her Coverings, nay, her Sarsnet Sheets were Black—

Car.
Fy, fy, my Lord.

Gui.
And for the Weathers heat
Were roll'd beneath the beauties of her Breasts,
Which with a White, more pure than new-fall'n Snow,
Would sure have tempted Hermits from their Orgies,
To nod and smile a little at the wonder.

Car.
Come, come, my Lord, you anger me indeed,
Not for the Sin, that's as the Conscience makes it;
I had rather you should Whore a thousand Women,
Than love but one, thô in a lawful way:
Shew me through all Memorials of Great Men,
Except the Partner of the Roman Empire,
Drooping Antonius, and the fam'd Decemvir,
One that e're bow'd before this little Idol!

Gui.
First know your Man, before your Application:
I love, 'tis true; but most for my Ambition;
Therefore I thought to marry Marguerite;
But, oh, that Cassiopeia in the Chair,
The Regent Mother, and that Dog Anjou;
Cross Constellations blast my Plots e're born:
The King too frowns upon me; for last night,
Hearing a Ball was promis'd by the Queen,
I came to help the Show; when at the Door
The King, who stood himself the Centry, stopt me,
And ask'd me what I came for? I reply'd,
To serve his Majesty: He, sharp and short,
Retorted thus; He did not need my Service.

Car.
'Tis plain, you must resolve, my Lord, to quit her;
For I am charg'd to tell you, she's design'd
To be the Wife of Henry of Navarre.
'Tis the main Beam in all that Mighty Engin
Which now begins to move so dreadfully
Against the Heads of the Rebellious Faction.

Gui.
I have it, and methinks it looks like D'Alva,
I see the very motion of his Beard,
His opening Nostrils, and his dropping Lids;
I hear him Croak too, to the King and Queen,
In Biscays Bay, at Bayonne,
Fish for the Great fish; take no care for Frogs:
Cut off the Poppy-heads: lay the Winds fast,
And streight the Waves (the People) will be still.

Car.
Then you will leave her!

Gui.
Hurl her to the Sea!
The Air, the Earth, or Elemental fire,
So I may see Chastilion in the Net.
Oh that Whale-Admiral: might I but view him,
After his thousand Fetches, Plots, and Plunges,
Struck on those Scouring Shallows which await him,
Furies and Hell, and I, stand by to gall him;
Were Marguerite all one World of Pleasure,
I'de sell her, and my Soul, for such Revenge.

Car.
Speak lower.

Gui.
What, upon my Father's Death!
O glorious Guise, be calm upon thy Murder!
No; I will hollow my Revenge so loud,
That his great Ghost shall hear me up to Heav'n.
In height of Honours, oh, to fall so basely,
When Orleance was blockt up, and Conquest Crown'd thee,
By damn'd Poltrot so villainously slain,
Poltrot, by Beza, and this curs'd Admiral,
Set on with hopes of Infinite Rewards
Here and hereafter, so to blast thy Glory!
O, I could pull my bursting Eye-balls forth,
But that they may one day prove Basilisks
To that detested Head of all these Broils,
Then Tortures, Racks and Death shall close thy wound,
Kill him in Riots, Pride, and Lust of Pleasures,
That I may add Damnation to the rest,
And foil his Soul and Body both together.

Car.
Behold your Brother, and the Duke Delbeuf,
Mercour too comes; this outrage will undo us.

Gui.
No, not at all; for 'tis in general terms.
O my good Lords, what if the Admiral
Stood here before you; should he scape our Justice?
I see by each man's laying of his hand
Upon his Sword, you vow the like Revenge:
For me, I wish that both mine may rot off.—

Car.
No more; away, my Lords: the King calls for you.

Gui.
I go. That Vermin may devour my limbs,
That I may dy like the late puling King
Under the Barber's hands, Imposthumes choak me,
If while alive I cease to chew his ruin,
To hang him in Effigie, nay to tread,
Drag, stamp, and grind him, after he is dead.

[Exeunt.