 | The Duke of Guise |  |
SCENE, The LOUVRE.
Enter King, Queen-Mother, Abbot, Grillon.
King.
Dismist with such Contempt?
Grill.
King.
Give me my Arms.
Grill.
For what?
King.
I'le lead you on.
Grill.
You are a true Lyon, but my Men are Sheep;
If you run first, I'le swear they'l follow you.
King.
What, all turn'd Cowards? Not a Man in France
Dares set his Foot by mine, and perish by me.
Grill.
Troth I can't find 'em much inclin'd to perishing.
King.
What can be left in danger, but to dare?
No matter for my Arms, I'le go Bare-fac'd,
And seize the first bold Rebel that I meet.
Abbot.
There's something of Divinity in Kings
That sits between their Eyes, and guards their Life.
Grill.
True, Abbot, but the mischief is, you Churchmen
Can see that something further than the Crowd;
These Musket Bullets have not read much Logick,
Nor are they given to make your nice distinctions:
[One enters, and gives the Queen a Note, she reads—
One of 'em possibly may hit the King
In some one part of him that's not Divine,
And so the mortal part of his Majesty wou'd draw
The Divinity of it into another world, sweet Abbot.
Q. Mother.
'Tis equal madness to go out or stay,
The Reverence due to Kings is all transfer'd
To haughty Guise, and when new Gods are made,
The old must quit the Temple, you must fly.
King.
Death, Had I wings, yet I would scorn to fly.
Grill.
Wings, or no wings, is not the Question:
If you won't fly for't, you must ride for't,
And that comes much to one.
King.
Forsake my Regal Town.
Q. Mother.
Forsake a Bedlam:
This Note informs me, Fifteen thousand Men
Are marching to inclose the Louvre round.
Abbot.
The business then admits no more dispute,
You, Madam, must be pleas'd to find the Guise,
Seem easie, fearful, yielding, what you will,
But still prolong the Treaty all you can,
To gain the King more time for his Escape.
Q. Mother.
I'le undertake it—Nay, no thanks my Son,
My blessing shall be given in your deliverance;
That once perform'd, their Web is all unravel'd,
And Guise is to begin his work again.
[Exit Q. Mother.
King.
I go this minute.
Enter Marmoutier.
Nay then, another minute must be given.
O how I blush, that thou shouldst see thy King
Do this low Act that lessens all his Fame:
Death must a Rebel force me from my Love!
If it must be—
Mar.
It must not, cannot be.
Grill.
No, nor shall not Wench, as long as my Soul wears a
Body.
King.
Secure in that, I'le trust thee; Shall I trust thee?
For Conquerors have Charms, and Women Frailty:
Farewel, Thou may'st behold me King agen,
My Soul's not yet depos'd, why then farewel,
I'le say't as comfortably as I can:
But O curs'd Guise, for pressing on my time,
And cutting off Ten thousand more Adieus.
Mar.
The moments that retard your Flight are Traytors,
Make haste my Royal Master to be safe,
And save me with you, for I'le share your Fate.
King.
Wilt thou go too?
Then I am reconcil'd to Heaven again:
O welcome thou good Angel of my way,
Thou Pledge and Omen of my safe Return;
Not Greece, nor hostile Juno cou'd destroy
The Hero that abandon'd burning Troy,
He scap'd the dangers of the dreadful Night,
When loaded with his Gods he took his Flight.
[Exeunt King, leading her.
Enter King, Queen-Mother, Abbot, Grillon.
King.
Dismist with such Contempt?
Grill.
Yes, Faith, we past like beaten Romans underneath the
Fork.
King.
Give me my Arms.
Grill.
For what?
King.
I'le lead you on.
Grill.
You are a true Lyon, but my Men are Sheep;
If you run first, I'le swear they'l follow you.
King.
What, all turn'd Cowards? Not a Man in France
Dares set his Foot by mine, and perish by me.
Grill.
Troth I can't find 'em much inclin'd to perishing.
54
What can be left in danger, but to dare?
No matter for my Arms, I'le go Bare-fac'd,
And seize the first bold Rebel that I meet.
Abbot.
There's something of Divinity in Kings
That sits between their Eyes, and guards their Life.
Grill.
True, Abbot, but the mischief is, you Churchmen
Can see that something further than the Crowd;
These Musket Bullets have not read much Logick,
Nor are they given to make your nice distinctions:
[One enters, and gives the Queen a Note, she reads—
One of 'em possibly may hit the King
In some one part of him that's not Divine,
And so the mortal part of his Majesty wou'd draw
The Divinity of it into another world, sweet Abbot.
Q. Mother.
'Tis equal madness to go out or stay,
The Reverence due to Kings is all transfer'd
To haughty Guise, and when new Gods are made,
The old must quit the Temple, you must fly.
King.
Death, Had I wings, yet I would scorn to fly.
Grill.
Wings, or no wings, is not the Question:
If you won't fly for't, you must ride for't,
And that comes much to one.
King.
Forsake my Regal Town.
Q. Mother.
Forsake a Bedlam:
This Note informs me, Fifteen thousand Men
Are marching to inclose the Louvre round.
Abbot.
The business then admits no more dispute,
You, Madam, must be pleas'd to find the Guise,
Seem easie, fearful, yielding, what you will,
But still prolong the Treaty all you can,
To gain the King more time for his Escape.
Q. Mother.
I'le undertake it—Nay, no thanks my Son,
My blessing shall be given in your deliverance;
That once perform'd, their Web is all unravel'd,
And Guise is to begin his work again.
[Exit Q. Mother.
King.
I go this minute.
Enter Marmoutier.
Nay then, another minute must be given.
O how I blush, that thou shouldst see thy King
55
Death must a Rebel force me from my Love!
If it must be—
Mar.
It must not, cannot be.
Grill.
No, nor shall not Wench, as long as my Soul wears a
Body.
King.
Secure in that, I'le trust thee; Shall I trust thee?
For Conquerors have Charms, and Women Frailty:
Farewel, Thou may'st behold me King agen,
My Soul's not yet depos'd, why then farewel,
I'le say't as comfortably as I can:
But O curs'd Guise, for pressing on my time,
And cutting off Ten thousand more Adieus.
Mar.
The moments that retard your Flight are Traytors,
Make haste my Royal Master to be safe,
And save me with you, for I'le share your Fate.
King.
Wilt thou go too?
Then I am reconcil'd to Heaven again:
O welcome thou good Angel of my way,
Thou Pledge and Omen of my safe Return;
Not Greece, nor hostile Juno cou'd destroy
The Hero that abandon'd burning Troy,
He scap'd the dangers of the dreadful Night,
When loaded with his Gods he took his Flight.
[Exeunt King, leading her.
| The Duke of Guise | |