Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS, by GEORGE CHAPMAN (1559-1634)



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THE REVENGE OF BUSSY D'AMBOIS, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: To what will this declining kingdom turn
Last Line: [exeunt.


DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

HENRY, the king.
Monsieur, his brother.
GUISE, Duke.
RENEL, a marquess,
MONTSURRY, an earl.
BALIGNY, Lord-lieutenant.
CLERMONT D'AMBOIS.

MAILLARD, captains.
CHALON,
AUMALE,

ESPERNON.
SOISSON.
PERRICOT.
The Guard.
Soldiers.
Servants.

BUSSY.
Monsieur.
The Ghost of GUISE.
Cardinal GUISE.
CHATILLON.

Countess of CAMBRAY.
TAMYRA, wife to Montsurry.
CHARLOTTE, wife to Baligny.
RIOVA, a servant.

ACT THE FIRST

SCENE I

Enter BALIGNY, RENEL.

BA. To what will this declining kingdom turn,
Swindging in every licence, as in this
Stupid permission of brave D'Ambois' murder?
Murder made parallel with law! Murder used
To serve the kingdom, given by suit to men
For their advancement! suffer'd scarecrowlike
To fright adultery! What will policy
At length bring under his capacity?
Re. All things: for as when the high births of kings,
Deliverances, and coronations,
We celebrate with all the cities' bells
(Jangling together in untuned confusion);
All order'd clocks are tied up: so when glory,
Flattery, and smooth applauses of things ill,
Uphold th'inordinate swindge of downright power,
Justice, and truth, that tell the bounded use,
Virtuous, and well-distinguish'd forms of Time
Are gagg'd and tongue-tied, but we have observed
Rule in more regular motion: things most lawful
Were once most royal, kings sought common good,
Men's manly liberties, though ne'er so mean,
And had their own swindge so: more free, and more.
But when pride enter'd them, and rule by power,
All brows that smiled beneath them, frown'd: hearts grieved
By imitation; virtue quite was vanish'd,
And all men studied self-love, fraud, and vice;
Then no man could be good but he was punish'd:
Tyrants being still more fearful of the good
Than of the bad; their subjects' virtues ever
Managed with curbs and dangers, and esteem'd
As shadows and detractions to their own.
Ba. Now all is peace, no danger: now what follows?
Idleness rusts us; since no virtuous labour
Ends ought rewarded: ease, security,
Now all the palm wears, we made war before
So to prevent war, men with giving gifts
More than receiving, made our country strong;
Our matchless race of soldiers then would spend
In public wars, not private brawls, their spirits,
In daring enemies, arm'd with meanest arms;
Not courting strumpets, and consuming birthrights
In apishness and envy of attire.
No labour then was harsh, no way so deep,
No rock so steep, but if a bird could scale it.
Up would our youth fly too. A foe in arms
Stirr'd up a much more lust of his encounter,
Than of a mistress never so be-painted;
Ambition then, was only scaling walls;
And over-topping turrets; fame was wealth;
Best parts, best deeds, were best nobility;
Honour with worth; and wealth well got or none:
Countries we won with as few men as countries:
Virtue subdued all.
Re. Just: and then our nobles
Loved virtue so, they praised and used it too:
Had rather do, than say; their own deeds hearing
By others glorified, than be so barren,
That their parts only stood in praising others.
Ba. Who could not do, yet praised, and envied not;
Civil behaviour flourish'd; bounty flow'd,
Avarice to upland boors, slaves, hangman, banish'd.
Re. 'Tis now quite otherwise; but to note the cause
Of all these foul digressions and revolts
From our first natures, this 'tis in a word;
Since good arts fail, crafts and deceits are used;
Men ignorant are idle; idle men
Most practise what they most may do with ease,
Fashion, and favour; all their studies aiming
At getting money, which no wise man ever
Fed his desires with.
Ba. Yet now none are wise
That think not heaven's true foolish, weigh'd with that.
Well, thou most worthy to be greatest Guise,
Make with thy greatness a new world arise.
Such depress'd nobles, followers of his,
As you, myself, my lord, will find a time
When to revenge your wrongs.
Re. I make no doubt;
In mean time, I could wish the wrong were righted
Of your slain brother-in-law, brave Bussy D'Ambois.
Ba. That one accident was made my charge.
My brother Bussy's sister, now my wife,
By no suit would consent to satisfy
My love of her with marriage, till I vow'd
To use my utmost to revenge my brother;
But Clermont D'Ambois, Bussy's second brother,
Had since his apparition, and excitement
To suffer none but his hand in his wreak,
Which he hath vow'd, and so will needs acquit
Me of my vow, made to my wife, his sister,
And undertake himself Bussy's revenge;
Yet loathing any way to give it act,
But in the noblest and most manly course;
If th'earl dares take it, he resolves to send
A challenge to him, and myself must bear it,
To which delivery I can use no means;
He is so barricado'd in his house,
And arm'd with guard still.
Re. That means lay on me,
Which I can strangly make. My last lands' sale,
By his great suit, stands now on price with him,
And he, as you know, passing covetous,
With that blind greediness that follows gain,
Will cast no danger, where her sweet feet tread.
Besides, you know, his lady by his suit,
(Wooing as freshly, as when first love shot
His faultless arrows from her rosy eyes)
Now lives with him again, and she, I know,
Will join with all helps in her friend's revenge.
Ba. No doubt, my lord, and therefore let me pray you
To use all speed; for so on needles' point
My wife's heart stands with haste of the revenge;
Being, as you know, full of her brother's fire,
That she imagines I neglect my vow;
Keeps off her kind embraces, and still asks;
"When, when, will this revenge come? when perform'd
Will this dull vow be?" and I vow to Heaven
So sternly, and so past her sex she urges
My vow's performance, that I almost fear
To see her, when I have awhile been absent,
Not showing her before I speak, the blood
She so much thirsts for, freckling hands and face.
Re. Get you the challenge writ, and look from me,
To hear your passage clear'd no long time after.
[Exit RENEL.
Ba. All restitution to your worthiest lordship,
Whose errand I must carry to the King,
As having sworn my service in the search
Of all such malcontents and their designs,
By seeming one affected with their faction,
And discontented humours 'gainst the state:
Nor doth my brother Clermont 'scape my counsel
Given to the King, about his Guisean greatness,
Which as I spice it, hath possess'd the King
(Knowing his daring spirit) of much danger
Charged in it to his person; though my conscience
Dare swear him clear of any power to be
Infected with the least dishonesty:
Yet that sincerity, we politicians
Must say, grows out of envy, since it cannot
Aspire to policy's greatness: and the more
We work on all respects of kind and virtue,
The more our service to the King seems great,
In sparing no good that seems bad to him:
And the more bad we make the most of good,
The more our policy searcheth; and our service
Is wonder'd at for wisdom and sincereness.
'Tis easy to make good suspected still,
Where good and God are made but cloaks for ill.
See Monsieur taking now his leave for Brabant;

Enter HENRY, Monsieur, GUISE, CLERMONT, ESPERNON, SOISSON. Monsieur
taking
leave of the King.

The Guise, and his dear minion, Clermont D'Ambois,
Whispering together, not of state affairs
I durst lay wagers (though the Guise be now
In chief heat of his faction) but of something
Savouring of that which all men else despise,
How to be truly noble, truly wise.
Mo. See how he hangs upon the ear of Guise,
Like to his jewel.
Es. He's now whispering in
Some doctrine of stability, and freedom,
Contempt of outward greatness, and the guises
That vulgar great ones make their pride and zeal,
Being only servile trains, and sumptuous houses,
High places, offices.
Mo. Contempt of these
Does he read to the Guise? 'Tis passing needful.
And he, I think, makes show t'affect his doctrine.
Es. Commends, admires it.
Mo. And pursues another.
'Tis fine hypocrisy, and cheap, and vulgar,
Known for a covert practice, yet believed,
By those abused souls that they teach and govern,
No more than wives' adulteries by their husbands,
They bearing it with so unmoved aspects,
Hot coming from it, as 'twere not at all
Or made by custom nothing. This same D'Ambois
Hath gotten such opinion of his virtues,
Holding all learning but an art to live well,
And showing he hath learn'd it, in his life,
Being thereby strong in his persuading others;
That this ambitious Guise, embracing him,
Is thought t'embrace his virtues.
Es. Yet in some
His virtues are held false for th'other's vices:
For 'tis more cunning held, and much more common,
To suspect truth than falsehood: and of both
Truth still fares worse; as hardly being believed,
As 'tis unusual, and rarely known.
Mo. I'll part engendering virtue. Men affirm
Though this same Clermont hath a D'Ambois' spirit,
And breathes his brother's valour; yet his temper
Is so much past his, that you cannot move him:
I'll try that temper in. Come, you two
Devour each other with your virtue's zeal,
And leave, for other friends, no fragment of ye:
I wonder, Guise, you will thus ravish him
Out of my bosom that first gave the life
His manhood breathes, spirit, and means, and lustre.
What do men think of me, I pray thee, Clermont?
Once give me leave (for trial of that love
That from thy brother Bussy thou inherit'st)
T'unclasp thy bosom.
Cl. As how, sir?
Mo. Be a true glass to me, in which I may
Behold what thoughts the many-headed beast
And thou thyself breathes out concerning me,
My ends, and new-upstarted state in Brabant,
For which I now am bound, my higher aims,
Imagined here in France: speak, man, and let
Thy words be born as naked as thy thoughts:
Oh, were brave Bussy living!
Cl. Living, my lord?
Mo. 'Tis true thou art his brother, but durst thou
Have braved the Guise, maugre his presence, courted
His wedded lady, emptied even the dregs
Of his worst thoughts of me, even to my teeth;
Discern'd not me, his rising sovereign,
From any common groom, but let me hear
My grossest faults, as gross-full as they were.
Durst thou do this?
Cl. I cannot tell: a man
Does never know the goodness of his stomach
Till he sees meat before him. Were I dared,
Perhaps, as he was, I durst do like him.
Mo. Dare then to pour out here thy freest soul
Of what I am.
Cl. 'Tis stale; he told you it.
Mo. He only jested, spake of spleen and envy;
Thy soul, more learn'd, is more ingenuous,
Searching, judicial; let me then from thee
Hear what I am.
Cl. What but the sole support,
And most expectant hope of all our France,
The toward victor of the whole Low Countries?
Mo. Tush, thou wilt sing encomions of my praise.
Is this like D'Ambois? I must vex the Guise,
Or never look to hear free truth; tell me,
For Bussy lives not; he durst anger me,
Yet for my love, would not have fear'd to anger
The King himself. Thou understand'st me, dost not?
Cl. I shall, my lord, with study.
Mo. Dost understand thyself? I pray thee tell me,
Dost never search thy thoughts, what my design
Might be to entertain thee and thy brother?
What turn I meant to serve with you?
Cl. Even what you please to think.
Mo. But what think'st thou?
Had I no end in't, think'st?
Cl. I think you had.
Mo. When I took in such two as you two were,
A ragged couple of decay'd commanders,
When a French crown would plentifully serve
To buy you both to anything i'th' earth.
Cl. So it would you.
Mo. Nay, bought you both outright;
You, and your trunks: I fear me, I offend thee.
Cl. No, not a jot.
Mo. The most renowned soldier,
Epaminondas, as good authors say,
Had no more suits than backs, but you two shared
But one suit 'twixt you both, when both your studies
Were not what meat to dine with; if your partridge,
Your snipe, your woodcock, lark, or your red-herring,
But where to beg it; whether at my house
Or at the Guise's (for you know you were
Ambitious beggars), or at some cook's-shop,
T'eternize the cook's trust, and score it up.
Dost not offend thee?
Cl. No, sir; pray proceed.
Mo. As for thy gentry, I dare boldly take
Thy honourable oath; and yet some say
Thou and thy most renowned noble brother,
Came to the Court first in a keel of sea-coal;
Dost not offend thee?
Cl. Never doubt it, sir.
Mo. Why do I love thee, then? why have I raked thee
Out of the dung-hill? cast my cast wardrobe on thee?
Brought thee to Court too, as I did thy brother?
Made ye my saucy boon companions?
Taught ye to call our greatest noblemen
By the corruption of their names; Jack, Tom?
Have I blown both for nothing to this bubble?
Though thou art learn'd, th'ast no enchanting wit,
Or were thy wit good, am I therefore bound
To keep thee for my table? Well, sir, 'twere
A good knight's place. Many a proud dubb'd gallant
Seeks out a poor knight's living from such emrods.
Or what use else should I design thee to?
Perhaps you'll answer me, to be my pander.
Cl. Perhaps I shall.
Mo. Or did the sly Guise put thee
Into my bosom, t'undermine my projects?
I fear thee not; for though I be not sure
I have thy heart, I know thy brain-pan yet
To be as empty a dull piece of wainscot
As ever arm'd the scalp of any courtier;
A fellow only that consists of sinews:
Mere Swisser, apt for any execution.
Cl. But killing of the King.
Mo. Right; now I see
Thou understand'st thyself.
Cl. Ay, and you better:
You are a king's son born.
Mo. Right.
Cl. And a king's brother.
Mo. True.
Cl. And might not any fool have been so too,
As well as you?
Mo. A pox upon you!
Cl. You did no princely deeds
Ere you were born, I take it, to deserve it;
Nor did you any since that I have heard;
Nor will do ever any, as all think.
Mo. The devil take him! I'll no more of him.
Gu. Nay: stay, my lord, and hear him answer you.
Mo. No more, I swear. Farewell.
[Exeunt Monsieur, ESPERNON, SOISSON.
Gu. No more! Ill fortune.
I would have given a million to have heard
His scoffs retorted, and the insolence
Of his high birth and greatness (which were never
Effects of his deserts, but of his fortune)
Made show to his dull eyes, beneath the worth
That men aspire to by their knowing virtues,
Without which greatness is a shade, a bubble.
Cl. But what one great man dreams of that, but you?
All take their birth and birth-rights left to them
(Acquired by others) for their own worth's purchase,
When many a fool in both, is great as they:
And who would think they could win with their worths
Wealthy possessions, when won to their hands,
They neither can judge justly of their value
Nor know their use; and therefore they are puff'd
With such proud tumours as this Monsieur is:
Enabled only by the goods they have,
To scorn all goodness: none great, fill their fortunes,
But as those men that make their houses greater,
Their households being less, so fortune raises
Huge heaps of outside in these mighty men,
And gives them nothing in them.
Gu. True as truth:
And therefore they had rather drown their substance
In superfluities of bricks and stones
(Like Sisyphus, advancing of them ever,
And ever pulling down), than lay the cost
Of any sluttish corner, on a man,
Built with God's finger, and enstyled his Temple.
Ba. 'Tis nobly said, my lord.
Gu. I would have these things
Brought upon stages, to let mighty misers
See all their grave and serious miseries play'd,
As once they were in Athens and old Rome.
Cl. Nay, we must now have nothing brought on stages,
But puppetry, and pied ridiculous antics;
Men thither come to laugh, and feed fool-fat,
Check at all goodness there, as being profaned:
When wheresoever goodness comes she makes
The place still sacred, though with other feet
Never so much 'tis scandal'd and polluted.
Let me learn anything that fits a man,
In any stables shown, as well as stages.
Ba. Why? is not all the world esteem'd a stage?
Cl. Yes, and right worthily; and stages too
Have a respect due to them, if but only
For what the good Greek moralist says of them:
"Is a man proud of greatness, or of riches?
Give me an expert actor, I'll show all
That can within his greatest glory fall.
Is a man fray'd with poverty and lowness?
Give me an actor, I'll show every eye
What he laments so, and so much doth fly,
The best and worst of both." If but for this then,
To make the proudest outside that most swells
With things without him, and above his worth,
See how small cause he has to be so blown up;
And the most poor man to be grieved with poorness,
Both being so easily borne by expert actors.
The stage and actors are not so contemptful
As every innovating puritan,
And ignorant sweater out of zealous envy
Would have the world imagine. And besides,
That all things have been liken'd to the mirth
Used upon stages, and for stages fitted.
The splenative philosopher that ever
Laugh'd at them all, were worthy the enstaging;
All objects, were they ne'er so full of tears,
He so conceited, that he could distil thence
Matter that still fed his ridiculous humour.
Heard he a lawyer, ne'er so vehement pleading,
He stood and laugh'd. Heard he a tradesman swearing
Never so thriftily, selling of his wares,
He stood and laugh'd. Heard he an holy brother,
For hollow ostentation at his prayers
Ne'er so impetuously, he stood and laugh'd.
Saw he a great man never so insulting,
Severely inflicting, gravely giving laws,
Not for their good, but his, he stood and laugh'd.
Saw he a youthful widow
Never so weeping, wringing of her hands
For her lost lord, still the philosopher laugh'd.
Now whether he supposed all these presentments
Were only maskeries, and wore false faces,
Or else were simply vain, I take no care;
But still he laugh'd, how grave soe'er they were.
Gu. And might right well, my Clermont; and for this
Virtuous digression, we will thank the scoffs
Of vicious Monsieur. But now for the main point
Of your late resolution for revenge
Of your slain brother.
Cl. I have here my challenge,
Which I will pray my brother Baligny
To bear the murderous earl.
Ba. I have prepared
Means for access to him, through all his guard.
Gu. About it then, my worthy Baligny,
And bring us the success.
Ba. I will, my lord. [Exeunt.

TAMYRA sola.

Ta. Revenge, that ever red sitt'st in the eyes
Of injured ladies, till we crown thy brows
With bloody laurel, and receive from thee
Justice for all our honour's injury;
Whose wings none fly, that wrath or tyranny
Hath ruthless made, and bloody; enter here,
Enter, O enter; and, though length of time
Never lets any 'scape thy constant justice,
Yet now prevent that length. Fly, fly, and here
Fix thy steel footsteps: here, O here, where still
Earth, moved with pity, yielded and embraced
My love's fair figure, drawn in his dear blood,
And mark'd the place, to show thee where was done
The cruell'st murder that e'er fled the sun.
O earth! why keep'st thou not as well his spirit,
To give his form life? No, that was not earthly;
That (rarefying the thin and yielding air)
Flew sparkling up into the sphere of fire,
Whence endless flames it sheds in my desire;
Here be my daily pallet; here all nights
That can be wrested from thy rival's arms,
O my dear Bussy, I will lie and kiss
Spirit into thy blood, or breathe out mine
In sighs and kisses, and sad tunes to thine.
[She sings.

Enter MONTSURRY.

Mont. Still on this haunt? Still shall adulterous blood
Affect thy spirits? Think, for shame, but this,
This blood that cockatrice-like thus thou brood'st
Too dry is to breed any quench to thine.
And therefore now (if only for thy lust
A little cover'd with a veil of shame)
Look out for fresh life, rather than witch-like,
Learn to kiss horror, and with death engender.
Strange cross in nature, purest virgin shame
Lies in the blood, as lust lies; and together
Many times mix too; and in none more shameful
Than in the shamefaced. Who can then distinguish
'Twixt their affections; or tell when he meets
With one not common? Yet, as worthiest poets
Shun common and plebeian forms of speech;
Every illiberal and affected phrase
To clothe their matter; and together tie
Matter and form, with art and decency;
So worthiest women should shun vulgar guises,
And though they cannot but fly out for change,
Yet modesty, the matter of their lives,
Be it adulterate, should be painted true
With modest out-parts; what they should do still,
Graced with good show, though deeds be ne'er so ill.
Ta. That is so far from all ye seek of us,
That, though yourselves be common as the air,
We must not take the air, we must not fit
Our actions to our own affections:
But as geometricians, you still say,
Teach that no lines nor superficies
Do move themselves, but still accompany
The motions of their bodies; so poor wives
Must not pursue, nor have their own affections;
But to their husbands' earnests, and their jests,
To their austerities of looks, and laughters,
Though ne'er so foolish and injurious,
Like parasites and slaves, fit their disposures.
Mont. I used thee as my soul, to move and rule me.
Ta. So said you, when you woo'd. So soldiers tortured
With tedious sieges of some well-walled town
Propound conditions of most large contents,
Freedom of laws, all former government;
But having once set foot within the walls,
And got the reins of power into their hands;
Then do they tyrannize at their own rude swindges,
Seize all their goods, their liberties, and lives,
And make advantage and their lusts their laws.
Mont. But love me, and perform a wife's part yet,
(With all my love before) I swear forgiveness.
Ta. Forgiveness! that grace you should seek of me;
These tortured fingers and these stabb'd-through arms.
Keep that law in their wounds, yet, unobserved.
And ever shall.
Mont. Remember their deserts.
Ta. Those with fair warnings might have been reform'd,
Not these unmanly rages. You have heard
The fiction of the north-wind and the sun,
Both working on a traveller, and contending
Which had most power to take his cloak from him;
Which when the wind attempted, he roar'd out
Outrageous blasts at him to force it off,
That wrapt it closer on. When the calm sun
(The wind once leaving) charged him with still beams
Quiet and fervent, and therein was constant,
Which made him cast off both his cloak and coat;
Like whom should men do. If ye wish your wives
Should leave disliked things, seek it not with rage,
For that enrages; what ye give, ye have;
But use calm warnings, and kind manly means,
And that in wives most prostitute will win
Not only sure amends, but make us wives
Better than those that ne'er led faulty lives.

Enter a Soldier.

Sol. My lord.
Mont. How now? would any speak with me?
Sol. Ay, sir.
Mont. Perverse and traitorous miscreant,
Where are your other fellows of my guard?
Have I not told you, I will speak with none
But Lord Renel?
Sol. And 'tis he that stays you.
Mont. Oh, is it he? 'Tis well; attend him in:
I must be vigilant; the furies haunt me.
Do you hear, dame?

Enter RENEL with the Soldier.

Re. Be true now, for your lady's injured sake,
Whose bounty you have so much cause to honour;
For her respect is chief in this design,
And therefore serve it; call out of the way
All your confederate fellows of his guard,
Till Monsieur Baligny be enter'd here.
Sol. Upon your honour, my lord shall be free
From any hurt, you say?
Re. Free as myself. Watch then, and clear his entry.
Sol. I will not fail, my lord. [Exit Soldier.
Re. God save your lordship.
Mont. My noblest Lord Renel! past all men welcome!
Wife, welcome his lordship. [Osculatur.
Re. I much joy in your return here.
Ta. You do more than I.
Mont. She's passionate still, to think we ever parted,
By my too stern injurious jealousy.
Re. 'Tis well your lordship will confess your error
In so good time yet.

Enter BALIGNY with a challenge.

Mont. Death! Who have we here?
Ho! guard! villains!
Ba. Why exclaim you so?
Mont. Negligent traitors! Murder, murder, murder!
Ba. Y'are mad. Had mine intent been so like yours,
It had been done ere this.
Re. Sir, your intent,
And action too, was rude to enter thus.
Ba. Y'are a decay'd lord to tell me of rudeness,
As much decay'd in manners as in means.
Re. You talk of manners, that thus rudely thrust
Upon a man that's busy with his wife.
Ba. And kept your lordship then the door?
Re. The door?
Mont. Sweet lord, forbear. Show, show your purpose, sir,
To move such bold feet into others' roofs.
Ba. This is my purpose, sir; from Clermont D'Ambois.
I bring this challenge.
Mont. Challenge! I'll touch none.
Ba. I'll leave it here then.
Re. Thou shalt leave thy life first.
Mont. Murder, murder!
Re. Retire, my lord; get off.
Hold, or thy death shall hold thee. Hence, my lord.
Ba. There lie the challenge.
[They all fight, and BAL. drives in MONT. Exit MONT.
Re. Was not this well handled!
Ba. Nobly, my lord. All thanks. [Exit BAL.
Ta. I'll make him read it. [Exit TA.
Re. This was a sleight well mask'd. Oh, what is man,
Unless he be a politician? [Exit.

ACT THE SECOND

SCENE I

HENRY, BALIGNY.

HE. Come, Baligny, we now are private: say,
What service bring'st thou? make it short; the Guise,
Whose friend thou seem'st, is now in Court, and near,
And may observe us.
Ba. This, sir, then, in short:
The faction of the Guise (with which my policy,
For service to your highness seems to join)
Grows ripe, and must be gather'd into hold;
Of which my brother Clermont being a part
Exceeding capital, deserves to have
A capital eye on him. And as you may
With best advantage, and your speediest charge,
Command his apprehension; which (because
The Court, you know, is strong in his defence)
We must ask country swindge and open fields.
And, therefore, I have wrought him to go down
To Cambray with me (of which government
Your highness' bounty made me your Lieutenant)
Where, when I have him, I will leave my house,
And feign some service out about the confines;
When in the meantime, if you please to give
Command to my Lieutenant, by your letters,
To train him to some muster, where he may,
Much to his honour, see for him, your forces
Put into battle; when he comes, he may
With some close stratagem be apprehended.
For otherwise your whole powers there will fail
To work his apprehension: and with that
My hand needs never be discern'd therein.
He. Thanks, honest Baligny.
Ba. Your highness knows
I will be honest; and betray for you
Brother and father: for, I know, my lord,
Treachery for kings is truest loyalty;
Nor is to bear the name of treachery,
But grave, deep policy. All acts that seem
Ill in particular respects, are good
As they respect your universal rule.
As in the main sway of the universe
The supreme Rector's general decrees,
To guard the mighty globes of earth and heaven,
Since they make good that guard to preservation
Of both those in their order and first end,
No man's particular (as he thinks) wrong
Must hold him wrong'd; no, not though all men's reasons,
All law, all conscience, concludes it wrong.
Nor is comparison a flatterer
To liken you here to the King of kings;
Nor any man's particular offence
Against the world's sway, to offence at yours
In any subject; who as little may
Grudge at their particular wrong, if so it seem
For th'universal right of your estate.
As (being a subject of the world's whole sway
As well as yours; and being a righteous man
To whom Heaven promises defence, and blessing,
Brought to decay, disgrace, and quite defenceless)
He may complain of Heaven for wrong to him.
He. 'Tis true: the simile at all parts holds,
As all good subjects hold, that love our favour.
Ba. Which is our heaven here; and a misery
Incomparable, and most truly hellish,
To live deprived of our king's grace and countenance,
Without which best conditions are most cursed:
Life of that nature, howsoever short,
Is a most lingering and tedious life;
Or rather no life, but a languishing,
And an abuse of life.
He. 'Tis well conceited.
Ba. I thought it not amiss to yield your highness
A reason of my speeches; lest perhaps
You might conceive I flatter'd; which, I know,
Of all ills under heaven you most abhor.
He. Still thou art right, my virtuous Baligny,
For which I thank and love thee. Thy advice
I'll not forget; haste to thy government,
And carry D'Ambois with thee. So farewell. [Exit.
Ba. Your majesty fare ever like itself.

Enter GUISE.

Gu. My sure friend, Baligny!
Ba. Noblest of princes!
Gu. How stands the State of Cambray?
Ba. Strong, my lord,
And fit for service: for whose readiness
Your creature Clermont D'Ambois, and myself
Ride shortly down.
Gu. That Clermont is my love;
France never bred a nobler gentleman
For all parts; he exceeds his brother Bussy.
Ba. Ay, my lord?
Gu. Far; because, besides his valour,
He hath the crown of man, and all his parts,
Which learning is: and that so true and virtuous,
That it gives power to do as well as say
Whatever fits a most accomplish'd man;
Which Bussy, for his valour's season, lack'd;
And so was rapt with outrage oftentimes
Beyond decorum; where this absolute Clermont,
Though, only for his natural zeal to right,
He will be fiery, when he sees it cross'd,
And in defence of it; yet when he lists
He can contain that fire, as hid in embers.
Ba. No question, he's a true, learn'd gentleman.
Gu. He is as true as tides, or any star
Is in his motion; and for his rare learning,
He is not, as all else are that seek knowledge,
Of taste so much depraved, that they had rather
Delight, and satisfy themselves to drink
Of the stream troubled, wandering ne'er so far
From the clear fount, than of the fount itself.
In all, Rome's Brutus is revived in him,
Whom he of industry doth imitate:
Or rather, as great Troy's Euphorbus was
After Pythagoras; so is Brutus, Clermont.
And, were not Brutus a conspirator—
Ba. Conspirator, my lord? Doth that impair him?
Cæsar began to tyrannize; and when virtue
Nor the religion of the gods could serve
To curb the insolence of his proud laws,
Brutus would be the gods' just instrument.
What said the princess, sweet Antigone,
In the grave Greek tragedian, when the question
'Twixt her and Creon is, for laws of kings?
Which, when he urges, she replies on him;
Though his laws were a king's, they were not God's;
Nor would she value Creon's written laws
With God's unwrit edicts; since they last not
This day, and next, but every day and ever;
Where kings' laws alter every day and hour,
And in that change imply a bounded power.
Gu. Well, let us leave these vain disputings, what
Is to be done, and fall to doing something.
When are you for your government in Cambray?
Ba. When you command, my lord.
Gu. Nay, that's not fit.
Continue your designments with the King,
With all your service; only if I send,
Respect me as your friend, and love my Clermont.
Ba. Your highness knows my vows.
Gu. Ay, 'tis enough.
[Exit GUISE. MANET BALIGNY.
Ba. Thus, must we play on both sides, and thus hearten
In any ill those men whose good we hate.
Kings may do what they list; and for king's subjects,
Either exempt from censure or exception;
For, as no man's worth can be justly judged
But when he shines in some authority;
So no authority should suffer censure
But by a man of more authority.
Great vessels into less are emptied never,
There's a redundance past their continent ever.
These virtuosi are the poorest creatures;
For look how spinners weave out of themselves
Webs, whose strange matter none before can see;
So these, out of an unseen good in virtue,
Make arguments of right, and comfort in her,
That clothe them like the poor web of a spinner.

Enter CLERMONT.

Cl. Now, to my challenge. What's the place, the weapon?
Ba. Soft, sir; let first your challenge be received;
He would not touch, nor see it.
Cl. Possible!
How did you then?
Ba. Left it in his despite,
But when he saw me enter so expectless.
To hear his base exclaims of murder, murder,
Made me think noblesse lost, in him quick buried.
Cl. They are the breathing sepulchres of noblesse;
No trulier noble men, than lion's pictures
Hung up for signs, are lions. Who knows not,
That lions the more soft kept, are more servile?
And look how lions close kept, fed by hand,
Lose quite th'innative fire of spirit and greatness
That lions free breathe, foraging for prey,
And grow so gross, that mastiffs, curs, and mongrels
Have spirit to cow them. So our soft French nobles
Chain'd up in ease and numb'd security,
Their spirits shrunk up like their covetous fists,
And never open'd but Domitian-like,
And all his base obsequious minions
When they were catching, though it were but flies.
Besotted with their peasants' love of gain,
Rusting at home and on each other preying,
Are for their greatness but the greater slaves,
And none is noble but who scrapes and saves.
Ba. 'Tis base, 'tis base! and yet they think them high.
Cl. So children mounted on their hobby-horse
Think they are riding, when with wanton toil
They bear what should bear them. A man may well
Compare them to those foolish great-spleen'd camels,
That to their high heads, begg'd of Jove horns higher;
Whose most uncomely and ridiculous pride,
When he had satisfied, they could not use,
But where they went upright before, they stoop'd,
And bore their heads much lower for their horns.
As these high men do, low in all true grace,
Their height being privilege to all things base.
And as the foolish poet that still writ
All his most self-loved verse in paper royal,
Of parchment ruled with lead, smoothed with the pumice,
Bound richly up, and strung with crimson strings;
Never so blest as when he writ and read
The ape-loved issue of his brain, and never
But joying in himself, admiring ever:
Yet in his works behold him, and he show'd
Like to a ditcher. So these painted men,
All set on out-side, look upon within,
And not a peasant's entrails you shall find
More foul and measled, nor more sterved of mind.
Ba. That makes their bodies fat. I fain would know
How many millions of our other nobles
Would make one Guise. There is a true tenth worthy,
Who (did not one act only blemish him)—
Cl. One act? what one?
Ba. One, that, though years past done,
Sticks by him still and will disdain him ever.
Cl. Good heaven! wherein? what one act can you name
Supposed his stain, that I'll not prove his lustre?
Ba. To satisfy you, 'twas the massacre.
Cl. The massacre? I thought 'twas some such blemish.
Ba. Oh, it was heinous!
Cl. To a brutish sense,
But not a manly reason. We so tender
The vile part in us, that the part divine
We see in hell, and shrink not. Who was first
Head of that massacre?
Ba. The Guise.
Cl. 'Tis nothing so.
Who was in fault for all the slaughters made
In Ilion, and about it? were the Greeks?
Was it not Paris ravishing the Queen
Of Lacedæmon? Breach of shame and faith?
And all the laws of hospitality?
This is the beastly slaughter made of men,
When truth is overthrown, his laws corrupted;
When souls are smother'd in the flatter'd flesh,
Slain bodies are no more than oxen slain.
Ba. Differ not men from oxen?
Cl. Who says so?
But see wherein; in the understanding rules
Of their opinions, lives, and actions;
In their communities of faith and reason.
Was not the wolf that nourish'd Romulus
More humane than the men that did expose him?
Ba. That makes against you.
Cl. Not, sir, if you note
That by that deed, the actions difference make
'Twixt men and beasts, and not their names nor forms.
Had faith, nor shame, all hospitable rights
Been broke by Troy, Greece had not made that slaughter.
Had that been saved (says a philosopher)
The Iliads and Odysseys had been lost;
Had Faith and true Religion been preferr'd,
Religious Guise had never massacred.
Ba. Well, sir, I cannot when I meet with you
But thus digress a little, for my learning,
From any other business I intend.
But now the voyage we resolved for Cambray
I told the Guise begins, and we must haste.
And till the Lord Renel hath found some mean
Conspiring with the countess, to make sure
Your sworn wreak on her husband, though this fail'd
In my so brave command, we'll spend the time,
Sometimes in training out in skirmishes
And battles, all our troops and companies;
And sometimes breathe your brave Scotch running horse,
That great Guise gave you, that all th' horse in France
Far overruns at every race and hunting
Both of the hare and deer. You shall be honour'd
Like the great Guise himself, above the King.
And (can you but appease your great-spleen'd sister
For our delay'd wreak of your brother's slaughter)
At all parts you'll be welcomed to your wonder.
Cl. I'll see my lord the Guise again before
We take our journey.
Ba. Oh, sir, by all means;
You cannot be too careful of his love,
That ever takes occasion to be raising
Your virtues past the reaches of this age,
And ranks you with the best of th'ancient Romans.
Cl. That praise at no part moves me, but the worth
Of all he can give others sphered in him.
Ba. He yet is thought to entertain strange aims.
Cl. He may be well, yet not as you think strange.
His strange aims are to cross the common custom
Of servile nobles, in which he's so ravish'd,
That quite the earth he leaves, and up he leaps
On Atlas' shoulders, and from thence looks down,
Viewing how far off other high ones creep:
Rich, poor of reason, wander; all pale looking,
And trembling but to think of their sure deaths,
Their lives so base are, and so rank their breaths.
Which I teach Guise to heighten, and make sweet
With life's dear odours, a good mind and name;
For which he only loves me, and deserves
My love and life, which through all deaths I vow:
Resolving this, whatever change can be,
Thou hast created, thou hast ruin'd me. [Exit.

ACT THE THIRD

SCENE I

A march of Captains over the stage. MAILLARD, CHALON, AUMALE,
following with Soldiers.

MA. These troops and companies come in with wings:
So many men, so arm'd, so gallant horse,
I think no other government in France
So soon could bring together. With such men
Methinks a man might pass th'insulting pillars
Of Bacchus and Alcides.
Chal. I much wonder
Our lord-lieutenant brought his brother down
To feast and honour him, and yet now leaves him
At such an instance.
Ma. 'Twas the King's command:
For whom he must leave brother, wife, friend, all things.
Au. The confines of his government, whose view
Is the pretext of his command, hath need
Of no such sudden expedition.
Ma. We must not argue that. The King's command
Is need and right enough: and that he serves,
(As all true subjects should) without disputing.
Chal. But knows not he of your command to take
His brother Clermont?
Ma. No: the King's will is
Expressly to conceal his apprehension
From my lord governor. Observed ye not?
Again peruse the letters. Both you are
Made my assistants, and have right and trust
In all the weighty secrets like myself.
Au. 'Tis strange a man that had, through his life past,
So sure a foot in virtue and true knowledge,
As Clermont D'Ambois, should be now found tripping,
And taken up thus, so to make his fall
More steep and headlong.
Ma. It is Virtue's fortune,
To keep her low, and in her proper place;
Height hath no room for her. But as a man
That hath a fruitful wife, and every year
A child by her, hath every year a month
To breathe himself: where he that gets no child
Hath not a night's rest, if he will do well:
So, let one marry this same barren Virtue,
She never lets him rest; where fruitful Vice
Spares her rich drudge, gives him in labour breath:
Feeds him with bane, and makes him fat with death.
Chal. I see that good lives never can secure
Men from bad livers. Worst men will have best
As ill as they, or heaven to hell they'll wrest.
Au. There was a merit for this, in the fault
That Bussy made, for which he, doing penance,
Proves that these foul adulterous guilts will run
Through the whole blood, which not the clear can shun.
Ma. I'll therefore take heed of the bastarding
Whole innocent races; 'tis a fearful thing.
And as I am a true bachelor, I swear,
To touch no woman, to the coupling ends,
Unless it be mine own wife, or my friend's.
I may make bold with him.
Au. 'Tis safe and common.
The more your friend dares trust, the more deceive him.
And as, through dewy vapours, the sun's form
Makes the gay rainbow girdle to a storm,
So in hearts hollow, friendship (even the sun
To all good growing in society)
Makes his so glorious and divine name hold
Colours for all the ill that can be told.
Ma. Hark, our last troops are come.
[Trumpets within.
Chal. Hark, our last foot. [Drums beat.
Ma. Come, let us put all quickly into battle,
And send for Clermont, in whose honour all
This martial preparation we pretend.
Chal. We must bethink us, ere we apprehend him,
(Besides our main strength), of some stratagem
To make good our severe command on him,
As well to save blood, as to make him sure:
For if he come on his Scotch horse, all France
Put at the heels of him, will fail to take him.
Ma. What think you, if we should disguise a brace
Of our best soldiers in fair lackeys' coats,
And send them for him, running by his side,
Till they have brought him in some ambuscado
We close may lodge for him, and suddenly
Lay sure hand on him, plucking him from horse.
Au. It must be sure and strong hand; for if once
He feels the touch of such a stratagem,
Tis not the choicest brace of all our bands
Can manacle or quench his fiery hands.
Ma. When they have seized him, the ambush shall make in.
Au. Do as you please; his blameless spirit deserves,
I dare engage my life, of all this, nothing.
Chal. Why should all this stir be, then?
Au. Who knows not
The bombast polity thrust into his giant,
To make his wisdom seem of size as huge,
And all for slight encounter of a shade,
So he be touch'd, he would have heinous made?
Ma. It may be once so, but so ever, never:
Ambition is abroad, on foot, on horse;
Faction chokes every corner, street, the Court;
Whose faction 'tis you know, and who is held
The fautor's right hand; how high his aims reach
Nought but a crown can measure. This must fall
Past shadows' weights, and is most capital.
Chal. No question; for since he is come to Cambray,
The malcontent, decay'd Marquis Renel
Is come, and new arrived, and made partaker
Of all the entertaining shows and feasts
That welcomed Clermont to the brave virago,
His manly sister. Such we are esteem'd
As are our consorts. Marquess Malcontent
Comes where he knows his vein hath safest vent.
Ma. Let him come at his will, and go as free;
Let us ply Clermont, our whole charge is he. [Exeunt.

Enter a Gentleman Usher, before CLERMONT, RENEL, CHARLOTTE, with
two women attendants, with others: shows having passed within.

Ch. This for your lordship's welcome into Cambray.
Re. Noblest of ladies, 'tis beyond all power,
Were my estate at first full, in my means
To quit or merit.
Cl. You come something later
From Court, my lord, than I; and since news there
Is every day increasing with th'affairs,
Must I not ask now, what the news is there?
Where the Court lies? what stir? change? what advice
From England? Italy?
Re. You must do so,
If you'll be call'd a gentleman well qualified,
And wear your time and wits in those discourses.
Cl. The Locrian Princes therefore were brave rulers;
For whosoever there came new from country
And in the city ask'd, what news? was punish'd;
Since commonly such brains are most delighted
With innovations, gossips' tales, and mischiefs;
But as of lions it is said and eagles,
That when they go, they draw their seres and talons
Close up, to shun rebating of their sharpness;
So our wit's sharpness, which we should employ
In noblest knowledge, we should never waste
In vile and vulgar admirations.
Re. 'Tis right; but who, save only you, performs it,
And your great brother? Madam, where is he?
Ch. Gone a day since, into the country's confines,
To see their strength, and readiness for service.
Re. 'Tis well; his favour with the King hath made him
Most worthily great, and live right royally.
Cl. Ay, would he would not do so! Honour never
Should be esteem'd with wise men, as the price
And value of their virtuous services,
But as their sign or badge; for that bewrays
More glory in the outward grace of goodness,
Than in the good itself; and then 'tis said
Who more joy takes, that men his good advance,
Than in the good itself, does it by chance.
Ch. My brother speaks all principle; what man
Is moved with your soul, or hath such a thought
In any rate of goodness?
Cl. 'Tis their fault:
We have examples of it, clear and many.
Demetrius Phalerius, an orator,
And (which not oft meet) a philosopher,
So great in Athens grew, that he erected
Three hundred statues of him; of all which,
No rust nor length of time corrupted one;
But in his lifetime, all were overthrown.
And Demades (that pass'd Demosthenes
For all extemporal orations)
Erected many statues, which, he living,
Were broke, and melted into chamber-pots.
Many such ends have fall'n on such proud honours,
No more because the men on whom they fell
Grew insolent and left their virtue's state;
Than for their hugeness, that procured their hate;
And therefore little pomp in men most great,
Makes mightily and strongly to the guard
Of what they win by chance, or just reward.
Great and immodest braveries again,
Like statutes, much too high made for their bases,
Are overturn'd as soon as given their places.

Enter a Messenger with a Letter.

Me. Here is a letter, sir, deliver'd me.
Now at the fore-gate by a gentleman.
Cl. What gentleman?
Me. He would not tell his name;
He said, he had not time enough to tell it,
And say the little rest he had to say.
Cl. That was a merry saying; he took measure
Of his dear time like a most thrifty husband.
Ch. What news?
Cl. Strange ones, and fit for a novation;
Weighty, unheard of, mischievous enough.
Re. Heaven shield! what are they?
Cl. Read them, good my lord.
Re. "You are betrayed into this country."
Monstrous!
Ch, How's that?
Cl. Read on.
Re. "Millard, your brother's lieutenant, that yesterday invited you
to
see his musters, hath letters and strict charge from the King to apprehend
you."
Ch. To apprehend him?
Re. "Your brother absents himself of purpose."
Cl. That's a sound one.
Ch. That's a lie.
Re. "Get on your Scotch horse, and retire to your strength; you know
where it is, and there it expects you; believe this as your best friend had
sworn it. Fare well, if you will. ANONYMOS." What's that?
Cl. Without a name.
Ch. And all his notice too without all truth.
Cl. So I conceive it, sister; I'll not wrong
My well-known brother for Anonymos.
Ch. Some fool hath put this trick on you, yet more T'uncover your
defect of spirit and valour,
First shown in lingering my dear brother's wreak.
See what it is to give the envious world
Advantage to diminish eminent virtue.
Send him a challenge? Take a noble course
To wreak a murder, done so like a villain?
Cl. Shall we revenge a villany with villany?
Ch. Is it not equal?
Cl. Shall we equal be with villains?
Is that your reason?
Ch. Cowardice evermore
Flies to the shield of reason.
Cl. Nought that is
Approved by reason can be cowardice.
Ch. Dispute when you should fight. Wrong, wreakless sleeping,
Makes men die honourless; one borne, another
Leaps on our shoulders.
Cl. We must wreak our wrongs
So as we take not more.
Ch. One wreak'd in time
Prevents all other. Then shines virtue most
When time is found for facts; and found, not lost.
Cl. No time occurs to kings, much less to virtue;
Nor can we call it virtue that proceeds
From vicious fury. I repent that ever
(By any instigation in th'appearance
My brother's spirit made, as I imagined)
That e'er I yielded to revenge his murder.
All worthy men should ever bring their blood
To bear all ill, not to be wreak'd with good:
Do ill for no ill; never private cause
Should take on it the part of public laws.
Ch. A D'Ambois bear in wrong so tame a spirit!
Re. Madam, be sure there will be time enough
For all the vengeance your great spirit can wish.
The course yet taken is allow'd by all,
Which, being noble, and refused by th'earl,
Now makes him worthy of your worst advantage;
And I have cast a project with the countess
To watch a time when all his wariest guards
Shall not exempt him. Therefore give him breath;
Sure death delay'd is a redoubled death.
Cl. Good sister, trouble not yourself with this;
Take other ladies' care; practise your face.
There' the chaste matron, Madam Perigot,
Dwells not far hence; I'll ride and send her to you.
She did live by retailing maidenheads
In her minority; but now she deals
In wholesale altogether for the Court.
I tell you, she's the only fashion-monger,
For your complexion, powdering of your hair,
Shadows, rebatoes, wires, tires, and such tricks,
That Cambray, or I think, the Court affords;
She shall attend you, sister, and with these
Womanly practices employ your spirit;
This other suits you not, nor fits the fashion.
Though she be dear, lay't on, spare for no cost,
Ladies in these have all their bounties lost.
Re. Madam, you see his spirit will not check
At any single danger; when it stands
Thus merrily firm against a host of men,
Threaten'd to be in arms for his surprise.
Ch. That's a mere bugbear, an impossible mock.
If he, and him I bound by nuptial faith
Had not been dull and drossy in performing
Wreak of the dear blood of my matchless brother,
What prince, what king, which of the desperatest ruffians
Outlaws in Arden, durst have tempted thus
One of our blood and name, be't true or false?
Cl. This is not caused by that; 'twill be as sure
As yet it is not, though this should be true.
Ch. True? 'tis past thought false.
Cl. I suppose the worst,
Which far I am from thinking; and despise
The army now in battle that should act it.
Ch. I would not let my blood up to that thought,
But it should cost the dearest blood in France.
Cl. Sweet sister, [osculatur] far be both off as the fact
Of my feign'd apprehension.
Ch. I would once
Strip off my shame with my attire, and try
If a poor woman, votist of revenge,
Would not perform it with a precedent
To all you bungling, foggy-spirited men;
But for our birthright's honour, do not mention
One syllable of any word may go
To the begetting of an act so tender
And full of sulphur as this letter's truth;
It comprehends so black a circumstance
Not to be named, that but to form one thought.
It is or can be so, would make me mad;
Come, my lord, you and I will fight this dream
Out at the chess.
Re. Most gladly, worthiest lady.
[Exit CHARLOTTE and RENEL.

Enter a Messenger.

Me. Sir, my Lord Governor's Lieutenant prays
Access to you.
Cl. Himself alone?
Me. Alone, sir.
Cl. Attend him in. [Exit Mess.] Now comes this plot to trial.
I shall discern, if it be true as rare,
Some sparks will fly from his dissembling eyes.
I'll sound his depth.

Enter MAILLARD with the Messenger.

Ma. Honour, and all things noble!
Cl. As much to you, good Captain. What's th' affair?
Ma. Sir, the poor honour we can add to all
Your studied welcome to this martial place,
In presentation of what strength consists.
My lord, your brother's government is ready.
I have made all his troops and companies
Advance, and put themselves ranged in battalia,
That you may see, both how well-arm'd they are;
How strong is every troop and company;
How ready, and how well prepared for service.
Cl. And must they take me?
Ma. Take you, sir? O heaven!
Me. Believe it, sir; his countenance changed in turning.
Ma. What do you mean, sir?
Cl. If you have charged them,
You being charged yourself, to apprehend me,
Turn not your face; throw not your looks about so.
Ma. Pardon me, sir. You amaze me to conceive
From whence our wills to honour you should turn
To such dishonour of my lord your brother.
Dare I, without him, undertake your taking?
Cl. Why not? by your direct charge from the King?
Ma. By my charge from the King? would he so much
Disgrace my lord, his own lieutenant here,
To give me his command without his forfeit?
Cl. Acts that are done by kings are not ask'd why:
I'll not dispute the case, but I will search you.
Ma. Search me? for what?
Cl. For letters.
Ma. I beseech you
Do not admit one thought of such a shame
To a commander.
Cl. Go to; I must do't.
Stand and be search'd; you know me.
Ma. You forget
What 'tis to be a captain, and yourself.
Cl. Stand! or I vow to heaven, I'll make you lie,
Never to rise more.
Ma. If a man be mad
Reason must bear him.
Cl. So coy to be search'd?
Ma. 'Sdeath, sir! use a captain like a carrier?
Cl. Come, be not furious; when I have done
You shall make such a carrier of me,
If't be your pleasure; you're my friend, I know,
And so am bold with you.
Ma. You'll nothing find
Where nothing is.
Cl. Swear you have nothing.
Ma. Nothing you seek, I swear, I beseech you;
Know I desired this out of great affection,
To th'end my lord may know out of your witness
His forces are not in so bad estate
As he esteem'd them lately in your hearing:
For which he would not trust me with the confines;
But went himself to witness their estate.
Cl. I heard him make that reason, and am sorry
I had no thought of it before I made
Thus bold with you; since 'tis such rhubarb to you,
I'll therefore search no more. If you are charged
By letters from the King, or otherwise,
To apprehend me; never spice it more
With forced terms of your love; but say; I yield;
Hold; take my sword; here; I forgive thee freely;
Take; do thine office.
Ma. 'Sfoot, you make me a hangman;
By all my faith to you, there's no such thing.
Cl. Your faith to me?
Ma. My faith to God; all's one,
Who hath no faith to men, to God hath none.
Cl. In that sense I accept your oath, and thank you:
I gave my word to go, and I will go. [Exit CLER.
Ma. I'll watch you whither. [Exit MAIL.
Me. If he goes, he proves
How vain are men's foreknowledges of things,
When heaven strikes blind their powers of note and use;
And makes their way to ruin seem more right
Than that which safety opens to their sight.
Cassandra's prophecy had no more profit
With Troy's blind citizens, when she foretold
Troy's ruin; which, succeeding, made her use
This sacred inclamation: "God" (said she)
"Would have me utter things uncredited:
"For which now they approve what I presaged;
"They count me wise, that said before I raged."

Enter CHALON with two Soldiers.

Chal. Come, soldiers, you are downwards fit for lackeys;
Give me your pieces, and take you these coats,
To make you complete footmen, in whose forms,
You must be complete soldiers; you two only
Stand for our army.
1st. That were much.
Chal. 'Tis true,
You two must do, or enter, what our army
Is now in field for.
2nd. I see then our guerdon
Must be the deed itself, 'twill be such honour.
Chal. What fight soldiers most for?
1st. Honour only.
Chal. Yet here are crowns beside.
1st. We thank you, captain.
2nd. Now, sir, how show we?
Chal. As you should at all parts.
Go now to Clermont D'Ambois, and inform him—
Two battles are set ready in his honour,
And stay his presence only for their signal,
When they shall join; and that t'attend him hither,
Like one we so much honour, we have sent him_____
1st. Us two in person.
Chal. Well, sir, say it so.
And having brought him to the field, when I
Fall in with him, saluting, get you both
Of one side of his horse, and pluck him down,
And I with th'ambush laid, will second you.
1st. Nay, we shall lay on hands of too much strength
To need your secondings.
2nd. I hope we shall.
Two are enough to encounter Hercules.
Chal. 'Tis well said, worthy soldiers: haste, and haste him.
[Exeunt.

Enter CLERMONT, MAILLARD close following him.

Cl. My Scotch horse to their army.
Ma. Please you, sir?
Cl. 'Sdeath, you're passing diligent.
Ma. Of my soul
'Tis only in my love to honour you
With what would grace the King; but since I see
You still sustain a jealous eye on me,
I'll go before.
Cl. 'Tis well; I'll come; my hand.
Ma. Your hand, sir? Come, your word, your choice be used. [Exit.

CLERMONT solus.

Cl. I had an aversation to this voyage,
When first my brother moved it; and have found
That native power in me was never vain;
Yet now neglected it: I wonder much
At my inconstancy in these decrees,
I every hour set down to guide my life.
When Homer made Achilles passionate,
Wrathful, revengeful, and insatiate
In his affections; what man will deny,
He did compose it all of industry,
To let men see, that men of most renown,
Strong'st, noblest, fairest, if they set not down
Decrees within them, for disposing these,
Of judgment, resolution, uprightness,
And certain knowledge of their use and ends,
Mishap and misery no less extends
To their destruction, with all that they prized,
Than to the poorest, and the most despised.

Enter RENEL.

Re. Why, how now, friend? retired? take heed you prove not
Dismay'd with this strange fortune; all observe you:
Your government's as much mark'd as the King's.
What said a friend to Pompey?
Cl. What?
Re. The people
Will never know, unless in death thou try,
That thou know'st how to bear adversity.
Cl. I shall approve how vile I value fear
Of death at all times; but to be too rash,
Without both will and care to shun the worst
(It being in power to do, well and with cheer),
Is stupid negligence, and worse than fear.
Re. Suppose this true now.
Cl. No, I cannot do't.
My sister truly said, there hung a tail
Of circumstance so black on that supposure,
That to sustain it thus, abhorr'd our metal.
And I can shun it, too, in spite of all:
Not going to field, and there, too, being so mounted
As I will, since I go.
Re. You will then go?
Cl. I am engaged, both in my word and hand;
But this is it that makes me thus retired,
To call myself t'account how this affair
Is to be managed if the worst should chance;
With which I note, how dangerous it is
For any man to praise beyond the place
To which his birth, or means, or knowledge ties him;
For my part, though of noble birth, my birthright
Had little left it, and I know 'tis better
To live with little, and to keep within
A man's own strength still, and in man's true end,
Than run a mix'd course. Good and bad hold never
Anything common; you can never find
Things outward care, but you neglect your mind.
God hath the whole world perfect made, and free,
His parts to th'use of th'all; men then that are
Parts of that all, must, as the general sway
Of that importeth, willingly obey
In everything without their power to change.
He that, unpleased to hold his place, will range,
Can in no other be contain'd that's fit,
And so resisting th'All, is crush'd with it,
But he, that knowing how divine a frame
The whole world is; and of it all, can name,
Without self-flattery, no part so divine
As he himself, and therefore will confine
Freely, his whole powers, in his proper part,
Goes on most God-like. He that strives t'invert
The Universal's course with his poor way,
Not only dust-like shivers with the sway,
But, crossing God in his great work, all earth
Bears not so cursed and so damn'd a birth.
Re. Go on; I'll take no care what comes of you;
Heaven will not see it ill, howe'er it show:
But the pretext to see these battles ranged
Is much your honour.
Cl. As the world esteems it.
But to decide that, you make me remember
An accident of high and noble note,
And fits the subject of my late discourse
Of holding on our free and proper way.
I overtook, coming from Italy,
In Germany, a great and famous earl
Of England, the most goodly-fashion'd man
I ever saw; from head to foot in form
Rare and most absolute; he had a face
Like one of the most ancient honour'd Romans,
From whence his noblest family was derived;
He was beside of spirit passing great,
Valiant, and learn'd, and liberal as the sun,
Spoke and writ sweetly, or of learned subjects,
Or of the discipline of public weals;
And 'twas the Earl of Oxford; and being offer'd
At that time, by Duke Cassimere, the view
Of his right royal army then in field;
Refused it, and no foot was moved, to stir
Out of his own free fore-determined course:
I, wondering at it, ask'd for it his reason,
It being an offer so much for his honour.
He, all acknowledging, said, 'twas not fit
To take those honours that one cannot quit.
Re. 'Twas answer'd like the man you have described.
Cl. And yet he cast it only in the way,
To stay and serve the world. Nor did it fit
His own true estimate how much it weighed,
For he despised it; and esteem'd it freër
To keep his own way straight; and swore that he
Had rather make away his whole estate
In things that cross'd the vulgar, than he would
Be frozen up, stiff, like a Sir John Smith,
His countryman, in common nobles' fashions;
Affecting, as the end of noblesse were
Those servile observations.
Re. It was strange.
Cl. Oh, 'tis a vexing sight to see a man
Out of his way, stalk proud as he were in;
Out of his way to be officious,
Observant, wary, serious, and grave,
Fearful and passionate, insulting, raging.
Labour with iron flails, to thresh down feathers
Flitting in air.
Re. What one considers this,
Of all that are thus out? or once endeavours,
Erring to enter, on man's right-hand path;
Cl. These are too grave for brave wits; give them toys;
Labour bestow'd on these is harsh and thriftless.
If you would consul be, says one, of Rome,
You must be watching, starting out of sleeps;
Every way whisking; glorifying plebeians.
Kissing patricians' hands, rot at their doors;
Speak and do basely; every day bestow
Gifts and observance upon one or other;
And what's th'event of all? Twelve rods before thee;
Three or four times sit for the whole tribunal;
Exhibit Circean games; make public feasts;
And for these idle outward things (says he)
Would'st thou lay on such cost, toil, spend thy spirits,
And to be void of perturbation
For constancy, sleep when thou would'st have sleep,
Wake when thou would'st wake, fear nought, vex for nought,
No pains wilt thou bestow? no cost, no thought?
Re. What should I say? As good consort with you
As with an angel; I could hear you ever.
Cl. Well; in, my lord, and spend time with my sister,
And keep her from the field with all endeavour;
The soldiers love her so, and she so madly
Would take my apprehension, if it chance,
That blood would flow in rivers.
Re. Heaven forbid;
And all with honour your arrival speed. [Exit.

Enter Messenger with two Soldiers like lackeys.

Me. Here are two lackeys, sir, have message to you.
Cl. What is your message; and from whom, my friend?
1st. From the lieutenant-colonel, and the captains;
Who sent us to inform you that the battles
Stand ready ranged; expecting but your presence,
To be their honour'd signal when to join,
And we are charged to run by, and attend you.
Cl. I come. I pray you see my running horse
Brought to the back-gate to me.
Me. Instantly. [Exit Mess.
Cl. Chance what can chance me, well or ill is equal
In my acceptance, since I joy in neither;
But go with sway of all the world together.
In all successes, fortune and the day
To me alike are; I am fix'd, be she
Never so fickle; and will there repose,
Far past the reach of any die she throws.
[Exit, cum Pediss.

ACT THE FOURTH

SCENE I

Alarum within; Excursions over the Stage.

The Lackeys running, MAILLARD following them.

MA. Villains! not hold him when ye had him down?
1st. Who can hold lightning? 'Sdeath, a man as well
Might catch a cannon-bullet in his mouth,
And spit it in your hands, as take and hold him.
Ma. Pursue, enclose him; stand, or fall on him.
And ye may take him. 'Sdeath! they make him, guards. [Exit.

Alarum still, and enter CHALON.

Chal. Stand, cowards, stand; strike, send your bullets at him.
1st. We came to entertain him, sir, for honour.
2nd. Did ye not say so?
Chal. Slaves, he is a traitor!
Command the horse-troops to over-run the traitor.
[Exit.

Shouts within. Alarum still, and chambers shot off.
Then enter AUMALE.

Au. What spirit breathes thus, in this more than man,
Turns flesh to air possess'd, and in a storm,
Tears men about the field like autumn leaves?
He turn'd wild lightning in the lackeys' hands,
Who, though their sudden violent twich unhorsed him
Yet when he bore himself, their saucy fingers
Flew as too hot off, as he had been fire.
The ambush then made in, through all whose force,
He drave as if a fierce and fire-given cannon
Had spit his iron vomit out amongst them.
The battles then in two half-moons enclosed him,
In which he show'd as if he were the light,
And they but earth, who wondering what he was,
Shrunk their steel horns, and gave him glorious pass;
And as a great shot from a town besieged,
At foes before it, flies forth black and roaring,
But they too far, and that with weight oppress'd
(As if disdaining earth) doth only graze,
Strike earth, and up again into the air;
Again sinks to it, and again doth rise,
And keeps such strength that when it softliest moves
It piecemeal shivers any let it proves;
So flew brave Clermont forth, till breath forsook him;
His spirit's convulsions made him bound again,
Past all their reaches; till all motion spent,
His fix'd eyes cast a blaze of such disdain,
All stood and stared, and untouch'd let him lie,
As something sacred fall'n out of the sky.
[A cry within.
O now some rude hand hath laid hold on him!

Enter MAILLARD, CHALON leading CLERMONT, Captains and Soldiers
following.

See, prisoner led, with his bands honour'd more
Than all the freedom he enjoy'd before.
Ma. At length we have you, sir.
Cl. You have much joy too;
I made you sport yet, but I pray you tell me,
Are not you perjured?
Ma. No; I swore for the King.
Cl. Yet perjury I hope is perjury.
Ma. But thus forswearing is not perjury;
You are no politician; not a fault,
How foul soever, done for private ends,
Is fault in us sworn to the public good;
We never can be of the damned crew,
We may impolitic ourselves (as 'twere)
Into the kingdom's body politic,
Whereof indeed we're members; you miss terms.
Cl. The things are yet the same.
Ma. 'Tis nothing so; the property is alter'd;
You are no lawyer. Or say that oath and oath
Are still the same in number, yet their species
Differ extremely, as for flat example,
When politic widows try men for their turn,
Before they wed them, they are harlots then,
But when they wed them, they are honest women;
So private men, when they forswear, betray,
Are perjured treachers, but being public once,
That is, sworn, married to the public good—
Cl. Are married women public?
Ma. Public good;
For marriage makes them, being the public good,
And could not be without them. So I say
Men public, that is, being sworn or married
To the good public, being one body made
With the realm's body politic, are no more
Private, nor can be perjured, though forsworn,
More than a widow married, for the act
Of generation is for that an harlot,
Because for that she was so, being unmarried;
An argument a paribus.
Chal. 'Tis a shrewd one.
Cl. "Who hath no faith to men, to God hath none;"
Retain you that, sir? Who said so?
Mail. 'Twas I.
Cl. Thy own tongue damn thine infidelity.
But captains all, you know me nobly born,
Use ye t'assault such men as I with lackeys?
Chal. They are no lackeys, sir, but soldiers
Disguised in lackeys' coats.
1st. Sir, we have seen the enemy.
Cl. Avaunt, ye rascals, hence!
Ma. Now leave your coats.
Cl. Let me not see them more.
Au. I grieve that virtue lives so undistinguish'd
From vice in any ill, and though the crown
Of sovereign law, she should be yet her footstool,
Subject to censure, all the shame and pain
Of all her rigour.
Cl. Yet false policy
Would cover all, being like offenders hid,
That (after notice taken where they hide)
The more they crouch and stir, the more are spied.
Au. I wonder how this chanced you.
Cl. Some informer,
Bloodhound to mischief, usher to the hangman,
Thirsty of honour for some huge state act,
Perceiving me great with the worthy Guise;
And he (I know not why) held dangerous,
Made me the desperate organ of his danger,
Only with that poor colour; 'tis the common
And more than whore-like trick of treachery,
And vermin bred to rapine and to ruin;
For which this fault is still to be accused,
Since good acts fail, crafts and deceits are used
If it be other, never pity me.
Au. Sir, we are glad, believe it, and have hope,
The King will so conceit it.
Cl. At his pleasure.
In meantime, what's your will, lord-lieutenant?
Ma. To leave your own horse, and to mount the trumpets.
Cl. It shall be done; this heavily prevents
My purposed recreation in these parts;
Which now I think on, let me beg you, sir,
To lend me some one captain of your troops
To bear the message of my hapless service
And misery, to my most noble mistress,
Countess of Cambray; to whose house this night
I promised my repair, and know most truly,
With all the ceremonies of her favour,
She sure expects me.
Ma. Think you now on that?
Cl. On that, sir? ay, and that so worthily,
That if the King, in spite of your great service,
Would send me instant promise of enlargement,
Condition I would set this message by,
I would not take it, but had rather die.
Au. Your message shall be done, sir; I myself
Will be for you a messenger of ill.
Cl. I thank you, sir, and doubt not yet to live
To quite your kindness.
Au. Mean space, use your spirit
And knowledge for the cheerful patience
Of this so strange and sudden consequence.
Cl. Good sir, believe that no particular torture
Can force me from my glad obedience
To any thing the high and general Cause,
To match with his whole fabric, hath ordain'd:
And know ye all (though far from all your aims,
Yet worth them all, and all men's endless studies)
That in this one thing, all the discipline
Of manners and of manhood is contain'd;
A man to join himself with th'Universe
In his main sway, and make in all things fit)
One with that All, and go on, round as it;
Not plucking from the whole his wretched part,
And into straits, or into nought revert,
Wishing the complete Universe might be
Subject to such a rag of it as he;
But to consider great Necessity,
All things as well refract as voluntary
Reduceth to the prime celestial cause,
Which he that yields to with a man's applause,
And cheek by cheek goes, crossing it no breath,
But, like God's image, follows to the death,
That man is truly wise, and everything,
(Each cause, and every part distinguishing),
In nature, with enough art understands,
And that full glory merits at all hands,
That doth the whole world at all parts adorn,
And appertains to one celestial born. [Exeunt omnes.

Enter BALIGNY, RENEL.

Ba. So foul a scandal never man sustain'd,
Which caused by th'King, is rude and tyrannous:
Give me a place, and my lieutenant make
The filler of it!
Re. I should never look
For better of him; never trust a man
For any justice, that is rapt with pleasure;
To order arms well, that makes smocks his ensigns,
And his whole government's sails: you heard of late,
He had the four and twenty ways of venery
Done all before him.
Ba. 'Twas abhorr'd and beastly.
Re. 'Tis more than nature's mighty hand can do
To make one humane and a lecher too.
Look how a wolf doth like a dog appear,
So like a friend is an adulterer:
Voluptuaries, and these belly-gods,
No more true men are than so many toads.
A good man happy, is a common good;
Vile men advanced live of the common blood.
Ba. Give and then take like children.
Re. Bounties are
As soon repented as they happen rare.
Ba. What should kings do, and men of eminent places
But as they gather, sow gifts to the graces?
And where they have given, rather give again,
(Being given for virtue) than like babes and fools,
Take and repent gifts; why are wealth and power?
Re. Power and wealth move to tyranny, not bounty:
The merchant for his wealth is swoln in mind,
When yet the chief lord of it is the wind.
Ba. That may so chance to our state-merchants too
Something perform'd, that hath not far to go.
Re. That's the main point, my lord; insist on that.
Ba. But doth this fire rage further? hath it taken
The tender tinder of my wife's sere blood?
Is she so passionate?
Re. So wild, so mad,
She cannot live, and this unwreak'd sustain.
The woes are bloody that in women reign.
The Sicile gulf keeps fear in less degree;
There is no tiger not more tame than she.
Ba. There is no looking home then?
Re. Home! Medea
With all her herbs, charms, thunders, lightnings,
Made not her presence and black haunts more dreadful.
Ba. Come to the King; if he reform not all,
Mark the event, none stand where that must fall.
[Exeunt.

Enter Countess, RIOVA, and an Usher.

Us. Madam, a captain come from Clermont D'Ambois
Desires access to you.
Co. And not himself?
Us. No, madam.
Co. That's not well. Attend him in. [Exit Usher.
The last hour of his promise now run out
And he break? some brack's in the frame of nature
That forceth his breach.

Enter Usher and AUMALE.

Au. Save your ladyship.
Co. All welcome! Come you from my worthy servant?
Au. Ay, madam; and confer such news from him.
Co. Such news? What news?
Au. News that I wish some other had the charge of.
Co. Oh! what charge? What news?
Au. Your ladyship must use some patience
Or else I cannot do him that desire
He urged with such affection to your graces.
Co. Do it; for heaven's love do it, if you serve
His kind desires, I will have patience.
Is he in health?
Au. He is?
Co. Why, that's the ground
Of all the good estate we hold in earth;
All our ill built upon that, is no more
Than we may bear, and should; express it all.
Au. Madam, 'tis only this; his liberty.
Co. His liberty! Without that health is nothing.
Why live I, but to ask in doubt of that,
Is that bereft him?
Au. You'll again prevent me.
Co. No more, I swear; I must hear, and together
Come all my misery. I'll hold though I burst.
Au. Then, madam, thus it fares. He was invited,
By way of honour to him, to take view
Of all the powers his brother Baligny
Hath in his government; which ranged in battles,
Maillard, lieutenant to the governor,
Having received strict letters from the King
To train him to the musters, and betray him,
To their surprise, which, with Chalon in chief,
And other captains (all the field put hard
By his incredible valour for his 'scape)
They haplessly and guiltlessly perform'd,
And to Bastile he's now led prisoner.
Co. What change is here! how are my hopes prevented!
O my most faithful servant; thou betray'd!
Will kings make treason lawful? Is society
(To keep which only kings were first ordain'd)
Less broke in breaking faith 'twixt friend and friend;
Than 'twixt the king and subject? Let them fear,
Kings' precedents in licence lack no danger.
Kings are compared to gods, and should be like them,
Full in all right, in nought superfluous;
Nor nothing straining past right, for their right;
Reign justly, and reign safely. Policy
Is but a guard corrupted, and a way
Ventured in deserts, without guide or path.
Kings punish subjects' errors with their own.
Kings are like archers, and their subjects, shafts;
For as when archers let their arrows fly,
They call to them, and bid them fly or fall,
As if 'twere in the free power of the shaft
To fly or fall, when only 'tis the strength,
Straight shooting, compass given it by the archer,
That makes it hit or miss; and doing either,
He's to be praised or blamed, and not the shaft:
So kings to subjects crying, "Do, do not this;"
Must to them by their own examples' strength,
The straightness of their acts, and equal compass,
Give subjects power t'obey them in the like;
Not shoot them forth with faulty aim and strength,
And lay the fault in them for flying amiss.
Au. But for your servant, I dare swear him guiltless.
Co. He would not for his kingdom traitor be;
His laws are not so true to him as he.
Oh knew I how to free him, by way forced
Through all their army, I would fly, and do it;
And had I, of my courage and resolve,
But ten such more, they should not all retain him;
But I will never die before I give
Maillard an hundred slashes with a sword,
Chalon an hundred breaches with a pistol.
They could not all have taken Clermont D'Ambois
Without their treachery; he had bought his bands out
With their slave bloods; but he was credulous;
He would believe, since he would be believed;
Your noblest natures are most credulous,
Who gives no trust, all trust is apt to break;
Hate like hell-mouth who think not what they speak.
Au. Well, madam, I must tender my attendance
Oh him again. Will't please you to return
No service to him by me?
Co. Fetch me straight
My little cabinet. [Exit ANCIL.] 'Tis little, tell him,
And much too little for his matchless love.
But as in him the worths of many men
Are close contracted [Intr. ANCIL], so in this are jewels
Worth many cabinets. Here, with this, good sir,
Commend my kindest service to my servant,
Thank him, with all my comforts; and, in them
With all my life for them: all sent from him
In his remembrance of me, and true love;
And look you tell him, tell him how I lie
[She kneels down at his feet.
Prostrate at feet of his accursed misfortune,
Pouring my tears out, which shall ever fall
Till I have pour'd for him out eyes and all.
Au. O madam, this will kill him: comfort you
With full assurance of his quick acquittal:
Be not so passionate: rise, cease your tears.
Co. Then must my life cease. Tears are all the vent
My life hath to 'scape death. Tears please me better
Than all life's comforts, being the natural seed
Of hearty sorrow. As a tree fruit bears,
So doth an undissembled sorrow, tears.
[He raises her, and leads her out. Exeunt.
Us. This might have been before, and saved much charge. [Exit.

Enter HENRY, GUISE, BALIGNY, ESPERNON, SOISSON, PERICOT with pen, ink,
and
paper.

Gu. Now, sir, I hope your much abused eyes see
In my word for my Clermont, what a villain
He was that whisper'd in your jealous ear
His own black treason in suggesting Clermont's;
Colour'd with nothing but being great with me.
Sign then this writ for his delivery;
Your hand was never urged with worthier boldness:
Come pray, sir, sign it: why should kings be pray'd
To act of justice? 'Tis a reverence
Makes them despised, and shows they stick and tire
In what their free powers should be hot as fire.
He. Well, take your will, sir, I'll have mine ere long. [Aversus.
But wherein is this Clermont such a rare one?
Gu. In his most gentle and unwearied mind,
Rightly to virtue framed; in very nature;
In his most firm inexorable spirit,
To be removed from anything he chooseth
For worthiness; or bear the best persuasion
To what is base, or fitteth not his object;
In his contempt of riches and of greatness;
In estimation of th'idolatrous vulgar;
His scorn of all things servile and ignoble,
Though they could gain him never such advancement;
His liberal kind of speaking what is truth
In spite of temporizing; the great rising
And learning of his soul, so much the more
Against ill fortune, as she set herself
Sharp against him, or would present most hard,
To shun the malice of her deadliest charge;
His detestation of his special friends
When he perceived their tyrannous will to do,
Or their abjection basely to sustain
Any injustice that they could revenge;
The flexibility of his most anger,
Even in the main career and fury of it,
When any object of desertful pity
Offers itself to him; his sweet disposure
As much abhorring to behold, as do
Any unnatural and bloody action;
His just contempt of jesters, parasites,
Servile observers, and polluted tongues:
In short, this Senecal man is found in him,
He may with heaven's immortal powers compare,
To whom the day and fortune equal are;
Come fair or foul, whatever chance can fall,
Fix'd in himself, he still is one to all.
He. Shows he to others thus?
Omnes. To all that know him.
He. And apprehend I this man for a traitor?
Gu. These are your Machiavellian villains,
Your bastard Teucers that, their mischiefs done,
Run to your shield for shelter: Caucuses
That cut their too large murderous thieveries
To their dens' length still: woe be to that state
Where treachery guards, and ruin makes men great.
He. Go, take my letters for him, and release him.
Omnes. Thanks to your highness: ever live your highness! [Exeunt.
Ba. Better a man were buried quick, than live
A property for state and spoil to thrive [Exit.

Enter CLERMONT, MAILLARD, CHALON, with Soldiers.

Ma. We joy you take a chance so ill, so well.
Cl. Who ever saw me differ in acceptance
Of either fortune?
Chal. What, love bad like good?
How should one learn that?
Cl. To love nothing outward,
Or not within our own powers to command;
And so being sure of everything we love,
Who cares to lose the rest? If any man
Would neither live nor die in his free choice,
But as he sees necessity will have it
(Which if he would resist, he strives in vain),
What can come near him, that he doth not well,
And if in worst events his will be done,
How can the best be better? All is one.
Ma. Methinks 'tis pretty.
Cl. Put no difference
If you have this, or not this; but as children
Playing at quoits, ever regard their game,
And care not for their quoits; so let a man
The things themselves that touch him not esteem,
But his free power in all disposing them.
Chal. Pretty from toys!
Cl. Methinks this double distich
Seems prettily too to stay superfluous longings:
"Not to have want, what riches doth exceed?
Not to be subject, what superior thing?
He that to nought aspires, doth nothing need;
Who breaks no law is subject to no king."
Ma. This goes to mine ear well, I promise you.
Chal. Oh, but 'tis passing hard to stay one thus.
Cl. 'Tis so; rank custom wraps men so beyond it;
And as 'tis hard so well men's doors to bar
To keep the cat out, and th'adulterer;
So 'tis as hard to curb affections so,
We let in nought to make them overflow.
And as of Homer's verses many critics
On those stand, of which Time's old moth hath eaten
The first or last feet, and the perfect parts
Of his unmatched poem sink beneath,
With upright gasping and sloth dull as death:
So the unprofitable things of life,
And those we cannot compass, we affect,
All that doth profit and we have, neglect;
Like covetous and basely-getting men,
That gathering much, use never what they keep,
But for the least they lose, extremely weep.
Ma. This pretty talking and our horses walking
Down this steep hill, spends time with equal profit.
Cl. 'Tis well bestow'd on ye, meat and men sick
Agree like this, and you; and yet even this
Is th'end of all skill, power, wealth, all that is.
Chal. I long to hear, sir, how your mistress takes this.

Enter AUMALE with a cabinet.

Ma. We soon shall know it; see Aumale return'd.
Au. Ease to your bands, sir.
Cl. Welcome, worthy friend.
Chal. How took his noblest mistress your sad message?
Au. As great rich men take sudden poverty:
I never witness'd a more noble love,
Nor a more ruthful sorrow: I well wish'd
Some other had been master of my message.
Ma. You're happy, sir, in all things, but this one
Of your unhappy apprehension.
Cl. This is to me, compared with her much moan,
As one tear is to her whole passion.
Au. Sir, she commends her kindest service to you,
And this rich cabinet.
Chal. O happy man!
This may enough hold to redeem your bands.
Cl. These clouds, I doubt not, will be soon blown over.

Enter BALIGNY with his discharge, RENEL, and others.

Au. Your hope is just and happy; see, sir, both,
In both the looks of these.
Ba. Here's a discharge
For this your prisoner, my good lord lieutenant.
Ma. Alas! sir, I usurp'd that style enforced,
And hope you know it was not my aspiring.
Ba. Well, sir, my wrong aspired past all men's hopes.
Ma. I sorrow for it, sir.
Re. You see, sir, there
Your prisoner's discharge authentical.
Ma. It is, sir, and I yield it him with gladness.
Ba. Brother, I brought you down to much good purpose.
Cl. Repeat not that, sir: the amends makes all.
Re. I joy in it, my best and worthiest friend:
O y'have a princely fautor of the Guise.
Ba. I think I did my part too.
Re. Well, sir, all
Is in the issue well: and, worthiest friend,
Here's from your friend the Guise; here from the Countess,
Your brother's mistress, the contents whereof
I know, and must prepare you now to please
Th' unrested spirit of your slaughter'd brother,
If it be true, as you imagined once,
His apparition show'd it; the complot
Is now laid sure betwixt us; therefore haste
Both to your great friend (who hath some use weighty
For your repair to him) and to the Countess,
Whose satisfaction is no less important.
Cl. I see all, and will haste as it importeth;
And, good friend, since I must delay a little
My wish'd attendance on my noblest mistress,
Excuse me to her, with return of this,
And endless protestation of my service;
And now become as glad a messenger
As you were late a woful.
Au. Happy change!
I ever will salute thee with my service. [Exit.
Ba. Yet more news, brother; the late jesting Monsieur
Makes now your brother's dying prophecy equal
At all parts, being dead as he presaged.
Re. Heaven shield the Guise from seconding that truth,
With what he likewise prophesied on him.
Cl. It hath enough, 'twas graced with truth in one,
To th'other falsehood and confusion.
Lead to the Court, sir.
Ba. You I'll lead no more,
It was too ominous and foul before. [Exeunt.

ACT THE FIFTH

SCENE I


Ascendit UMBRA BUSSY.

UM. Up from the chaos of eternal night,
(To which the whole digestion of the world
Is now returning) once more I ascend,
And bide the cold damp of this piercing air,
To urge the justice whose almighty word
Measures the bloody acts of impious men
With equal penance, who in th'act itself
Includes th'infliction, which like chained shot
Batter together still; though (as the thunder
Seems by men's duller hearing than their sight,
To break a great time after lightning forth,
Yet both at one time tear the labouring cloud),
So men think penance of their ills is slow,
Though th'ill and penance still together go.
Reform, ye ignorant men, your manless lives,
Whose laws ye think are nothing but your lusts
When leaving but for supposition' sake
The body of felicity, religion,
Set in the 'midst of Christendom, and her head
Cleft to her bosom; one half one way swaying,
Another th'other; all the Christian world
And all her laws, whose observation
Stands upon faith, above the power of reason;
Leaving, I say, all these, this might suffice
To fray ye from your vicious swindge in ill,
And set you more on fire to do more good;
That since the world (as which of you denies?)
Stands by proportion, all may thence conclude,
That all the joints and nerves sustaining nature,
As well may break, and yet the world abide,
As any one good unrewarded die,
Or any one ill 'scape his penalty.
[The Ghost stands close.

Enter GUISE, CLERMONT.

Gu. Thus, friend, thou seest how all good men would thrive,
Did not the good thou prompt'st me with prevent
The jealous ill pursuing them in others.
But now thy dangers are dispatch'd, note mine;
Hast thou not heard of that admired voice
That at the barricadoes spake to me,
No person seen, "let's lead, my lord, to Rheims"?
Cl. Nor could you learn the person?
Gu. By no means.
Cl. 'Twas but your fancy then, a waking dream;
For as in sleep, which binds both th'outward senses,
And the sense common too; th'imagining power
(Stirr'd up by forms hid in the memory's store,
Or by the vapours of o'erflowing humours
In bodies full and foul, and mix'd with spirits)
Feigns many strange, miraculous images,
In which act it so painfully applies
Itself to those forms, that the common sense
It actuates with his motion; and thereby
Those fictions true seem, and have real act;
So, in the strength of our conceits awake
The cause alike, doth of like fictions make.
Gu. Be what it will, 'twas a presage of something
Weighty and secret, which th'advertisements
I have received from all parts, both without
And in this kingdom, as from Rome and Spain,
Soccaine and Savoy, gives me cause to think;
All writing that our plot's catastrophe,
For propagation of the Catholic cause,
Will bloody prove, dissolving all our counsels.
Cl. Retire, then, from them all.
Gu. I must not do so.
The Archbishop of Lyons tells me plain
I shall be said then to abandon France
In so important an occasion;
And that mine enemies (their profit making
Of my faint absence) soon would let that fall,
That all my pains did to this height exhale.
Cl. Let all fall that would rise unlawfully:
Make not your forward spirit in virtue's right
A property for vice, by thrusting on
Further than all your powers can fetch you off.
It is enough, your will is infinite
To all things virtuous and religious,
Which, within limits kept, may, without danger,
Let virtue some good from your graces gather;
Avarice of all is ever nothing's father.
Um. Danger, the spur of all great minds, is ever
The curb to your tame spirits; you respect not,
With all your holiness of life and learning,
More than the present, like illiterate vulgars.
Your mind, you say, kept in your flesh's bounds,
Shows that man's will must ruled be by his power,
When, by true doctrine, you are taught to live
Rather without the body, than within,
And rather to your God still than yourself;
To live to Him, is to do all things fitting
His image, in which, like Himself, we live;
To be His image, is to do those things
That make us deathless, which by death is only;
Doing those deeds that fit eternity;
And those deeds are the perfecting that justice
That makes the world last, which proportion is
Of punishment and wreak for every wrong,
As well as for right a reward as strong.
Away, then; use the means thou hast to right
The wrong I suffer'd. What corrupted law
Leaves unperform'd in kings, do thou supply,
And be above them all in dignity. [Exit.
Gu. Why stand'st thou still thus, and apply'st thine ears
And eyes to nothing?
Cl. Saw you nothing here?
Gu. Thou dream'st awake now; what was here to see?
Cl. My brother's spirit, urging his revenge.
Gu. Thy brother's spirit! Pray thee, mock me not.
Cl. No, by my love and service.
Gu. Would he rise,
And not be thundering threats against the Guise?
Cl. You make amends for enmity to him
With ten parts more love, and desert of me;
And as you make your hate to him no let
Of any love to me, no more bears he
(Since you to me supply it) hate to you;
Which reason and which justice is perform'd
In spirits ten parts more than fleshy men;
To whose fore-sights our acts and thoughts lie open;
And therefore, since he saw the treachery
Late practised by my brother Baligny,
He would not honour his hand with the justice
(As he esteems it) of his blood's revenge,
To which my sister needs would have him sworn,
Before she would consent to marry him.
Gu. Oh, Baligny, who would believe there were
A man, that (only since his looks are raised
Upwards, and have but sacred heaven in sight)
Could bear a mind so more than devilish?
As for the painted glory of the countenance,
Flitting in kings, doth good for nought esteem,
And the more ill he does, the better seem.
Cl. We easily may believe it, since we see
In this world's practice few men better be.
Justice to live doth nought but justice need,
But policy must still on mischief feed.
Untruth for all his ends, truth's name doth sue in;
None safely live but those that study ruin.
A good man happy is a common good;
Ill men advanced live of the common blood.
Gu. But this thy brother's spirit startles me:
These spirits seld' or never haunting men,
But some mishap ensues.
Cl. Ensue what can;
Tyrants may kill, but never hurt a man;
All to his good makes, spite of death and hell.

Enter AUMALE.

Au. All the desert of good, renown your highness!
Gu. Welcome, Aumale.
Cl. My good friend, friendly welcome.
How took my noblest mistress the changed news?
Au. It came too late, sir, for those loveliest eyes
(Through which a soul look'd so divinely loving,
Tears nothing uttering her distress enough)
She wept quite out, and like two falling stars
Their dearest sights quite vanish'd with her tears.
Cl. All good forbid it!
Gu. What events are these?
Cl. All must be borne, my lord: and yet this chance
Would willing enforce a man to cast off
All power to bear with comfort, since he sees
In this, our comforts made our miseries.
Gu. How strangely thou art loved of both the sexes;
Yet thou lovest neither but the good of both.
Cl. In love of women my affection first
Takes fire out of the frail parts of my blood:
Which till I have enjoy'd, is passionate,
Like other lovers': but, fruition past,
I then love out of judgment; the desert
Of her I love still sticking in my heart,
Though the desire and delight be gone,
Which must chance still, since the comparison
Made upon trial 'twixt what reason loves,
And what affection, makes in me the best
Ever preferr'd; what most love, valuing lest.
Gu. Thy love being judgment then, and of the mind,
Marry thy worthiest mistress now being blind.
Cl. If there were love in marriage, so I would:
But I deny that any man doth love,
Affecting wives, maids, widows, any women:
For neither flies love milk, although they drown
In greedy search thereof; nor doth the bee
Love honey, though the labour of her life
Is spent in gathering it; nor those that fat
On beasts, or fowls, do anything therein
For any love: for as when only nature
Moves men to meat, as far as her power rules,
She doth it with a temperate appetite,
The too much men devour, abhorring nature;
And in our most health, is our most disease;
So, when humanity rules men and women,
'Tis for society confined in reason.
But what excites the bed's desire in blood,
By no means justly can be construed love;
For when love kindles any knowing spirit,
It ends in virtue and effects divine,
And is in friendship chaste and masculine.
Gu. Thou shalt my mistress be; methinks my blood
Is taken up to all love with thy virtues.
And howsoever other men despise
These paradoxes strange, and too precise;
Since they hold on the right way of our reason,
I could attend them ever. Come, away;
Perform thy brother's thus importuned wreak;
And I will see what great affairs the King
Hath to employ my counsel, which he seems
Much to desire, and more and more esteems.[Exeunt.

Enter HENRY, BALIGNY, with six of the Guard.

He. Saw you his saucy forcing of my hand
To D'Ambois' freedom?
Ba. Saw, and through mine eyes
Let fire into my heart, that burn'd to bear
An insolence so giantly austere.
He. The more kings bear at subjects' hands, the more
Their lingering justice gathers; that resembles
The weighty and the goodly-bodied eagle,
Who, being on earth, before her shady wings
Can raise her into air, a mighty way
Close by the ground she runs; but being aloft
All she commands, she flies at; and the more
Death in her seres bears, the more time she stays
Her thundery stoop from that on which she preys.
Ba. You must be then more secret in the weight
Of these your shady counsels; who will else
Bear where such sparks fly as the Guise and D'Ambois
Powder about them. Counsels, as your entrails,
Should be unpierced and sound kept; for not those,
Whom you discover, you neglect: but ope
A ruinous passage to your own best hope.
He. We have spies set on us, as we on others;
And therefore they that serve us must excuse us,
If what we most hold in our hearts, take wind;
Deceit hath eyes that see into the mind.
But this plot shall be quicker than their twinkling,
On whose lids Fate, with her dead weight shall lie,
And Confidence that lightens ere she die.
Friends of my guard, as ye gave oath to be
True to your sovereign, keep it manfully;
Your eyes have witness'd oft th'ambition
That never made access to me in Guise
But treason ever sparkled in his eyes;
Which if you free us of, our safety shall
You not our subjects, but our patrons call.
Omnes. Our duties bind us; he is now but dead.
He. We trust in it, and thank ye. Baligny,
Go lodge their ambush, and thou God that art
Fautor of princes, thunder from the skies,
Beneath his hill of pride this giant Guise. [Exeunt.

Enter TAMYRA with a letter, CHARLOTTE in man's attire.

Ta. I see y'are servant, sir, to my dear sister,
The lady of her loved Baligny.
Ch. Madam, I am bound to her virtuous bounties,
For that life which I offer in her virtuous service,
To the revenge of her renowned brother.
Ta. She writes to me as much, and much desires,
That you may be the man, whose spirit she knows
Will cut short off these long and dull delays,
Hitherto bribing the eternal Justice;
Which I believe, since her unmatched spirit
Can judge of spirits, that have her sulphur in them;
But I must tell you, that I make no doubt,
Her living brother will revenge her dead,
On whom the dead imposed the task, and he,
I know, will come t'effect it instantly.
Ch. They are but words in him; believe them not.
Ta. See; this is the vault, where he must enter;
Where now I think he is.

Enter RENEL at the vault, with the Countess, being blind.

Re. God save you, lady.
What gentleman is this, with whom you trust
The deadly weighty secret of this hour?
Ta. One that yourself will say, I well may trust.
Re. Then come up, madam.
[He helps the Countess up.
See here, honour'd lady,
A Countess, that in love's mishap doth equal
At all parts your wrong'd self; and is the mistress
Of your slain servant's brother; in whose love
For his late treacherous apprehension,
She wept her fair eyes from her ivory brows,
And would have wept her soul out, had not I
Promised to bring her to this mortal quarry,
That by her lost eyes for her servant's love,
She might conjure him from this stern attempt,
In which (by a most ominous dream she had)
She knows his death fix'd, and that never more
Out of this place the sun shall see him live.
Ch. I am provided then to take his place
And undertaking on me.
Re. You, sir! why?
Ch. Since I am charged so by my mistress,
His mournful sister.
Ta. See her letter, sir. [He reads.
Good madam, I rue your fate, more than mine,
And know not how to order these affairs,
They stand on such occurrents.
Re. This, indeed,
I know to be your lady mistress' hand,
And know besides, his brother will and must
Endure no hand in this revenge but his.

Enter UMBRA BUSSY.

Um. Away, dispute no more; get up and see,
Clermont must author this just tragedy.
Countess. Who's that?
Re. The spirit of Bussy.
Ta. O my servant: let us embrace.
Um. Forbear! The air in which
My figure's likeness is impressed, will blast;
Let my revenge for all loves satisfy,
In which, dame, fear not, Clermont shall not die:
No word dispute more, up, and see th'event.
[Exeunt Ladies.
Make the guard sure, Renel, and then the doors
Command to make fast when the Earl is in.
[Exit RENEL.
The black soft-footed hour is now on wing,
Which, for my just wreak, ghosts shall celebrate
With dances dire and of infernal state. [Exit.

Enter GUISE.

Gu. Who says that death is natural, when nature
Is with the only thought of it dismay'd?
I have had lotteries set up for my death,
And I have drawn beneath my trencher one,
Knit in my handkerchief another lot,
The word being, "Y'are a dead man if you enter";
And these words, this imperfect blood and flesh,
Shrink at in spite of me, their solidest part
Melting like snow within me, with cold fire:
I hate myself, that seeking to rule kings,
I cannot curb my slave. Would any spirit,
Free, manly, princely, wish to live to be
Commanded by this mass of slavery,
Since reason, judgment, resolution,
And scorn of what we fear, will yield to fear?
While this same sink of sensuality swells,
Who would live sinking in it, and not spring
Up to the stars, and leave this carrion here
For wolves, and vultures, and for dogs to tear?
O, Clermont D'Ambois, wert thou here to chide
This softness from my flesh, far as my reason,
Far as my resolution, not to stir
One foot out of the way, for death and hell.
Let my false man by falsehood perish here,
There's no way else to set my true man clear.

Enter Messenger.

Me. The King desires your grace to come to council.
Gu. I come. It cannot be: he will not dare
To touch me with a treachery so profane.
Would Clermont now were here, to try how he
Would lay about him, if this plot should be:
Here would be tossing souls into the sky.
Who ever knew blood saved by treachery?
Well, I must on, and will; what should I fear?
Not against two Alcides: against two,
And Hercules to friend, the Guise will go.

He takes up the arras, and the Guard enters upon him: he draws.

Gu. Hold, murderers! So then, this is confidence
[They strike him down.
In greatness, not in goodness: where is the King?

The King comes in sight with ESPERNON, SOISSONS, and others.

Let him appear to justify his deed,
In spite of my betray'd wounds; ere my soul
Take her flight through them, and my tongue hath strength
To urge his tyranny.
He. See, sir, I am come
To justify it before men, and God,
Who knows with what wounds in my heart for woe
Of your so wounded faith, I made these wounds,
Forced to it by an insolence of force
To stir a stone, nor as a rock opposed
To all the billows of the churlish sea,
More beat, and eaten with them, than was I
With your ambitious mad idolatry;
And this blood I shed, is to save the blood
Of many thousands.
Gu. That's your white pretext,
But you will find one drop of blood shed lawless
Will be the fountain to a purple sea:
The present lust and shift made for kings' lives
Against the pure form and just power of law,
Will thrive like shifters' purchases; there hangs
A black star in the skies, to which the sun
Gives yet no light, will rain a poison'd shower
Into your entrails, that will make you feel
How little safety lies in treacherous steel.
He. Well, sir, I'll bear it; ye have a brother too,
Bursts with like threats, the scarlet Cardinal:
Seek, and lay hands on him; and take this hence,
Their bloods, for all you, on my conscience. [Exit.
Gu. So, sir, your full swindge take; mine, death hath curb'd.
Clermont, farewell: Oh, didst thou see but this!
But it is better, see by this the ice
Broke to thine own blood, which thou wilt despise,
When thou hear'st mine shed. Is there no friend here
Will bear my love to him?
Au. I will, my lord.
Gu. Thanks with my last breath: recommend me then
To the most worthy of the race of men.
[Dies. Exeunt.

Enter MONTSURRY and TAMYRA.

Mont. Who have you let into my house?
Ta. I, none.
Mont. 'Tis false; I savour the rank blood of foes
In every corner.
Ta. That you may do well,
It is the blood you lately shed, you smell.
Mont. 'Sdeath, the vault opes. [The gulf opens.
Ta. What vault? Hold your sword.
[CLERMONT ascends.
Cl. No, let him use it.
Mont. Treason, murder, murder!
Cl. Exclaim not; 'tis in vain, and base in you,
Being one to only one.
Mont. O bloody strumpet!
Cl. With what blood charge you her? it may be mine
As well as yours; there shall not any else
Enter or touch you; I confer no guards,
Nor imitate the murderous course you took;
But, single here, will have my former challenge
Now answer'd single; not a minute more
My brother's blood shall stay for his revenge,
If I can act it; if not, mine shall add
A double conquest to you, that alone
Put it to fortune now, and use no odds;
Storm not, nor beat yourself thus 'gainst the doors
Like to a savage vermin in a trap;
All doors are sure made, and you cannot 'scape
But by your valour.
Mont. No, no; come and kill me.
Cl. If you will die so like a beast, you shall;
But when the spirit of a man may save you,
Do not so shame man, and a noble man.
Mont. I do not show this baseness that I fear thee,
But to prevent and shame thy victory,
Which of one base is base, and so I'll die.
Cl. Here, then.
Mont. Stay, hold; one thought hath harden'd me;
[He starts up.
And since I must afford thee victory,
It shall be great and brave, if one request
Thou wilt admit me.
Cl. What's that?
Mont. Give me leave
To fetch and use the sword thy brother gave me
When he was bravely giving up his life.
Cl. No, I'll not fight against my brother's sword;
Not that I fear it, but since 'tis a trick
For you to show your back.
Mont. By all truth, no:
Take but my honourable oath, I will not.
Cl. Your honourable oath? Plain truth no place has
Where oaths are honourable.
Ta. Trust not his oath.
He will lie like a lapwing, when she flies
Far from her sought nest, still "here 'tis," she cries.
Mont. Out on thee, dam of devils; I will quite
Disgrace thy brave's conquest, die, not fight.
[Lies down.
Ta. Out on my fortune, to wed such an abject.
Now is the people's voice the voice of God;
He that to wound a woman vaunts so much
(As he did me), a man dares never touch.
Cl. Revenge your wounds now, madam; I resign him
Up to your full will, since he will not fight.
First you shall torture him (as he did you,
And Justice wills), and then pay I my vow.
Here, take this poniard.
Mont. Sink earth, open heaven,
And let fall vengeance.
Ta. Come, sir, good sir, hold him.
Mont. O shame of women, whither art thou fled?
Cl. Why, good my lord, is it a greater shame
For her than you? Come, I will be the bands
You used to her, profaning her fair hands.
Mont. No, sir; I'll fight now, and the terror be
Of all you champions to such as she.
I did but thus far dally: now observe,
O all you aching foreheads, that have robb'd
Your hands of weapons, and your hearts of valour,
Join in me all your rages and rebutters,
And into dust ram this same race of furies,
In this one relic of the Ambois gall,
In his one purple soul shed, 'drown it all. [Fight.
Mont. Now give me breath a while.
Cl. Receive it freely.
Mont. What think y'a this now?
Cl. It is very noble;
Had it been free, at least, and of yourself,
And thus we see (where valour most doth vaunt)
What 'tis to make a coward valiant.
Mont. Now I shall grace your conquest.
Cl. That you shall.
Mont. If you obtain it.
Cl. True, sir, 'tis in fortune.
Mont. If you were not a D'Ambois, I would scarce
Change lives with you, I feel so great a change
In my tall spirits; breathed, I think, with the breath
A D'Ambois breathes here, and necessity
(With whose point now prick'd on, and so, whose help
My hands may challenge, that doth all men conquer,
If she except not you, of all men only)
May change the case here.
Cl. True, as you are changed,
Her power in me urged, makes y'another man
Than yet you ever were.
Mont. Well, I must on.
Cl. Your lordship must, by all means.
Mont. Then at all.
[Fights, and D'AMBOIS hurts him.

RENEL, Countess, and CHARLOTTE above.

Ch. Death of my father! what a shame is this,
Stick in his hands thus?
Re. Gentle sir, forbear.
Co. Is he not slain yet? [She gets down.
Re. No, madam, but hurt in divers parts of him.
Mont. Y'have given it me,
And yet I feel life for another veney.

Enter CHARLOTTE.

Cl. What would you, sir?
Ch. I would perform this combat.
Cl. Against which of us?
Ch. I care not much if 'twere
Against thyself: thy sister would have shamed
To have thy brother's wreak with any man,
In single combat, stick so in her fingers.
Cl. My sister? know you her?
Ta. Ay, sir, she sent him
With this kind letter, to perform the wreak
Of my dear servant.
Cl. Now, alas! good sir,
Think you you could do more?
Ch. Alas! I do,
And were't not, I, fresh, sound, should charge a man
Weary and wounded, I would long ere this
Have proved what I presume on.
Cl. Y'have a mind
Like to my sister, but have patience now,
If next charge speed not, I'll resign to you.
Mont. Pray thee let him decide it.
Cl. No, my lord,
I am the man in fate, and since so bravely
Your lordship stands me, 'scape but one more charge,
And on my life, I'll set your life at large.
Mont. Said like a D'Ambois, and if now I die,
Sit joy and all good on thy victory.
[Fights and falls down.
Farewell, I heartily forgive thee, wife,
And thee, let penitence spend thy rest of life.
[He gives his hand to CLERMONT and his Wife.
Cl. Noble and Christian!
Ta. Oh, it breaks my heart!
Cl. And should; for all faults found in him before,
These words, this end, makes full amends and more.
Rest, worthy soul, and with it the dear spirit
Of my loved brother, rest in endless peace;
Soft lie thy bones, Heaven be your soul's abode,
And to your ashes be the earth no load.

Music, and the Ghost of BUSSY enters, leading the Ghost of the GUISE,
Monsieur, Cardinal GUISE, and CHATILLON; they dance about the dead body,
and Exeunt.

Cl. How strange is this! the Guise amongst these spirits,
And his great brother Cardinal, both yet living,
And that the rest with them, with joy thus celebrate
This our revenge! This certinly presages
Some instant death both to the Guise and Cardinal.
That the Chatillon's ghost too should thus join
In celebration of this just revenge,
With Guise, that bore a chief stroke in his death,
It seems that now he doth approve the act,
And these true shadows of the Guise and Cardinal,
Fore-running thus their bodies may approve
That all things to be done, as here we live,
Are done before all times in th'other life.
That spirits should rise in these times yet are fables;
Though learned'st men hold that our sensive spirits
A little time abide about the graves
Of their deceased bodies; and can take
In cold condensed air the same forms they had,
When they were shut up in this body's shade.

Enter AUMALE.

Au. Oh, sir, the Guise is slain!
Cl. Avert it, heaven!
Au. Sent for to council, by the King, an ambush
(Lodged for the purpose) rush'd on him, and took
His princely life; who sent, in dying then,
His love to you, as to the best of men.
Cl. The worst, and most accursed of things creeping
On earth's sad bosom. Let me pray ye all
A little to forbear, and let me use
Freely mine own mind in lamenting him.
I'll call ye straight again.
Au. We will forbear, and leave you free, sir.
[Exeunt.
Cl. Shall I live, and he
Dead, that alone gave means of life to me?
There's no disputing with the acts of kings,
Revenge is impious on their sacred persons:
And could I play the worldling (no man loving
Longer than gain is reapt, or grace from him)
I should survive, and shall be wonder'd at
Though in mine own hands being, I end with him:
But friendship is the cement of two minds,
As of one man the soul and body is,
Of which one cannot sever, but the other
Suffers a needful separation.
[Descend REN. and Coun
Re. I fear your servant, madam; let's descend.
Cl. Since I could skill of man, I never lived
To please men worldly, and shall I in death,
Respect their pleasures, making such a jar
Betwixt my death and life, when death should make
The consort sweetest; th'end being proof and crown
To all the skill and worth we truly own?
Guise, O my lord, how shall I cast from me
The bands and coverts hindering me from thee?
The garment or the cover of the mind,
The humane soul is; of the soul, the spirit
The proper robe is; of the spirit, the blood;
And of the blood, the body is the shroud.
With that must I begin then to unclothe,
And come at th'other. Now then as a ship,
Touching at strange and far-removed shores;
Her men ashore go, for their several ends,
Fresh water, victuals, precious stones, and pearl,
All yet intentive (when the master calls,
The ship to put off ready) to leave all
Their greediest labours, lest they there be left
To thieves, or beasts, or be the country's slaves:
So, now my master calls, my ship, my venture,
All in one bottom put, all quite put off,
Gone under sail, and I left negligent,
To all the horrors of the vicious time,
The far-removed shores to all virtuous aims,
None favouring goodness; none but he respecting
Piety or manhood; shall I here survive,
Not cast me after him into the sea,
Rather than here live, ready every hour
To feed thieves, beasts, and be the slave of power?
I come, my lord, Clermont thy creature comes.
[He kills himself.

Enter AUMALE, TAMYRA, CHARLOTTE.

Au. What! lie and languish, Clermont? Cursed man,
To leave him here thus: he hath slain himself.
Ta. Misery on misery! O me, wretched dame
Of all the breathe, all heaven turn all his eyes,
In hearty envy thus on one poor dame.
Ch. Well done, my brother; I did love thee ever,
But now adore thee: loss of such a friend
None should survive, of such a brother;
With my false husband live, and both these slain?
Ere I return to him, I'll turn to earth.

Enter RENEL, leading the Countess.

Re. Horror of human eyes! O Clermont D'Ambois!
Madam, we stay'd too long; your servant's slain.
Co. It must be so; he lived but in the Guise,
As I in him. O follow, life, mine eyes.
Ta. Hide, hide thy snaky head; to cloisters fly,
In penance pine, too easy 'tis to die.
Ch. It is. In cloisters then let's all survive:
Madam, since wrath nor grief can help these fortunes,
Let us forsake the world in which they reign,
And for their wish'd amends to God complain.
Co. 'Tis fit and only needful: lead me on,
In heaven's course comfort seek, in earth is none.
[Exeunt.

Enter HENRY, ESPERNON, SOISSONS, and others.

He. We came indeed too late, which much I rue,
And would have kept this Clermont as my crown:
Take in the dead, and make this fatal room,
The house shut up, the famous D'Ambois tomb.
[Exeunt.





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