Bu. What, writ in blood? Mont.

100

Ay, 't is the ink of lovers. Bu. O, 't is a sacred witness of her love. So much elixir of her blood as this Dropt in the lightest dame, would make her firm As heat to fire; and, like to all the signs,1 Commands the life confin'd in all my veins. O, how it multiplies my blood with spirit, And makes me apt t'encounter death and hell. But come, kind father, you fetch me to heaven, And to that end your holy weed was given.

[SCENE IV.]2

105

Exeunt.

Ta. Away, my love, away; thou wilt be murder'd!

Enter Monsieur and GUISE above.

Bu. Murder'd; I know not what that Hebrew means:

That word had ne'er been nam'd had all been D'Ambois.

25

Murder'd? By heaven he is my murderer That shows me not a murderer; what such bug 5 Abhorreth not the very sleep of D'Ambois? Murder'd? Who dares give all the room I see To D'Ambois' reach? or look with any odds so His fight i' th' face, upon whose hand sits death;

Whose sword hath wings, and every feather pierceth?

If I scape Monsieur's 'pothecary shops,

Foutre for Guise's shambles! 'Twas ill

Enter MONTSURRY, with all the Murderers. Mont. Cowards, a fiend or spirit beat ye off! They are your own faint spirits that have forg'd The fearful shadows that your eyes deluded. 69 The fiend was in you; cast him out then, thus. D'AMBOIS hath MONT. down. Ta. Favour my lord, my love, O, favour him! Bu. I will not touch him: take your life, my lord, And be appeas'd.

Pistols shot within. O, then the coward Fates Have maim'd themselves, and ever lost their honour.

Um. What have ye done, slaves? Irreligious lord!

75

Bu. Forbear them, father; 't is enough for

me

That Guise and Monsieur, death and destiny, Come behind D'Ambois. Is my body, then, But penetrable flesh? And must my mind Follow my blood? Can my divine part add No aid to th' earthly in extremity?

81

85

90

Then these divines are but for form, not fact.
Man is of two sweet courtly friends compact,
A mistress and a servant; let my death
Define life nothing but a courtier's breath.
Nothing is made of nought, of all things made,
Their abstract being a dream but of a shade.
I'll not complain to earth yet, but to heaven,
And, like a man, look upwards even in death.
And if Vespasian thought in majesty
An emperor might die standing, why not I?
She offers to help him.
Nay, without help, in which I will exceed him ;
For he died splinted with his chamber grooms.
Prop me, true sword, as thou hast ever done:
The equal thought I bear of life and death
Shall make me faint on no side; I am up.
Here like a Roman statue I will stand
Till death hath made me marble. Oh, my fame,
Live in despite of murder; take thy wings
And haste thee where the grey-ey'd morn per-
fumes

95

100

By his own brightness, and th' inherent valour My fight hath 'still'd into 't, with charms of spirit.

120

Now let me pray you that my weighty blood
Laid in one scale of your impartial spleen,
May sway the forfeit of my worthy love
Weigh'd in the other; and be reconcil'd
With all forgiveness to your matchless wife.
Ta. Forgive thou me, dear servant, and this
hand
That led thy life to this unworthy end;
Forgive it, for the blood with which 't is stain'd,
In which I writ the summons of thy death;
The forced summons, by this bleeding wound,
By this here in my bosom; and by this
That makes me hold up both my hands im-

bru'd For thy dear pardon.

125

130

Bu. O, my heart is broken. Fate, nor these murderers, Monsieur, nor the

Guise,

Have any glory in my death, but this,

This killing spectacle, this prodigy.

My sun is turn'd to blood, in whose red beams
Pindus and Ossa, hid in drifts of snow
Laid on my heart and liver, from their veins
Melt like two hungry torrents, eating rocks
Into the ocean of all human life,
And make it bitter, only with my blood.
O frail condition of strength, valour, virtue,
In me (like warning fire upon the top
Of some steep beacon on a steeper hill)
Made to express it: like a falling star
Silently glanc'd, that like a thunderbolt
Lookt to have struck and shook the firmament.
Moritur.

145

Um. [My terrors are struck inward, and no

more

150

My penance will allow they shall enforce
Earthly afflictions but upon myself.] 5
Farewell, brave relics of a complete man!
Look up and see thy spirit made a star,
Join flames with Hercules, and when thou
sett'st

Thy radiant forehead in the firmament,
Make the vast crystal crack with thy receipt;
Spread to a world of fire; and th' aged sky
Cheer with new sparks of old humanity.

[To MONT.] Son of the earth, whom my unrested soul,

Rnes t' have begotten in the faith of heaven;
[Since thy revengeful spirit hath rejected
The charity it commands, and the remission
To serve and worship the blind rage of blood]*
Assay to gratulate and pacify

The soul fled from this worthy by performing
The Christian reconcilement he besought

2 T

ck these teachers of divinity deal with figments,

Q. 1641 omits these lines.

• Gratify.

2

1. e. a written (as.)

And mourning his fall more than her own fault. Um. Remove, dear daughter, and content thy husband;

So piety wills thee, and thy servant's peace.
Ta. O wretched piety, that art so distract
In thine own constancy, and in thy right
Must be unrighteous. If I right my friend, 175
I wrong my husband; if his wrong I shun,
The duty of my friend I leave undone.

Ill plays on both sides; here and there it riseth;
No place, no good, so good but ill compriseth.
[My soul more scruple breeds, than my blood,

sin.

Virtue imposeth more than any stepdame ;] 2
O had I never married but for form,
Never vow'd faith but purpos'd to deceive,
Never made conscience of any sin,

180

186

But cloak'd it privately and made it common;
Nor never honour'd been in blood or mind,
Happy had I been then, as others are
Of the like licence; I had then been honour'd;
Liv'd without envy; custom had benumb'd
All sense of scruple, and all note of frailty; 190
My fame had been untouch'd, my heart un-
broken:

But (shunning all) I strike on all offence,
O husband! Dear friend! O my conscience!
Mo. Come, let's away; my senses are not
proof
Against those plaints.

194

Exeunt GUISE, Monsieur: D'AM-
BOIS is borne aff.

Mont. I must not yield to pity, nor to love
So servile and so traitorous. Cease, my blood,
To wrastle with my honour, fame, and judg-

Mont. I do forgive thee, and upon my knees, With hands held up to heaven, wish that mine honour

217

Would suffer reconcilement to my love;
But since it will not, honour never serve
My love with flourishing object till it sterve: 8
And as this taper, though it upwards look,
Downwards must needs consume, so let our love;
As having lost his honey, the sweet taste
Runs into savour, and will needs retain
A spice of his first parents, till, like life,
It sees and dies; so let our love; and lastly,
As when the flame is suffer'd to look up,
It keeps his lustre, but, being thus turn'd

down,

220

(His natural course of useful light inverted), 225
His own stuff puts it out; so let our love.
Now turn from me, as here I turn from thee,
And may both points of heaven's straight axle-
tree

Conjoin in one, before thyself and me.
Exeunt severally.

EPILOGUE

WITH many hands you have seen D'Ambois

slain,

Yet hy your grace he may revive again,
And every day grow stronger in his skill
To please, as we presume he is in will.
The best deserving actors of the time
Had their ascents, and by degrees did climb
To their full height, a place to study due.
To make him tread in their path lies in you;
He'll not forget his makers, but still prove
His thankfulness as you increase your love.

• Perish.

10

re Jo Jon's.

And reason taught me bett

The vain from th' useful le to distinguish

[Enter MASTER

arings. STEPHEN.] Cousin Stephen, 25

What news with you that you are here

early?

Step. Nothing, by do, uncle.

Know. That's?

coz.

80

t e'en come to see how you

kindly done; you are welcome,

Step. Ay, I come else. know that, sir; I would not ha Know. Oow does my cousin Edward, uncle? he be scan, well, coz; go in and see; I doubt Step. ce stirring yet.

an hely Uncle, afore I go in, can you tell me, ing an ave e'er a book of the sciences of hawkKnol hunting; I would fain borrow it. now, po.. Why, I hope you will not a hawking Swill you?

30

Pep. No, wusse; 2 but I'll practise against next year, uncle. I have bought me a hawk, and hood, and bells, and all; I lack nothing but a Deck to keep it by.

Know. Oh, most ridiculous!

Step. Nay, look you now, you are angry, [45 uncle. Why, you know an a nan have not skill in the hawking and hunting languages nowa-days, I'll not give a rush for lim: they are more studied than the Greek, or the Latin. [49 He is for no gallant's company without 'em ; and by gadslid I scorn it, I, so I do, to be a consort for every humdrum: hang 'em, scroyles! 4 there's nothing in 'em i' the world. What do you talk on it? Because I dwell at ogsden.5 [54 I shall keep company with none but the archers of Finsbury, or the citizens chat come a ducking to Islington ponds! A fine jest, i' faith! 'Slid, a gentleman mun show himself like a gentleman. Uncle, I pray you be not angry;, know what I have to do tow, I am no [60 novice.

Know. You are a prodigal
go to!

I

absurd coxcomb,

hat speak;

Na, never look at me, 't is
Ta't as you will, sir, I'll no flatter yon.
Ha' you not yet found means enow to waste

1 Foolish.

3 By God's eyelid

of Christ's body.

65

2 I-vis, certainly. -one of the frequent oaths by parts

Scabs, scurvy fellows.

Learn to be wise, and practise how to thrive;
That would I have you do: and not to spend 75
Your coin on every bauble that you fancy,
Or every foolish brain that humours you.
I would not have you to invade each place,
Nor thrust yourself on all societies,
Till men's affections, or your own desert,
Should worthily invite you to your rank.
He that is so respectless in his courses,
Oft sells his reputation at cheap market.
Nor would I you should melt away yourself
In flashing bravery, lest, while you affect 8
To make a blaze of gentry to the world,
A little puff of scorn extinguish it;
And you be left like an unsavoury snuff,
Whose property is only to offend.

85

90

I'd ha' you sober, and contain yourself,
Not that your sail be bigger than your boat;
But moderate your expenses now, at first,
As you may keep the same proportion still:
Nor stand so much on your gentility,
Which is an airy and mere borrow'd thing,
From dead men's dust and bones; and none of

yours,

95

Except you make, or hold it. Who comes here?

SCENE II.9

KNOWELL, STEPHEN. [Enter a] Servant. Serv. Save you, gentlemen!

Step. Nay, we do not stand much on our gentility, friend; yet you are welcome: and I assure you mine uncle here is a man of a thousand a year, Middlesex land. He has but one son in [5 all the world, I am his next heir, at the common law, master Stephen, as simple as I stand here, if my cousin die, as there's hope he will. I have a pretty living o' mine own too, beside, hard by here.

Serv. In good time, sir.

10

Step. In good time, sir! Why, and in very good time, sir! You do not flout, friend, do you? Serv. Not I, sir.

Step. Not you, sir! you were not best, sir; 15 an you should, here be them can perceive it, and that quickly too; go to: and they can give it again soundly too, an need be.

Serv. Why, sit, let this satisfy you; good faith, I had no such intent.