Unskilful statuaries, who suppose

(In forming a Colossus) if they make him
Straddle enough, strut, and look big, and gape,
Their work is goodly: so men merely great

(In their affected gravity of voice,

Sourness of countenance, manners, cruelty,
Authority, wealth, and all the spawn of fortune)
Think they bear all the kingdom's worth before them;
Yet differ not from those Colossic statues,
Which, with heroic forms without o'erspread,
Within are nought but mortar, flint, and lead.
Man is a torch borne in the wind; a dream
But of a shadow, summ'd with all his substance;
And as great seamen, using all their wealth
And skills in Neptune's deep invisible paths,
In tall ships richly built and ribb'd with brass,
To put a girdle round about the world,

When they have done it (coming near their haven)
Are fain to give a warning piece, and call
A poor stayed fisherman, that never past
His country's sight, to waft and guide them in:
So when we wander furthest through the waves
Of glassy glory and the gulfs of state,

Topp'd with all titles, spreading all our reaches,
As if each private arm would sphere the earth,
We must to virtue for her guide resort,

Or we shall shipwreck in our safest port."

Monsieur, the king's brother and the heir to the throne, who has observed D'Ambois enter the wood, follows and finds him laid on the grass. Monsieur himself sufficiently explains his purpose in so doing, after which a very animated dialogue

ensues.

"Mons. There is no second place in numerous state

That holds more than a cypher: in a king

All places are contain'd. His words and looks
Are like the flashes and the bolts of Jove;

His deeds inimitable, like the sea

That shuts still as it opes, and leaves no tracks,
Nor prints of precedent for mean men's facts:
There's but a thread betwixt me and a crown;
I would not wish it cut, unless by nature;
Yet to prepare me for that possible fortune,
"Tis good to get resolved spirits about me.
I follow'd D'Ambois to this green retreat;

A man of spirit, beyond the reach of fear,
Who (discontent with his neglected worth)
Neglects the light, and loves obscure abodes;
But he is young and haughty, apt to take

Fire at advancement, to bear state, and flourish ;

In his rise therefore shall my bounties shine:

None loathes the world so much, nor loves to scoff it,

But gold and grace will make him surfeit of it.

What, D'Ambois?

D'Amb. He, sir.

Mons. Turn'd to earth, alive? Up, man, the sun shines on thee.

D'Amb. Let it shine.

I am no mote to play in't, as great men are.

Mons. Callest thou men great in state, motes in the sun? They say so that would have thee freeze in shades.

Do thou but bring

Light to the banquet Fortune sets before thee,
And thou wilt loathe lean darkness like thy death.
Who would believe thy metal could let sloth
Rust and consume it? If Themistocles
Had liv'd obscur'd thus in th' Athenian state,
Xerxes had made both him and it his slaves.
If brave Camillus had lurk'd so in Rome,
He had not five times been Dictator there,
Nor four times triumph'd. If Epaminondas
(Who liv'd twice twenty years obscur'd in Thebes)
Had liv'd so still, he had been still unnam'd,
And paid his country nor himself their right;
But putting forth his strength, he rescu'd both
From imminent ruin; and, like burnish'd steel,
After long use, he shin'd; for as the light
Not only serves to show, but render us
Mutually profitable; so our lives

In acts exemplary, not only win

Ourselves good names, but do to others give
Matter for virtuous deeds, by which we live.
D'Amb. What would you wish me?
Mons. Leave the troubled streams,

And live where thrivers do, at the well-head.

D'Amb. At the well-head? Alas! what should I do

With that enchanted glass? see devils there?

Or (like a strumpet) learn to set my looks
In an eternal brake; or practise juggling,
To keep my face still fast, my heart still loose;

Or bear (like dames' school-mistresses their riddles)
Two tongues, and be good only for a shift;
Flatter great lords, to put them still in mind

Why they were made lords: or please humorous ladies
With a good carriage, tell them idle tales,
To make their physic work; spend a man's life
In sights and visitations, that will make
His eyes as hollow as his mistress' heart;
To do none good, but those that have no need;
To gain being forward, though you break for haste
All the commandments ere you break your fast;
But believe backwards, make your period
And creed's last article, I believe in God:
And, hearing villanies preach'd, t' unfold their art
Learn to commit them; 'tis a great man's part.
Shall I learn this there?

Mons. No, thou need'st not learn,

Thou hast the theory, now go there and practise.

D'Amb. Ay, in a threadbare suit; when men come there,

They must have high naps, and go from thence bare:

A man may drown the parts of ten rich men

In one poor suit; brave barks and outward gloss

Attract court loves, be in-parts ne'er so gross.

Mons. Thou shalt have gloss enough, and all things fit,
T'enchase in all shew thy long smother'd spirit :

Be rul'd by me then. The old Scythians

Painted blind Fortune's powerful hands with wings,

To show her gifts came swift and suddenly,
Which if her favourite be not swift to take,
He loses them for ever. Then be wise;

Stay but awhile here, and I'll send to thee."

D'Ambois is soon afterwards introduced at court by Monsieur, and loaded with favours. Previous to his presentation to the king, the monarch is represented in conversation with his courtiers of both sexes, in the course of which we have an interesting eulogy on the court of Queen Elizabeth, and some observations on the prevalent imitation of French manners. The king observes to the Duchess of Guise:

"Duchess of Guise, your grace is much enrich'd In the attendance of that English virgin,

That will initiate her prime of youth,

Dispos'd to court conditions, under the hand
Of your preferr'd instructions and command,
Rather than any in the English court,

Whose ladies are not match'd in Christendom,
For graceful and confirm'd behaviours,

More than the court where they are bred is equall'd.

Guise. I like not their court fashion, it is too crest-fall'n

In all observance; making demi-gods

Of their great nobles; and of their old queen

An ever-young, and most immortal goddess.

Mont. No question she's the rarest queen in Europe.
Guise. But what's that to her immortality?

K. Hen. Assure you, cousin Guise, so great a courtier,

So full of majesty and royal parts,

No queen in Christendom may vaunt herself;

Her court approves it; that's a court indeed;

Not mix'd with clowneries us'd in common houses;

But (as courts should be) th' abstracts of their kingdoms,

In all the beauty, state, and worth, they hold;

So is hers, amply, and by her inform'd.

The world is not contracted in a man
With more proportion and expression,

Than in her court, her kingdom: our French court
Is a mere mirror of confusion to it:

The king and subject, lord and every slave,

Dance a continual hay; our rooms of state,

Kept like our stables; no place more observ'd

Than a rude market-place; and though our custom

Keep this assur'd confusion from our eyes,

"Tis ne'er the less essentially unsightly;

Which they would soon see, would they change their form

To this of ours, and then compare them both;
Which we must not affect, because in kingdoms,

Where the king's change doth breed the subject's terror,

Pure innovation is more gross than error.

Mont. No question we shall see them imitate

(Though afar off) the fashions of our courts,
As they have ever ap'd us in attire;
Never were men so weary of their skins,
And apt to leap out of themselves as they;
Who when they travel to bring forth rare men,
Come home delivered of a fine French suit:
Their brains lie with their tailors, and get babies
For their most complete issue; he's sole heir
To all the moral virtues, that first greets

The light with a new fashion; which becomes them,
Like apes disfigur'd with the attires of men.

K. Hen. No question they much wrong their real worth,
In affectation of outlandish scum;

But they have faults, and we more: they foolish proud,
To jet in other's plumes so haughtily;

We proud, that they are proud of foolery,

Holding our worths more complete for their vaunts."

Bussy has not been long at court, where he conducts himself with the most consummate effrontery, before he involves himself in a quarrel with three courtiers, L'Anou, Barrisor, and Pyrhot. He himself is backed by two others, Brisac and Melynell, and a fierce duel ensues, in which all except Bussy are slain. The author puts a very animated, though somewhat exaggerated description of the fight into the mouth of a messenger. The following is an extract:

"So Barrisor (advis'd)

Advanc'd his naked rapier 'twixt both sides,
Ripp'd up the quarrel, and compar'd six lives,
Then laid in balance with six idle words;
Offer'd remission and contrition too;

Or else, that he and D'Ambois might conclude
The others' dangers. D'Ambois lik'd the last :
But Barrisor's friends (being equally engag'd
In the main quarrel) never would expose
His life alone, to that they all deserv'd.
And for the other offer of remission,
D'Ambois (that like a laurel put in fire,

Sparkled and spit) did much, much more than scorn
That his wrong should incense him so like chaff,
To go so soon out; and, like lighted paper,
Approve his spirit at once both fire and ashes.
So drew they lots, and in them fates appointed,
That Barrisor should fight with fiery D'Ambois ;
Pyrhot with Melynell; with Brisac, L'Anou:
And then, like flame and powder, they commixt,
So sprightly, that I wish'd they had been spirits,
That the ne'er-shutting wounds they needs must open,
Might, as they open'd, shut and never kill.
But D'Ambois' sword that lighten'd as it flew,
Shot, like a pointed comet, at the face

Of manly Barrisor; and there it stuck:

Thrice pluck'd he at it, and thrice drew on thrusts
From him, that of himself was free as fire;