Part 10

Buss. That hand dares not doe't; y'ave cut too many throats already, Guise, and robb'd the realme of many thousand soules, more precious than thine owne. Come, madam, talk on. Sfoot, can you not talk? Talk on, I say. Another 145 riddle.

Pyrhot. Here's some strange distemper.

Bar. Here's a sudden transmigration with D'Ambois, out of the Knights ward into the Duches bed. 150

L'An. See what a metamorphosis a brave suit can work.

Pyr. Slight! step to the Guise, and discover him.

Bar. By no meanes; let the new suit work; 155 wee'll see the issue.

Gui. Leave your courting.

Buss. I will not. I say, mistresse, and I will stand unto it, that if a woman may have three servants, a man may have threescore mistresses. 160

Gui. Sirrha, Ile have you whipt out of the Court for this insolence.

Buss. Whipt! Such another syllable out a th'presence, if thou dar'st, for thy Dukedome.

Gui. Remember, poultron! 165

Mons. Pray thee forbeare!

Buss. Passion of death! Were not the King here, he should strow the chamber like a rush.

Mons. But leave courting his wife then.

Buss. I wil not: Ile court her in despight of 170 him. Not court her! Come madam, talk on; feare me nothing. [To Guise.] Well mai'st thou drive thy master from the Court, but never D'Ambois.

Mons. His great heart will not down, tis like the sea, 175 That partly by his owne internall heat, Partly the starrs daily and nightly motion, Their heat and light, and partly of the place The divers frames, but chiefly by the moone, Bristled with surges, never will be wonne, 180 (No, not when th'hearts of all those powers are burst) To make retreat into his setled home, Till he be crown'd with his owne quiet fome.

Henr. You have the mate. Another?

Gui. No more. Flourish short.

Exit Guise; after him the King, Mons whispering.

Bar. Why here's the lion skar'd with the 185 throat of a dunghill cock, a fellow that has newly shak'd off his shackles; now does he crow for that victory.

L'An. Tis one of the best jiggs that ever was acted. 190

Pyr. Whom does the Guise suppose him to be, troe?

L'An. Out of doubt, some new denizond Lord, and thinks that suit newly drawne out a th' mercers books. 195

Bar. I have heard of a fellow, that by a fixt imagination looking upon a bulbaiting, had a visible paire of hornes grew out of his forhead: and I beleeve this gallant overjoyed with the conceit of Monsieurs cast suit, imagines himselfe 200 to be the Monsieur.

L'An. And why not? as well as the asse stalking in the lions case, bare himselfe like a lion, braying all the huger beasts out of the forrest? 205

Pyr. Peace! he looks this way.

Bar. Marrie, let him look, sir; what will you say now if the Guise be gone to fetch a blanquet for him?

L'An. Faith, I beleeve it, for his honour sake. 210