Part 29

Mons. As how, as how?

Buss. Perhaps led with a traine Where you may have your nose made lesse and slit, Your eyes thrust out.

Mons. Peace, peace, I pray thee, peace! Who dares doe that? the brother of his King! 80

Buss. Were your King brother in you; all your powers (Stretcht in the armes of great men and their bawds) Set close downe by you; all your stormy lawes Spouted with lawyers mouthes, and gushing bloud, Like to so many torrents; all your glories 85 Making you terrible, like enchanted flames, Fed with bare cockscombs and with crooked hammes, All your prerogatives, your shames, and tortures, All daring heaven and opening hell about you-- Were I the man ye wrong'd so and provok'd, 90 (Though ne're so much beneath you) like a box tree I would out of the roughnesse of my root Ramme hardnesse in my lownesse, and, like death Mounted on earthquakes, I would trot through all Honors and horrors, thorow foule and faire, 95 And from your whole strength tosse you into the aire.

Mons. Goe, th'art a devill! such another spirit Could not be still'd from all th'Armenian dragons. O, my loves glory! heire to all I have (That's all I can say, and that all I sweare) 100 If thou out-live me, as I know thou must, Or else hath Nature no proportion'd end To her great labours; she hath breath'd a minde Into thy entrails, of desert to swell Into another great Augustus Caesar; 105 Organs and faculties fitted to her greatnesse; And should that perish like a common spirit, Nature's a courtier and regards no merit.

Henr. Here's nought but whispering with us; like a calme Before a tempest, when the silent ayre 110 Layes her soft eare close to the earth to hearken For that she feares steales on to ravish her; Some fate doth joyne our eares to heare it comming. Come, my brave eagle, let's to covert flie! I see almighty AEther in the smoak 115 Of all his clowds descending, and the skie Hid in the dim ostents of tragedy. Exit Henr with D'Amb & Ladies.

Guis. Now stirre the humour, and begin the brawle.

Mont. The King and D'Ambois now are growne all one.

Mons. Nay, they are two, my lord.

Mont. How's that?

Mons. No more. 120

Mont. I must have more, my lord.

Mons. What, more than two?

Mont. How monstrous is this!

Mons. Why?

Mont. You make me horns.

Mons. Not I, it is a work without my power, Married mens ensignes are not made with fingers; Of divine fabrique they are, not mens hands: 125 Your wife, you know, is a meere Cynthia, And she must fashion hornes out of her nature.

Mont. But doth she? dare you charge her? speak, false prince.

Mons. I must not speak, my lord; but if you'l use The learning of a noble man, and read, 130 Here's something to those points. Soft, you must pawne Your honour, having read it, to return it.

Enter Tamira, Pero.

Mont. Not I:--I pawne mine honour for a paper!

Mons. You must not buy it under. Exeunt Guise and Monsieur.

Mont. Keepe it then, And keepe fire in your bosome!

Tam. What sayes he? 135

Mont. You must make good the rest.

Tam. How fares my lord? Takes my love any thing to heart he sayes?

Mont. Come, y'are a--

Tam. What, my lord?