Act 5 — SCENE III.—Enter Duke of Guise; Cardinal, and Aumale.

Card. A dreadful message from a dying man, A prophesy indeed! For souls, just quitting earth, peep into heaven, Make swift acquaintance with their kindred forms, 111 And partners of immortal secrets grow.

Aum. 'Tis good to lean on the securer side: When life depends, the mighty stake is such, Fools fear too little, and they dare too much.

Enter Arch-Bishop.

Gui. You have prevailed, I will not go to council. I have provoked my sovereign past a pardon, It but remains to doubt if he dare kill me: Then if he dares but to be just, I die. 'Tis too much odds against me; I'll depart, And finish greatness at some safer time.

Arch. By heaven, 'tis Harry's plot to fright you hence, That, coward-like, you might forsake your friends.

Gui. The devil foretold it dying Malicorn.

Arch. Yes, some court-devil, no doubt: If you depart, consider, good my lord, You are the master-spring that moves our fabric, Which once removed, our motion is no more. Without your presence, which buoys up our hearts, The League will sink beneath a royal name; The inevitable yoke prepared for kings Will soon be shaken off; things done, repealed; And things undone, past future means to do.

Card. I know not; I begin to taste his reasons.

Arch. Nay, were the danger certain of your stay, An act so mean would lose you all your friends, And leave you single to the tyrant's rage: Then better 'tis to hazard life alone, Than life, and friends, and reputation too.

Gui. Since more I am confirmed, I'll stand the shock. Where'er he dares to call, I dare to go. My friends are many, faithful, and united; He will not venture on so rash a deed: And now, I wonder I should fear that force, Which I have used to conquer and contemn.

112 Enter Marmoutiere.

Arch. Your tempter comes, perhaps, to turn the scale, And warn you not to go.

Gui. O fear her not, I will be there.[Exeunt Arch-Bishop and Cardinal. What can she mean?—repent? Or is it cast betwixt the king and her To sound me? come what will, it warms my heart With secret joy, which these my ominous statesmen Left dead within me;—ha! she turns away.

Mar. Do you not wonder at this visit, sir?

Gui. No, madam, I at last have gained the point Of mightiest minds, to wonder now at nothing.

Mar. Believe me, Guise, 'twere gallantly resolved, If you could carry it on the inside too. Why came that sigh uncalled? For love of me, Partly, perhaps; but more for thirst of glory, Which now again dilates itself in smiles, As if you scorned that I should know your purpose.

Gui. I change, 'tis true, because I love you still; Love you, O heaven, even in my own despite; I tell you all, even at that very moment, I know you straight betray me to the king.

Mar. O Guise, I never did; but, sir, I come To tell you, I must never see you more.

Gui. The king's at Blois, and you have reason for it; Therefore, what am I to expect from pity,— From yours, I mean,—when you behold me slain?

Mar. First answer me, and then I'll speak my heart. Have you, O Guise, since your last solemn oath, Stood firm to what you swore? Be plain, my lord, Or run it o'er a while, because again I tell you, I must never see you more.

Gui. Never!—She's set on by the king to sift me. 113 Why, by that never then, all I have sworn Is true, as that the king designs to end me.

Mar. Keep your obedience,—by the saints, you live.

Gui. Then mark; 'tis judged by heads grown white in council, This very day he means to cut me off.

Mar. By heaven, then you're forsworn; you've broke your vows.

Gui. By you, the justice of the earth, I have not.

Mar. By you, dissembler of the world, you have. I know the king.

Gui. I do believe you, madam.

Mar. I have tried you both.

Gui. Not me, the king you mean.

Mar. Do these o'erboiling answers suit the Guise? But go to council, sir, there shew your truth; If you are innocent, you're safe; but O, If I should chance to see you stretched along, Your love, O Guise, and your ambition gone, That venerable aspect pale with death, I must conclude you merited your end.

Gui. You must, you will, and smile upon my murder.

Mar. Therefore, if you are conscious of a breach, Confess it to me. Lead me to the king; He has promised me to conquer his revenge, And place you next him; therefore, if you're right, Make me not fear it by asseverations, But speak your heart, and O resolve me truly!

Gui. Madam, I've thought, and trust you with my soul. You saw but now my parting with my brother, The prelate too of Lyons; it was debated Warmly against me, that I should go on.

Mar. Did I not tell you, sir?

Gui. True; but in spite 114 Of those imperial arguments they urged, I was not to be worked from second thought: There we broke off; and mark me, if I live, You are the saint that makes a convert of me.

Mar. Go then:—O heaven! Why must I still suspect you? Why heaves my heart, and overflow my eyes? Yet if you live, O Guise,—there, there's the cause,— I never shall converse, nor see you more.

Gui. O say not so, for once again I'll see you. Were you this very night to lodge with angels, Yet say not never; for I hope by virtue To merit heaven, and wed you late in glory.

Mar. This night, my lord, I'm a recluse for ever.

Gui. Ha! stay till morning: tapers are too dim; Stay till the sun rises to salute you; Stay till I lead you to that dismal den Of virgins buried quick, and stay for ever.

Mar. Alas! your suit is vain, for I have vowed it: Nor was there any other way to clear The imputed stains of my suspected honour.

Gui. Hear me a word!—one sigh, one tear, at parting, And one last look; for, O my earthly saint, I see your face pale as the cherubins' At Adam's fall.

Mar. O heaven! I now confess, My heart bleeds for thee, Guise.

Gui. Why, madam, why?

Mar. Because by this disorder, And that sad fate that bodes upon your brow, I do believe you love me more than glory.

Gui. Without an oath I do; therefore have mercy, And think not death could make me tremble thus; Be pitiful to those infirmities Which thus unman me; stay till the council's over; If you are pleased to grant an hour or two 115 To my last prayer, I'll thank you as my saint: If you refuse me, madam, I'll not murmur.

Mar. Alas, my Guise!—O heaven, what did I say? But take it, take it; if it be too kind, Honour may pardon it, since 'tis my last.

Gui. O let me crawl, vile as I am, and kiss Your sacred robe.—Is't possible! your hand! [She gives him her hand. O that it were my last expiring moment, For I shall never taste the like again.

Mar. Farewell, my proselyte! your better genius Watch your ambition.

Gui. I have none but you: Must I ne'er see you more?

Mar. I have sworn you must not: Which thought thus roots me here, melts my resolves,[Weeps. And makes me loiter when the angels call me.

Gui. O ye celestial dews! O paradise! O heaven! O joys, ne'er to be tasted more!

Mar. Nay, take a little more: cold Marmoutiere, The temperate, devoted Marmoutiere Is gone,—a last embrace I must bequeath you.

Gui. And O let me return it with another!

Mar. Farewell for ever; ah, Guise, though now we part, In the bright orbs, prepared us by our fates, Our souls shall meet,—farewell!—and Io's sing above, Where no ambition, nor state-crime, the happier spirits prove, But all are blest, and all enjoy an everlasting love. [Exit Marmoutiere.

Guise solus.

Gui. Glory, where art thou? fame, revenge, ambition, Where are you fled? there's ice upon my nerves; My salt, my metal, and my spirits gone, 116 Palled as a slave, that's bed-rid with an ague, I wish my flesh were off.[Blood falls from his nose. What now! thou bleed'st:— Three, and no more!—what then? and why, what then? But just three drops! and why not just three drops, As well as four or five, or five and twenty?

Enter a Page.

Page. My lord, your brother and the arch-bishop wait you.

Gui. I come;—down, devil!—ha! must I stumble too? Away, ye dreams! what if it thundered now, Or if a raven crossed me in my way? Or now it comes, because last night I dreamt The council-hall was hung with crimson round, And all the ceiling plaistered o'er with black. No more!—Blue fires, and ye dull rolling lakes, Fathomless caves, ye dungeons of old night, Phantoms, be gone! if I must die, I'll fall True politician, and defy you all.[Exit.