claim,—­
  That claim disprov’d, of right belong to me.—­
  The path is clear, do thou fetch me those parchments.
    [Exit Gonzales. 
  Not dearer to my heart will be the day
  When first the crown of France deck’d my son’s forehead,
  Than that when I can compass thy perdition,—­
  When I can strip the halo of thy fame
  From off thy brow, seize on the wide domains,
  That make thy hatred house akin to empire,
  And give thy name to deathless infamy. [Exit.

The King holds a Council to appoint a successor to the Constable in Italy.  This scene is of stirring interest.  The Queen goads the high-minded Bourbon nigh unto madness, and at length breaks out into open insult.  Lautrec the brother of Francoise, and despised by Bourbon, is named the governor.  In the ceremony Francis addresses Lautrec:—­

FRANCIS.

  With our own royal hand we’ll buckle on
  The sword, that in thy grasp must be the bulwark
  And lode-star of our host.  Approach.

QUEEN.

  Not so. 
  Your pardon, sir; but it hath ever been
  The pride and privilege of woman’s hand
  To arm the valour that she loves so well: 
  We would not, for your crown’s best jewel, bate
  One jot of our accustom’d state to-day: 
  Count Lautrec, we will arm thee, at our feet: 
  Take thou the brand which wins thy country’s wars,—­
  Thy monarch’s trust, and thy fair lady’s favour. 
  Why, how now!—­how is this!—­my lord of Bourbon! 
  If we mistake not, ’tis the sword of office
  Which graces still your baldrick;—­with your leave,
  We’ll borrow it of you.

BOURBON (starting up.)

  Ay, madam, ’tis the sword
  You buckled on with your own hand, the day
  You sent me forth to conquer in your cause;
  And there it is;—­(breaks the sword)—­take it—­and with it all
  Th’ allegiance that I owe to France; ay take it;
  And with it, take the hope I breathe o’er it: 
  That so, before Colonna’s host, your arms
  Lie crush’d and sullied with dishonour’s stain;
  So, reft in sunder by contending factions,
  Be your Italian provinces; so torn
  By discord and dissension this vast empire;
  So broken and disjoin’d your subjects’ loves;
  So fallen your son’s ambition, and your pride.

QUEEN (rising.)

  What ho—­a guard within there—­Charles of Bourbon,
  I do arrest thee, traitor to the crown.

Enter Guard.

  Away with yonder wide-mouth’d thunderer;
  We’ll try if gyves and straight confinement cannot
  Check this high eloquence, and cool the brain
  Which harbours such unmannerd hopes.
    [Bourbon is forced out. 
  Dream ye, my lords, that thus with open ears,
  And gaping mouths and eyes, ye sit and drink
  This curbless torrent of rebellious madness. 
  And you, sir, are you slumbering on your