Qu.  M. Doubt not your friends; Love them, and then you need not fear your foes.

  Enter GRILLON.

King. Welcome, my honest man, my old tried friend.  Why dost thou fly me, Grillon, and retire?

Gril. Rather let me demand your majesty,
Why fly you from yourself?  I’ve heard you say,
You’d arm against the League; why do you not? 
The thoughts of such as you, are starts divine;
And when you mould with second cast the spirit,
The air, the life, the golden vapour’s gone.

King. Soft, my old friend; Guise plots upon my life;
Polin shall tell thee more.  Hast thou not heard
The insufferable affronts he daily offers,—­
War without treasure on the Huguenots;
While I am forced against my bent of soul,
Against all laws, all custom, right, succession,
To cast Navarre from the Imperial line?

Gril. Why do you, sir?  Death, let me tell the traitor—­

King. Peace, Guise is going to his government;
You are his foe of old; go to him, Grillon;
Visit him as from me, to be employed
In this great war against the Huguenots;
And, pr’ythee, tell him roundly of his faults,
No farther, honest Grillon.

Gril. Shall I fight him?

King. I charge thee, not.

Gril. If he provokes me, strike him; You’ll grant me that?

King. Not so, my honest soldier; Yet speak to him.

Gril. I will, by heaven, to the purpose; And, if he force a beating, who can help it? [Exit.

King. Follow, Alphonso; when the storm is up, Call me to part them.

Qu.  M. Grillon, to ask him pardon, Will let Guise know we are not in the dark.

King. You hit the judgment; yet, O yet, there’s more; Something upon my heart, after these counsels, So soft, and so unworthy to be named!—­

Qu.  M. They say, that Grillon’s niece is come to court, And means to kiss your hand. [Exit.

King. Could I but hope it! 
O my dear father, pardon me in this,
And then enjoin me all that man can suffer;
But sure the powers above will take our tears
For such a fault—­love is so like themselves. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.—­The Louvre.

  Enter GUISE, attended with his Family; MARMOUTIERE meeting him
  new drest, attended, &c.

Gui. Furies! she keeps her word, and I am lost;
Yet let not my ambition shew it to her;
For, after all, she does it but to try me,
And foil my vowed design.—­Madam, I see
You’re come to court; the robes you wear become you;
Your air, your mien, your charms, your every grace,
Will kill at least your thousand in a day.

Mar. What, a whole day, and kill but one poor thousand! 
An hour you mean, and in that hour ten thousand. 
Yes, I would make with every glance a murder.—­
Mend me this curl.