Abb. To-morrow, sir,
If hours between slide not too idly by,
You may be master of their destiny,
Who now dispose so loftily of yours. 
Not far without the suburbs there are quartered
Three thousand Swiss, and two French regiments.

King. Would they were here, and I were at their head!

Qu.  M. Send Mareschal Byron to lead them up.

King. It shall be so:  by heaven there’s life in this! 
The wrack of clouds is driving on the winds,
And shews a break of sunshine—­
Go Grillon, give my orders to Byron,
And see your soldiers well disposed within,
For safeguard of the Louvre.

Qu.  M. One thing more: 
The Guise (his business yet not fully ripe,)
Will treat, at least, for shew of loyalty;
Let him be met with the same arts he brings.

King. I know, he’ll make exorbitant demands,
But here your part of me will come in play;
The Italian soul shall teach me how to sooth: 
Even Jove must flatter with an empty hand,
’Tis time to thunder, when he gripes the brand. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.—­A Night Scene.

  Enter MALICORN solus.

Mal. Thus far the cause of God; but God’s or devil’s,—­ I mean my master’s cause, and mine,—­succeed, What shall the Guise do next? [A flash of lightning.

  Enter the spirit MELANAX.

Mel. First seize the king, and after murder him.

Mal. Officious fiend, thou comest uncalled to-night.

Mel. Always uncalled, and still at hand for mischief.

Mal. But why in this fanatic habit, devil?  Thou look’st like one that preaches to the crowd; Gospel is in thy face, and outward garb, And treason on thy tongue.

Mel. Thou hast me right: 
Ten thousand devils more are in this habit;
Saintship and zeal are still our best disguise: 
We mix unknown with the hot thoughtless crowd,
And quoting scriptures, (which too well we know,)
With impious glosses ban the holy text,
And make it speak rebellion, schism, and murder;
So turn the arms of heaven against itself.

Mal. What makes the curate of St. Eustace here?

Mel. Thou art mistaken, master; ’tis not he,
But ’tis a zealous, godly, canting devil,
Who has assumed the churchman’s lucky shape,
To talk the crowd to madness and rebellion.

Mal. O true enthusiastic devil, true,—­
(For lying is thy nature, even to me,)
Did’st thou not tell me, if my lord, the Guise,
Entered the court, his head should then lie low? 
That was a lie; he went, and is returned.

Mel. ’Tis false; I said, perhaps it should lie low;
And, but I chilled the blood in Henry’s veins,
And crammed a thousand ghastly, frightful thoughts,
Nay, thrust them foremost in his labouring brain,
Even so it would have been.