Gril. Nay, if thou hast a wife that wears the breeches, thou shalt be condemned to live:  Get thee home for a hen-pecked traitor.—­What, are we encompassed?  Nay, then, faces this way; we’ll sell our skins to the fairest chapmen.

  Enter AUMALE and Soldiers, on the one side, Citizens on the
  other. GRILLON, and his Party, are disarmed.

1 Cit. Bear away that bloody-minded colonel, and hang him up at the next sign-post:  Nay, when I am in power, I can make examples too.

Omn. Tear him piece-meal; tear him piece-meal. [Pull and haul him.

Gril. Rogues, villains, rebels, traitors, cuckolds!  ’Swounds, what do you make of a man? do you think legs and arms are strung upon a wire, like a jointed baby? carry me off quickly, you were best, and hang me decently, according to my first sentence.

2 Cit. Look you, colonel; you are too bulky to be carried off all at once; a leg or an arm is one man’s burden:  give me a little finger for a sample of him, whereby I’ll carry it for a token to my sovereign lady.

Gril. ’Tis too little, in all conscience, for her; take a bigger token, cuckold. Et tu, Brute, whom I saved?  O the conscience of a shopkeeper!

2 Cit. Look you, colonel, for your saving of me, I thank you heartily, whereby that debt’s paid; but for speaking treason against my anointed wife, that’s a new reckoning between us.

  Enter GUISE, with a General’s Staff in his Hand; MAYENNE,
  Cardinal, Archbishop, MALICORN, and Attendants.

Omn. Vive Guise!

Gui. [Bowing, and bareheaded.]
I thank you, countrymen:  the hand of heaven
In all our safeties has appeared this day. 
Stand on your guard, and double every watch,
But stain your triumph with no Christian blood;
French we are all, and brothers of a land.

Card. What mean you, brother, by this godly talk,
Of sparing Christian blood? why, these are dogs;
Now, by the sword that cut off Malchus’ ear,
Mere dogs, that neither can be saved nor damned.

Arch. Where have you learnt to spare inveterate foes?

Gui. You know the book.

Arch. And can expound it too: 
But Christian faith was in the nonage then,
And Roman heathens lorded o’er the world. 
What madness were it for the weak and few,
To fight against the many and the strong? 
Grillon must die, so must the tyrant’s guards,
Lest, gathering head again, they make more work.

Mal. My lord, the people must be fleshed in blood, To teach them the true relish; dip them with you, Or they’ll perhaps repent.

Gui. You are fools; to kill them, were to shew I feared them;
The court, disarmed, disheartened and besieged,
Are all as much within my power, as if
I griped them in my fist.