Gril. True, Abbot; but the mischief is, you churchmen
Can see that something further than the crowd;
These musket bullets have not read much logic,
Nor are they given to make your nice distinctions: 
                                           [One enters, and gives the
                                            Queen a Note, she reads—­
One of them possibly may hit the king
In some one part of him that’s not divine;
And so that mortal part of his majesty would draw
the divinity of it into another world, sweet Abbot.

Qu.  M. ’Tis equal madness to go out or stay;
The reverence due to kings is all transferred
To haughty Guise; and when new gods are made,
The old must quit the temple; you must fly.

King. Death! had I wings, yet would I scorn to fly.

Gril. Wings, or no wings, is not the question:  If you won’t fly for’t, you must ride for’t, And that comes much to one.

King. Forsake my regal town!

Qu.  M. Forsake a bedlam; This note informs me fifteen thousand men Are marching to inclose the Louvre round.

Abb. The business then admits no more dispute,
You, madam, must be pleased to find the Guise;
Seem easy, fearful, yielding, what you will;
But still prolong the treaty all you can,
To gain the king more time for his escape.

Qu.  M. I’ll undertake it.—­Nay, no thanks, my son. 
My blessing shall be given in your deliverance;
That once performed, their web is all unravelled,
And Guise is to begin his work again. [Exit Q.M.

King. I go this minute.

  Enter MARMOUTIERE.

Nay, then another minute must be given.—­
O how I blush, that thou shouldst see thy king
Do this low act, that lessens all his fame: 
Death, must a rebel force me from my love! 
If it must be—­

Mar. It must not, cannot be.

Gril. No, nor shall not, wench, as long as my soul wears a body.

King. Secure in that, I’ll trust thee;—­shall I trust thee? 
For conquerors have charms, and women frailty:—­
Farewell thou mayst behold me king again;
My soul’s not yet deposed:—­why then farewell!—­
I’ll say’t as comfortably as I can: 
But O cursed Guise, for pressing on my time,
And cutting off ten thousand more adieus!

Mar. The moments that retard your flight are traitors.  Make haste, my royal master, to be safe, And save me with you, for I’ll share your fate.

King. Wilt thou go too? 
Then I am reconciled to heaven again: 
O welcome, thou good angel of my way,
Thou pledge and omen of my safe return! 
Not Greece, nor hostile Juno could destroy
The hero that abandoned burning Troy;
He ’scaped the dangers of the dreadful night,
When, loaded with his gods, he took his flight.
                                      [Exuent, the King leading her.