HENRY

COme Baligny, we now are private: Say, What service bringest thou? make it short; the Guise (Whose friend thou seemest) is now in Court, and near, And may observe us. Thanks honest Baligny. 'Tis true: the Simile at all parts holds, As all good Subjects hold, that love our favour. 'Tis well conceited. Still thou art right, my virtuous Baligny, For which I thank and love thee. Thy advise I'll not forget: Haste to thy Government, And carry D'Ambois with thee. So farewell. Well, take your will sir, I'll have mine ere long. But wherein is this Clermont such a rare one? Shows he to others thus? And apprehend I this man for a traitor? Go, take my Letters for him, and release him. Saw you his saucy forcing of my hand To D'Ambois freedom? The more Kings bear at Subjects hands, the more Their lingering Justice gathers; that resembles The weighty, and the goodly-bodied Eagle, Who (being on earth) before her shady wings Can raise her into air, a mighty way Close by the ground she runs; but being aloft, All she commands, she flies at; and the more Death in her Seres bears, the more time she stays Her thundry stoop from that on which she preys. We have Spies set on us, as we on others; And therefore they that serve us must excuse us, If what we most hold in our hearts, take wind, Deceit hath eyes that see into the mind. But this plot shall be quicker then their twinkling, On whose lids Fate, with her dead weight shall lie, And Confidence that lightens ere she die. Friends of my Guard, as ye gave oath to be True to your Sovereign, keep it manfully: Your eyes have witnest oft th'Ambition That never made access to me in Guise But Treason ever sparkled in his eyes: Which if you free us of, our safety shall You not our Subjects, but our Patrons call. We trust in it, and thank you. Baligny, Go lodge their ambush, and thou God that art Fautor of Princes thunder from the skies, Beneath his hill of pride this Giant Guise. See sir I am come To justify it before men, and God, Who knows with what wounds in my heart for woe Of your so wounded faith, I made these wounds, Forced to it by and insolence of force To stir a stone, nor is a rock opposed To all the billows of the churlish sea, More beat, and eaten with them, then was I With your ambitious mad Idolatry; And this blood I shed, is to save the blood Of many thousands. Well sir, I'll bear it; y'haue a Brother to, Bursts with Like threats, the Scarlet Cardinal: Seek, and lay hands on him; and take this hence, Their bloods, for all you, on my conscience. We came indeed too late, which much I we, And would have kept this Clermont as my crown. Take in the dead, and make this fatal room (The house shut up) the famous D'Ambois Tomb.