_Bussy._ 'Tis not like, my lord, That men in women rule, but contrary; For as the moone, of all things G.o.d created Not only is the most appropriate image 10 Or gla.s.se to shew them how they wax and wane, But in her height and motion likewise beares Imperiall influences that command In all their powers, and make them wax and wane: So women, that, of all things made of nothing, 15 Are the most perfect idols of the moone, Or still-unwean'd sweet moon-calves with white faces, Not only are paterns of change to men, But as the tender moon-shine of their beauties Cleares or is cloudy, make men glad or sad. 20 So then they rule in men, not men in them.

_Monsieur._ But here the moons are chang'd (as the King notes) And either men rule in them, or some power Beyond their voluntary faculty, For nothing can recover their lost faces. 25

_Montsurry._ None can be alwayes one: our griefes and joyes Hold severall scepters in us, and have times For their divided empires: which griefe now in them Doth prove as proper to his diadem.

_Buss._ And griefe's a naturall sicknesse of the bloud, 30 That time to part asks, as his comming had; Onely sleight fooles griev'd suddenly are glad.

A man may say t'a dead man, "be reviv'd,"

As well as to one sorrowfull, "be not griev'd."

And therefore (princely mistresse) in all warres 35 Against these base foes that insult on weaknesse, And still fight hous'd behind the shield of Nature, Of priviledge law, treachery, or beastly need, Your servant cannot help; authority here Goes with corruption, something like some states 40 That back woorst men; valour to them must creepe That to themselves left would feare him asleepe.

_d.u.c.h.ess._ Ye all take that for granted that doth rest Yet to be prov'd; we all are as we were, As merry and as free in thought as ever. 45

_Guise._ And why then can ye not disclose your thoughts?

_Tamyra._ Me thinks the man hath answer'd for us well.

_Mons._ The man! why, madam, d'ee not know his name?

_Tam._ Man is a name of honour for a King: Additions take away from each chiefe thing. 50 The schoole of modesty not to learne learnes dames: They sit in high formes there that know mens names.

_Mons._ [_to Bussy._] Heark, sweet heart, here's a bar set to your valour!

It cannot enter here, no, not to notice Of what your name is; your great eagles beak 55 (Should you flie at her) had as good encounter An Albion cliffe as her more craggy liver.

_Buss._ Ile not attempt her, sir; her sight and name (By which I onely know her) doth deter me.

_Henr._ So doe they all men else.

_Mons._ You would say so, 60 If you knew all.

_Tam._ Knew all, my lord? what meane you?

_Mons._ All that I know, madam.

_Tam._ That you know! Speak it.

_Mons._ No, tis enough I feele it.

_Henr._ But me thinks Her courtship is more pure then heretofore.

True courtiers should be modest, and not nice; 65 Bold, but not impudent; pleasure love, not vice.

_Mons._ Sweet heart, come hither! what if one should make Horns at Mountsurry, would it not strike him jealous Through all the proofes of his chaste ladies vertues?

_Buss._ If he be wise, not. 70

_Mons._ What, not if I should name the gardener That I would have him think hath grafted him?

_Buss._ So the large licence that your greatnesse uses To jest at all men may be taught indeed To make a difference of the grounds you play on, 75 Both in the men you scandall and the matter.

_Mons._ As how, as how?

_Buss._ Perhaps led with a traine Where you may have your nose made lesse and slit, Your eyes thrust out.

_Mons._ Peace, peace, I pray thee, peace!

Who dares doe that? the brother of his King! 80

_Buss._ Were your King brother in you; all your powers (Stretcht in the armes of great men and their bawds) Set close downe by you; all your stormy lawes Spouted with lawyers mouthes, and gushing bloud, Like to so many torrents; all your glories 85 Making you terrible, like enchanted flames, Fed with bare c.o.c.ks...o...b.. and with crooked hammes, All your prerogatives, your shames, and tortures, All daring heaven and opening h.e.l.l about you-- Were I the man ye wrong'd so and provok'd, 90 (Though ne're so much beneath you) like a box tree I would out of the roughnesse of my root Ramme hardnesse in my lownesse, and, like death Mounted on earthquakes, I would trot through all Honors and horrors, thorow foule and faire, 95 And from your whole strength tosse you into the aire.

_Mons._ Goe, th'art a devill! such another spirit Could not be still'd from all th'Armenian dragons.

O, my loves glory! heire to all I have (That's all I can say, and that all I sweare) 100 If thou out-live me, as I know thou must, Or else hath Nature no proportion'd end To her great labours; she hath breath'd a minde Into thy entrails, of desert to swell Into another great Augustus Caesar; 105 Organs and faculties fitted to her greatnesse; And should that perish like a common spirit, Nature's a courtier and regards no merit.

_Henr._ Here's nought but whispering with us; like a calme Before a tempest, when the silent ayre 110 Layes her soft eare close to the earth to hearken For that she feares steales on to ravish her; Some fate doth joyne our eares to heare it comming.

Come, my brave eagle, let's to covert flie!

I see almighty aether in the smoak 115 Of all his clowds descending, and the skie Hid in the dim ostents of tragedy.

_Exit Henr[y] with D'Amb[ois] & Ladies._

_Guis._ Now stirre the humour, and begin the brawle.

_Mont._ The King and D'Ambois now are growne all one.

_Mons._ Nay, they are two, my lord.

_Mont._ How's that?

_Mons._ No more. 120

_Mont._ I must have more, my lord.

_Mons._ What, more than two?

_Mont._ How monstrous is this!

_Mons._ Why?

_Mont._ You make me horns.

_Mons._ Not I, it is a work without my power, Married mens ensignes are not made with fingers; Of divine fabrique they are, not mens hands: 125 Your wife, you know, is a meere Cynthia, And she must fashion hornes out of her nature.

_Mont._ But doth she? dare you charge her? speak, false prince.

_Mons._ I must not speak, my lord; but if you'l use The learning of a n.o.ble man, and read, 130 Here's something to those points. Soft, you must p.a.w.ne Your honour, having read it, to return it.

_Enter Tamira, Pero._

_Mont._ Not I:--I p.a.w.ne mine honour for a paper!

_Mons._ You must not buy it under. _Exeunt Guise and Monsieur._

_Mont._ Keepe it then, And keepe fire in your bosome!