Fate is more strong than arms and slie than treason, And I at all parts buckl'd in my fate. 40

_Mons._ } _Guise._ } Why enter not the coward villains?

_Buss._ Dare they not come?

_Enter Murtherers, with [Umbra] Frier at the other dore._

_Tam._ They come.

_First Murderer._ Come, all at once!

_[Umbra] Friar._ Back, coward murtherers, back!

_Omnes._ Defend us heaven!

_Exeunt all but the first._

_First Murd._ Come ye not on?

_Buss._ No, slave! nor goest thou off.

Stand you so firme?

[_Strikes at him with his sword._]

Will it not enter here? 45 You have a face yet. So! in thy lifes flame I burne the first rites to my mistresse fame.

_Umb. Fri._ Breath thee, brave sonne, against the other charge.

_Buss._ O is it true, then, that my sense first told me?

Is my kind father dead?

_Tam._ He is, my love; 50 'Twas the Earle, my husband, in his weed that brought thee.

_Buss._ That was a speeding sleight, and well resembled.

Where is that angry Earle? My lord! come forth, And shew your owne face in your owne affaire; Take not into your n.o.ble veines the blood 55 Of these base villaines, nor the light reports Of blister'd tongues for cleare and weighty truth: But me against the world, in pure defence Of your rare lady, to whose spotlesse name I stand here as a bulwark, and project 60 A life to her renowne that ever yet Hath been untainted, even in envies eye, And, where it would protect, a sanctuarie.

Brave Earle, come forth, and keep your scandall in!

'Tis not our fault, if you enforce the spot; 65 Nor the wreak yours, if you performe it not.

_Enter Mont[surry] with all the murtherers._

_Montsurry._ Cowards! a fiend or spirit beat ye off!

They are your owne faint spirits that have forg'd The fearefull shadowes that your eyes deluded: The fiend was in you; cast him out, then, thus! 70

[_Montsurry fights with D'Ambois._] _D'Ambois hath Montsurry downe._

_Tam._ Favour my lord, my love, O, favour him!

_Buss._ I will not touch him. Take your life, my lord, And be appeas'd. _Pistolls shot within._ O then the coward Fates Have maim'd themselves, and ever lost their honour!

_Umb. Fri._ What have ye done, slaves! irreligious lord! 75

_Buss._ Forbeare them, father; 'tis enough for me That Guise and Monsieur, death and destinie, Come behind D'Ambois. Is my body, then, But penetrable flesh, and must my mind Follow my blood? Can my divine part adde 80 No ayd to th'earthly in extremity?

Then these divines are but for forme, not fact; Man is of two sweet courtly friends compact, A mistresse and a servant. Let my death Define life nothing but a courtiers breath. 85 Nothing is made of nought, of all things made Their abstract being a dreame but of a shade.

Ile not complaine to earth yet, but to heaven, And (like a man) look upwards even in death.

And if Vespasian thought in majestie 90 An Emperour might die standing, why not I?

_She offers to help him._ Nay, without help, in which I will exceed him; For he died splinted with his chamber groomes.

Prop me, true sword, as thou hast ever done!

The equall thought I beare of life and death 95 Shall make me faint on no side; I am up.

Here, like a Roman statue, I will stand Till death hath made me marble. O my fame Live in despight of murther! take thy wings And haste thee where the gray-ey'd morn perfumes 100 Her rosie chariot with Sabaean spices!

Fly where the evening from th'Iberean vales Takes on her swarthy shoulders Heccate Crown'd with a grove of oakes! flie where men feele The burning axeltree; and those that suffer 105 Beneath the chariot of the snowy Beare: And tell them all that D'Ambois now is hasting To the eternall dwellers; that a thunder Of all their sighes together (for their frailties Beheld in me) may quit my worthlesse fall 110 With a fit volley for my funerall.

_Umb. Fri._ Forgive thy murtherers.

_Buss._ I forgive them all; And you, my lord, their fautor; for true signe Of which unfain'd remission, take my sword; Take it, and onely give it motion, 115 And it shall finde the way to victory By his owne brightnesse, and th'inherent valour My fight hath still'd into't with charmes of spirit.

Now let me pray you that my weighty bloud, Laid in one scale of your impertiall spleene, 120 May sway the forfeit of my worthy love Waid in the other: and be reconcil'd With all forgivenesse to your matchlesse wife.

_Tam._ Forgive thou me, deare servant, and this hand That lead thy life to this unworthy end; 125 Forgive it for the bloud with which 'tis stain'd, In which I writ the summons of thy death-- The forced summons--by this bleeding wound, By this here in my bosome, and by this That makes me hold up both my hands embrew'd 130 For thy deare pardon.

_Buss._ O, my heart is broken.

Fate nor these murtherers, Monsieur nor the Guise, Have any glory in my death, but this, This killing spectacle, this prodigie.

My sunne is turn'd to blood, in whose red beams 135 Pindus and Ossa (hid in drifts of snow Laid on my heart and liver), from their veines Melt, like two hungry torrents eating rocks, Into the ocean of all humane life, And make it bitter, only with my bloud. 140 O fraile condition of strength, valour, vertue In me (like warning fire upon the top Of some steepe beacon, on a steeper hill) Made to expresse it: like a falling starre Silently glanc't, that like a thunderbolt 145 Look't to have struck, and shook the firmament! _Moritur._

_Umb. Fri._ Farewell! brave reliques of a compleat man, Look up, and see thy spirit made a starre.

Joine flames with Hercules, and when thou set'st Thy radiant forehead in the firmament, 150 Make the vast chrystall crack with thy receipt; Spread to a world of fire, and the aged skie Cheere with new sparks of old humanity.

[_To Montsurry._] Son of the earth, whom my unrested soule Rues t'have begotten in the faith of heaven, 155 a.s.say to gratulate and pacifie The soule fled from this worthy by performing The Christian reconcilement he besought Betwixt thee and thy lady; let her wounds, Manlessly digg'd in her, be eas'd and cur'd 160 With balme of thine owne teares; or be a.s.sur'd Never to rest free from my haunt and horror.

_Mont._ See how she merits this, still kneeling by, And mourning his fall, more than her own fault!

_Umb. Fri._ Remove, deare daughter, and content thy husband: 165 So piety wills thee, and thy servants peace.

_Tam._ O wretched piety, that art so distract In thine owne constancie, and in thy right Must be unrighteous. If I right my friend, I wrong my husband; if his wrong I shunne, 170 The duty of my friend I leave undone.

Ill playes on both sides; here and there it riseth; No place, no good, so good, but ill compriseth.

O had I never married but for forme; Never vow'd faith but purpos'd to deceive; 175 Never made conscience of any sinne, But clok't it privately and made it common; Nor never honour'd beene in bloud or mind; Happy had I beene then, as others are Of the like licence; I had then beene honour'd, 180 Liv'd without envie; custome had benumb'd All sense of scruple and all note of frailty; My fame had beene untouch'd, my heart unbroken: But (shunning all) I strike on all offence.

O husband! deare friend! O my conscience! 185

_Mons._ Come, let's away; my sences are not proofe Against those plaints.

_Exeunt Guise, Mon[sieur above]. D'Ambois is borne off._

_Mont._ I must not yeeld to pity, nor to love So servile and so trayterous: cease, my bloud, To wrastle with my honour, fame, and judgement. 190 Away! forsake my house; forbeare complaints Where thou hast bred them: here all things [are] full Of their owne shame and sorrow--leave my house.

_Tam._ Sweet lord, forgive me, and I will be gone; And till these wounds (that never balme shall close 195 Till death hath enterd at them, so I love them, Being opened by your hands) by death be cur'd, I never more will grieve you with my sight; Never endure that any roofe shall part Mine eyes and heaven; but to the open deserts 200 (Like to a hunted tygres) I will flie, Eating my heart, shunning the steps of men, And look on no side till I be arriv'd.

_Mont._ I doe forgive thee, and upon my knees (With hands held up to heaven) wish that mine honour 205 Would suffer reconcilement to my love: But, since it will not, honour never serve My love with flourishing object, till it sterve!

And as this taper, though it upwards look, Downwards must needs consume, so let our love! 210 As, having lost his hony, the sweet taste Runnes into savour, and will needs retaine A spice of his first parents, till (like life) It sees and dies, so let our love! and, lastly, As when the flame is suffer'd to look up 215 It keepes his l.u.s.ter, but being thus turn'd downe (His naturall course of usefull light inverted) His owne stuffe puts it out, so let our love!

Now turne from me, as here I turne from thee; And may both points of heavens strait axeltree 220 Conjoyne in one, before thy selfe and me! _Exeunt severally._

_Finis Actus Quinti & Ultimi._