_Duch._ No my lord, he is much guilty of the bold extremity. 90

_Tam._ The man's a courtier at first sight.

_Buss._ I can sing p.r.i.c.ksong, lady, at first sight; and why not be a courtier as suddenly?

_Beaup._ Here's a courtier rotten before he be ripe. 95

_Buss._ Thinke me not impudent, lady; I am yet no courtier; I desire to be one and would gladly take entrance, madam, under your princely colours.

_Enter Barrisor, L'Anou, Pyrhot._

_Duch._ Soft sir, you must rise by degrees, first 100 being the servant of some common Lady or Knights wife, then a little higher to a Lords wife; next a little higher to a Countesse; yet a little higher to a d.u.c.h.esse, and then turne the ladder. 105

_Buss._ Doe you alow a man then foure mistresses, when the greatest mistresse is alowed but three servants?

_Duch._ Where find you that statute sir.

_Buss._ Why be judged by the groome-porters. 110

_Duch._ The groome-porters!

_Buss._ I, madam, must not they judge of all gamings i'th' Court?

_Duch._ You talke like a gamester.

_Gui._ Sir, know you me? 115

_Buss._ My lord!

_Gui._ I know not you; whom doe you serve?

_Buss._ Serve, my lord!

_Gui._ Go to companion; your courtship's too saucie. 120

_Buss._ Saucie! Companion! tis the Guise, but yet those termes might have beene spar'd of the guiserd. Companion! He's jealous, by this light. Are you blind of that side, Duke? Ile to her againe for that. Forth, princely mistresse, 125 for the honour of courtship. Another riddle.

_Gui._ Cease your courtshippe, or, by heaven, Ile cut your throat.

_Buss._ Cut my throat? cut a whetstone, young Accius Noevius! Doe as much with your 130 tongue as he did with a rasor. Cut my throat!

_Barrisor._ What new-come gallant have wee heere, that dares mate the Guise thus?

_L'Anou._ Sfoot, tis D'Ambois! the Duke mistakes him (on my life) for some Knight of the 135 new edition.

_Buss._ Cut my throat! I would the King fear'd thy cutting of his throat no more than I feare thy cutting of mine.

_Gui._ Ile doe't, by this hand. 140

_Buss._ That hand dares not doe't; y'ave cut too many throats already, Guise, and robb'd the realme of many thousand soules, more precious than thine owne. Come, madam, talk on. Sfoot, can you not talk? Talk on, I say. Another 145 riddle.

_Pyrhot._ Here's some strange distemper.

_Bar._ Here's a sudden transmigration with D'Ambois, out of the Knights ward into the d.u.c.h.es bed. 150

_L'An._ See what a metamorphosis a brave suit can work.

_Pyr._ Slight! step to the Guise, and discover him.

_Bar._ By no meanes; let the new suit work; 155 wee'll see the issue.

_Gui._ Leave your courting.

_Buss._ I will not. I say, mistresse, and I will stand unto it, that if a woman may have three servants, a man may have threescore mistresses. 160

_Gui._ Sirrha, Ile have you whipt out of the Court for this insolence.

_Buss._ Whipt! Such another syllable out a th'presence, if thou dar'st, for thy Dukedome.

_Gui._ Remember, poultron! 165

_Mons._ Pray thee forbeare!

_Buss._ Pa.s.sion of death! Were not the King here, he should strow the chamber like a rush.

_Mons._ But leave courting his wife then.

_Buss._ I wil not: Ile court her in despight of 170 him. Not court her! Come madam, talk on; feare me nothing. [_To Guise._] Well mai'st thou drive thy master from the Court, but never D'Ambois.

_Mons._ His great heart will not down, tis like the sea, 175 That partly by his owne internall heat, Partly the starrs daily and nightly motion, Their heat and light, and partly of the place The divers frames, but chiefly by the moone, Bristled with surges, never will be wonne, 180 (No, not when th'hearts of all those powers are burst) To make retreat into his setled home, Till he be crown'd with his owne quiet fome.

_Henr._ You have the mate. Another?

_Gui._ No more. _Flourish short._

_Exit Guise; after him the King, Mons[ieur] whispering._

_Bar._ Why here's the lion skar'd with the 185 throat of a dunghill c.o.c.k, a fellow that has newly shak'd off his shackles; now does he crow for that victory.

_L'An._ Tis one of the best jiggs that ever was acted. 190

_Pyr._ Whom does the Guise suppose him to be, troe?

_L'An._ Out of doubt, some new denizond Lord, and thinks that suit newly drawne out a th' mercers books. 195

_Bar._ I have heard of a fellow, that by a fixt imagination looking upon a bulbaiting, had a visible paire of hornes grew out of his forhead: and I beleeve this gallant overjoyed with the conceit of Monsieurs cast suit, imagines himselfe 200 to be the Monsieur.

_L'An._ And why not? as well as the a.s.se stalking in the lions case, bare himselfe like a lion, braying all the huger beasts out of the forrest? 205