_Ab._ Marked you his hollow accents at the parting?
_Qu. M._ Graves in his smiles.
_King._ Death in his bloodless hands.--
O Marmoutiere! now I will haste to meet thee:
The face of beauty, on this rising horror,
Looks like the midnight moon upon a murder;
It gilds the dark design that stays for fate,
And drives the shades, that thicken, from the state. [_Exuent._
ACT III. SCENE I.
_Enter_ GRILLON _and_ POLIN._
_Gril._ Have then this pious Council of Sixteen
Scented your late discovery of the plot?
_Pol._ Not as from me; for still I kennel with them.
And bark as loud as the most deep-mouthed traitor,
Against the king, his government, and laws;
Whereon immediately there runs a cry
Of,--Seize him on the next procession! seize him.
And clap the Chilperick in a monastery!
Thus it was fixt, as I before discovered;
But when, against his custom, they perceived
The king absented, strait the rebels met,
And roared,--they were undone.
_Gril._ O, 'tis like them;
'Tis like their mongrel souls: flesh them with fortune,
And they will worry royalty to death;
But if some crabbed virtue turn and pinch them,
Mark me, they'll run, and yelp, and clap their tails,
Like curs, betwixt their legs, and howl for mercy.
_Pol._ But Malicorn, sagacious on the point,
Cried,--Call the sheriffs, and bid them arm their bands;
Add yet to this, to raise you above hope,
The Guise, my master, will be here to-day.
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