_Qu. M._ [_Stopping the king._] What mean you, sir?
You tremble and look pale; for heaven's sake think,
'Tis your own life you venture, if you kill him.
_King._ Had I ten thousand lives, I'll venture all.
Give me way, madam!
_Qu. M._ Not to your destruction.
The whole Parisian herd is at your gates;
A crowd's a name too small, they are a nation,
Numberless, armed, enraged, one soul informs them.
_King._ And that one soul's the Guise. I'll rend it out,
And damn the rabble all at once in him.
_Gui._ My fate is now in the balance; fool within,
I thank thee for thy foresight. [_Aside._
_Qu. M._ Your guards oppose them!
_King._ Why not? a multitude's a bulky coward.
_Qu. M._ By heaven, there are not limbs in all your guards,
For every one a morsel.
_King._ Caesar quelled them,
But with a look and word.
_Qu. M._ So Galba thought.
_King._ But Galba was not Caesar.
_Gui._ I must not give them time for resolution.-- [_Aside._
My journey, sir, has discomposed my health, [_To the king._
I humbly beg your leave, I may retire,
Till your commands recall me to your service. [_Exit[14]._
_King._ So, you have counselled well; the traitor's gone,
To mock the meekness of an injured king. [_To Qu. M._
Why did not you, who gave me part of life,
Infuse my father stronger in my veins?
But when you kept me cooped within your womb,
You palled his generous blood with the dull mixture
Of your Italian food, and milked slow arts
Of womanish tameness in my infant mouth.
Pages:
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84