_Cler._ To a brutish sense, But not a manly reason. Wee so tender The vile part in us that the part divine We see in hell, and shrinke not. Who was first Head of that Massacre? _Bal._ The Guise. _Cler._ Tis nothing so. 210 Who was in fault for all the slaughters made In Ilion, and about it? Were the Greekes? Was it not Paris ravishing the Queene Of Lacædemon; breach of shame and faith, And all the lawes of hospitalitie? 215 This is the beastly slaughter made of men, When truth is over-throwne, his lawes corrupted; When soules are smother'd in the flatter'd flesh, Slaine bodies are no more then oxen slaine. _Bal._ Differ not men from oxen? _Cler._ Who sayes so? 220 But see wherein; in the understanding rules Of their opinions, lives, and actions; In their communities of faith and reason. Was not the wolfe that nourisht Romulus More humane then the men that did expose him? 225 _Bal._ That makes against you. _Cler._ Not, sir, if you note That by that deede, the actions difference make Twixt men and beasts, and not their names nor formes. Had faith, nor shame, all hospitable rights Beene broke by Troy, Greece had not made that slaughter. 230 Had that beene sav'd (sayes a philosopher) The Iliads and Odysses had beene lost. Had Faith and true Religion beene prefer'd Religious Guise had never massacerd. _Bal._ Well, sir, I cannot, when I meete with you, 235 But thus digresse a little, for my learning, From any other businesse I entend. But now the voyage we resolv'd for Cambray, I told the Guise, beginnes; and wee must haste. And till the Lord Renel hath found some meane 240 (Conspiring with the Countesse) to make sure Your sworne wreake on her husband, though this fail'd, In my so brave command wee'll spend the time, Sometimes in training out in skirmishes And battailes all our troopes and companies; 245 And sometimes breathe your brave Scotch running horse, That great Guise gave you, that all th'horse in France Farre over-runnes at every race and hunting Both of the hare and deere. You shall be honor'd Like the great Guise himselfe, above the King. 250 And (can you but appease your great-spleen'd sister For our delaid wreake of your brothers slaughter) At all parts you'll be welcom'd to your wonder. _Cler._ Ile see my lord the Guise againe before Wee take our journey? _Bal._ O, sir, by all meanes; 255 You cannot be too carefull of his love, That ever takes occasion to be raising Your virtues past the reaches of this age, And rankes you with the best of th'ancient Romanes.