_Guise._ Who sayes that death is naturall, when nature Is with the onely thought of it dismaid? I have had lotteries set up for my death, And I have drawne beneath my trencher one, Knit in my hand-kerchiefe another lot, 5 The word being, "Y'are a dead man if you enter"; And these words this imperfect bloud and flesh Shrincke at in spight of me, their solidst part Melting like snow within mee with colde fire. I hate my selfe, that, seeking to rule Kings, 10 I cannot curbe my slave. Would any spirit Free, manly, princely, wish to live to be Commanded by this masse of slaverie, Since reason, judgement, resolution, And scorne of what we feare, will yeeld to feare? 15 While this same sincke of sensualitie swels, Who would live sinking in it? and not spring Up to the starres, and leave this carrion here, For wolfes, and vultures, and for dogges to teare? O Clermont D'Ambois, wert thou here to chide 20 This softnesse from my flesh, farre as my reason, Farre as my resolution not to stirre One foote out of the way for death and hell! Let my false man by falshood perish here; There's no way else to set my true man cleere. 25 _Enter Messenger._ _Messenger._ The King desires your Grace to come to Councill. _Gui._ I come. It cannot be; hee will not dare To touch me with a treacherie so prophane. Would Clermont now were here, to try how hee Would lay about him, if this plot should be: 30 Here would be tossing soules into the skie. Who ever knew bloud sav'd by treacherie? Well, I must on, and will; what should I feare? Not against two, Alcides; against two, And Hercules to friend, the Guise will goe. 35 _He takes up the Arras, and the Guard enters upon him: hee drawes._ _Gui._ Holde, murtherers! _They strike him downe._ So then, this is confidence In greatnes, not in goodnes. Wher is the King? _The King comes in sight with Es[pernone], Sois[son], & others._ Let him appeare to justifie his deede, In spight of my betrai'd wounds; ere my soule Take her flight through them, and my tongue hath strength 40 To urge his tyrannie. _Henry._ See, sir, I am come To justifie it before men and God, Who knowes with what wounds in my heart for woe Of your so wounded faith I made these wounds, Forc't to it by an insolence of force 45 To stirre a stone; nor is a rocke, oppos'd To all the billowes of the churlish sea, More beate and eaten with them then was I With your ambitious, mad idolatrie; And this bloud I shed is to save the bloud 50 Of many thousands.