_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 cock, 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 asse stalking in the lions case, bare himselfe like a lion, braying all the huger beasts out of the forrest? 205 _Pyr._ Peace! he looks this way. _Bar._ Marrie, let him look, sir; what will you say now if the Guise be gone to fetch a blanquet for him? _L'An._ Faith, I beleeve it, for his honour sake. 210 _Pyr._ But, if D'Ambois carrie it cleane? _Exeunt Ladies._ _Bar._ True, when he curvets in the blanquet. _Pyr._ I, marrie, sir. _L'An._ Sfoot, see how he stares on's. _Bar._ Lord blesse us, let's away. 215 _Buss._ Now, sir, take your full view: who does the object please ye? _Bar._ If you aske my opinion, sir, I think your suit sits as well as if't had beene made for you. 220 _Buss._ So, sir, and was that the subject of your ridiculous joylity? _L'An._ What's that to you, sir? _Buss._ Sir, I have observ'd all your fleerings; and resolve your selves yee shall give a strickt 225 account for't. _Enter Brisac, Melynell._ _Bar._ O miraculous jealousie! Doe you think your selfe such a singular subject for laughter that none can fall into the matter of our merriment but you? 230