_Tam._ O no, my lord! your holy frier sayes 110 All couplings in the day that touch the bed Adulterous are, even in the married; Whose grave and worthy doctrine, well I know, Your faith in him will liberally allow. _Mont._ Hee's a most learned and religious man. 115 Come to the Presence then, and see great D'Ambois (Fortunes proud mushrome shot up in a night) Stand like an Atlas under our Kings arme; Which greatnesse with him Monsieur now envies As bitterly and deadly as the Guise. 120 _Tam._ What! he that was but yesterday his maker, His raiser, and preserver? _Mont._ Even the same. Each naturall agent works but to this end, To render that it works on like it selfe; Which since the Monsieur in his act on D'Ambois 125 Cannot to his ambitious end effect, But that (quite opposite) the King hath power (In his love borne to D'Ambois) to convert The point of Monsieurs aime on his owne breast, He turnes his outward love to inward hate: 130 A princes love is like the lightnings fume, Which no man can embrace, but must consume. _Exeunt._ LINENOTES: _Enter D'Ambois . . . pearle_. A, Bucy, Tamyra. 1-2 _Sweet . . . spice_. A omits. 28 _servile_. A, Goddesse. 34 _our one_. So in A: B omits _our_. 35 _selfe_. A, truth. 37 _one_. A, men. 45-61 _Now let . . . Descendit Frier and D'Amb[ois]_. A omits. 92 _thine eies_. A, thy beauties. 118 _under our Kings arme_. A, underneath the King. [ACTUS TERTII SCENA SECUNDA. _A room in the Court._] _Henry, D'Ambois, Monsieur, Guise, Dutches, Annabell, Charlot, Attendants._ _Henry._ Speak home, my Bussy! thy impartiall words Are like brave faulcons that dare trusse a fowle Much greater than themselves; flatterers are kites That check at sparrowes; thou shalt be my eagle, And beare my thunder underneath thy wings: 5 Truths words like jewels hang in th'eares of kings. _Bussy_. Would I might live to see no Jewes hang there In steed of jewels--sycophants, I meane, Who use Truth like the Devill, his true foe, Cast by the angell to the pit of feares, 10 And bound in chaines; Truth seldome decks kings eares. Slave flattery (like a rippiers legs rowl'd up In boots of hay-ropes) with kings soothed guts Swadled and strappl'd, now lives onely free. O, tis a subtle knave; how like the plague 15 Unfelt he strikes into the braine of man, And rageth in his entrailes when he can, Worse than the poison of a red hair'd man. _Henr._ Fly at him and his brood! I cast thee off, And once more give thee surname of mine eagle. 20