_Mons._ He's greater knowne. _Buss._ His greatnesse is the peoples, mine's mine owne. 75 _Mons._ He's noblier borne. _Buss._ He is not; I am noble, And noblesse in his blood hath no gradation, But in his merit. _Gui._ Th'art not nobly borne, But bastard to the Cardinall of Ambois. _Buss._ Thou liest, proud Guiserd; let me flie, my Lord! 80 _Henr._ Not in my face, my eagle! violence flies The sanctuaries of a princes eyes. _Buss._ Still shall we chide, and fome upon this bit? Is the Guise onely great in faction? Stands he not by himselfe? Proves he th'opinion 85 That mens soules are without them? Be a duke, And lead me to the field. _Guis._ Come, follow me. _Henr._ Stay them! stay, D'Ambois! Cosen Guise, I wonder Your honour'd disposition brooks so ill A man so good that only would uphold 90 Man in his native noblesse, from whose fall All our dissentions rise; that in himselfe (Without the outward patches of our frailty, Riches and honour) knowes he comprehends Worth with the greatest. Kings had never borne 95 Such boundlesse empire over other men, Had all maintain'd the spirit and state of D'Ambois; Nor had the full impartiall hand of Nature, That all things gave in her originall Without these definite terms of Mine and Thine, 100 Beene turn'd unjustly to the hand of Fortune, Had all preserv'd her in her prime like D'Ambois; No envie, no disjunction had dissolv'd, Or pluck'd one stick out of the golden faggot In which the world of Saturne bound our lifes, 105 Had all beene held together with the nerves, The genius, and th'ingenious soule of D'Ambois. Let my hand therefore be the Hermean rod To part and reconcile, and so conserve you, As my combin'd embracers and supporters. 110 _Buss._ Tis our Kings motion, and we shall not seeme To worst eies womanish, though we change thus soone Never so great grudge for his greater pleasure. _Gui._ I seale to that, and so the manly freedome, That you so much professe, hereafter prove not 115 A bold and glorious licence to deprave, To me his hand shall hold the Hermean vertue His grace affects, in which submissive signe On this his sacred right hand I lay mine. _Buss._ Tis well, my lord, and so your worthy greatnesse 120 Decline not to the greater insolence, Nor make you think it a prerogative To rack mens freedomes with the ruder wrongs, My hand (stuck full of lawrell, in true signe Tis wholly dedicate to righteous peace) 125 In all submission kisseth th'other side.