_Montsurry._ Cowards! a fiend or spirit beat ye off! They are your owne faint spirits that have forg'd The fearefull shadowes that your eyes deluded: The fiend was in you; cast him out, then, thus! 70 [_Montsurry fights with D'Ambois._] _D'Ambois hath Montsurry downe._ _Tam._ Favour my lord, my love, O, favour him! _Buss._ I will not touch him. Take your life, my lord, And be appeas'd. _Pistolls shot within._ O then the coward Fates Have maim'd themselves, and ever lost their honour! _Umb. Fri._ What have ye done, slaves! irreligious lord! 75 _Buss._ Forbeare them, father; 'tis enough for me That Guise and Monsieur, death and destinie, Come behind D'Ambois. Is my body, then, But penetrable flesh, and must my mind Follow my blood? Can my divine part adde 80 No ayd to th'earthly in extremity? Then these divines are but for forme, not fact; Man is of two sweet courtly friends compact, A mistresse and a servant. Let my death Define life nothing but a courtiers breath. 85 Nothing is made of nought, of all things made Their abstract being a dreame but of a shade. Ile not complaine to earth yet, but to heaven, And (like a man) look upwards even in death. And if Vespasian thought in majestie 90 An Emperour might die standing, why not I? _She offers to help him._ Nay, without help, in which I will exceed him; For he died splinted with his chamber groomes. Prop me, true sword, as thou hast ever done! The equall thought I beare of life and death 95 Shall make me faint on no side; I am up. Here, like a Roman statue, I will stand Till death hath made me marble. O my fame Live in despight of murther! take thy wings And haste thee where the gray-ey'd morn perfumes 100 Her rosie chariot with Sabæan spices! Fly where the evening from th'Iberean vales Takes on her swarthy shoulders Heccate Crown'd with a grove of oakes! flie where men feele The burning axeltree; and those that suffer 105 Beneath the chariot of the snowy Beare: And tell them all that D'Ambois now is hasting To the eternall dwellers; that a thunder Of all their sighes together (for their frailties Beheld in me) may quit my worthlesse fall 110 With a fit volley for my funerall. _Umb. Fri._ Forgive thy murtherers.