_Mes._ My lord, as by our scouts we understand, A mighty army comes from France with speed; Which are already mustered in the land, And mean to meet your highness in the field. 30 _Nav._ In God's name, let them come! This is the Guise that hath incensed the king To levy arms, and make these civil broils. But canst thou tell who is their general? _Mes._ Not yet, my lord, for thereon do they stay; But, as report doth go, the Duke of Joyeux Hath made great suit unto the king therefore. _Nav._ It will not countervail his pains, I hope. I would the Guise in his stead might have come! But he doth lurk within his drowsy couch, 40 And makes his footstool on security: So he be safe, he cares not what becomes Of king or country; no, not for them both. But come, my lords, let us away with speed, And place ourselves in order for the fight. [_Exeunt._ SCENE XVII. _Enter_[407] KING HENRY, GUISE, EPERNOUN, _and_ JOYEUX. _Henry._ My sweet Joyeux, I make thee general Of all my army, now in readiness To march 'gainst the rebellious King Navarre; At thy request I am content thou go, Although my love to thee can hardly suffer['t], Regarding still the danger of thy life. _Joyeux._ Thanks to your majesty: and so, I take my leave.-- Farewell to my Lord of Guise, and Epernoun. _Guise._ Health and hearty farewell to my Lord Joyeux. [_Exit_ JOYEUX. _Henry._ So kindly, cousin of Guise, you and your wife Do both salute our lovely minions. 11 Remember you the letter, gentle sir, Which your wife writ To my dear minion, and her chosen friend? [_Makes horns at_ GUISE. _Guise._ How now, my Lord! faith, this is more than need. Am I thus to be jested at and scorn'd? 'Tis more than kingly or emperious: And, sure, if all the proudest kings In Christendom should bear me such derision, They should know how I scorn'd them and their mocks. 20 I love your minions! dote on them yourself; I know none else but holds them in disgrace; And here, by all the saints in heaven, I swear, That villain for whom I bear this deep disgrace, Even for your words that have incens'd me so, Shall buy that strumpet's favour with his blood! Whether he have dishonour'd me or no, _Par la mort de Dieu_[408] _il mourra!_ [_Exit._ _Henry._ Believe me, this jest bites sore. _Eper._ My lord, 'twere good to make them friends, 30 For his oaths are seldom spent in vain. _Enter_ MUGEROUN. _Henry._ How now, Mugeroun! mett'st thou not the Guise at the door? _Mug._ Not I, my lord; what if I had?