_Gril._ You have mouthed it bravely, and there is no doubt Your deeds would answer well your haughty words; Yet let me tell you, sir, there is a man, (Curse on the hearts that hate him!) that would better, Better than you, or all your puffy race, That better would become the great battalion; That when he shines in arms, and suns the field, Moves, speaks, and fights, and is himself a war. _Gui._ Your idol, sir; you mean the great Navarre: But yet-- _Gril._ No _yet_, my lord of Guise, no _yet_; By arms, I bar you that; I swear, no _yet_; For never was his like, nor shall again. Though voted from his right by your cursed League. _Gui._ Judge not too rashly of the Holy League, But look at home. _Gril._ Ha! darest thou justify Those villains? _Gui._ I'll not justify a villain, More than yourself; but if you thus proceed, If every heated breath can puff away, On each surmise, the lives of free-born people, What need that awful general convocation, The assembly of the states?--nay, let me urge,-- If thus they vilify the Holy League, What may their heads expect? _Gril._ What, if I could, They should be certain of,--whole piles of fire. _Gui._ Colonel, 'tis very well I know your mind, Which, without fear, or flattery to your person, I'll tell the king; and then, with his permission, Proclaim it for a warning to our people. _Gril._ Come, you're a murderer yourself within, A traitor. _Gui._ Thou a ---- hot old hair-brained fool. _Gril._ You were complotter with the cursed League, The black abettor of our Harry's death. _Gui._ 'Tis false. _Gril._ 'Tis true, as thou art double-hearted: Thou double traitor, to conspire so basely; And when found out, more basely to deny't. _Gui._ O gracious Harry, let me sound thy name, Lest this old rust of war, this knotty trifler, Should raise me to extremes. _Gril._ If thou'rt a man, That didst refuse the challenge of Navarre, Come forth[10]. _Gui._ Go on; since thou'rt resolved on death, I'll follow thee, and rid thy shaking soul. _Enter King, Queen-Mother,_ ALPHONSO, _Abbot, &c._ But see, the king: I scorn to ruin thee, Therefore go tell him, tell him thy own story. _King._ Ha, colonel, is this your friendly visit? Tell me the truth, how happened this disorder? Those ruffled hands, red looks, and port of fury? _Gril._ I told him, sir, since you will have it so, He was the author of the rebel-league; Therefore, a traitor and a murderer. _King._ Is't possible? _Gui._ No matter, sir, no matter; A few hot words, no more, upon my life; The old man roused, and shook himself a little: So, if your majesty will do me honour, I do beseech you, let the business die. _King._ Grillon, submit yourself, and ask his pardon. _Gril._ Pardon me, I cannot do't. _King._ Where are the guards! _Gui._ Hold, sir;--come, colonel, I'll ask pardon for you; This soldierly embrace makes up the breach; We will be sorry, sir, for one another.