_King._ Would they were here, and I were at their head! _Qu. M._ Send Mareschal Byron to lead them up. _King._ It shall be so: by heaven there's life in this! The wrack of clouds is driving on the winds, And shews a break of sunshine-- Go Grillon, give my orders to Byron, And see your soldiers well disposed within, For safeguard of the Louvre. _Qu. M._ One thing more: The Guise (his business yet not fully ripe,) Will treat, at least, for shew of loyalty; Let him be met with the same arts he brings. _King._ I know, he'll make exorbitant demands, But here your part of me will come in play; The Italian soul shall teach me how to sooth: Even Jove must flatter with an empty hand, 'Tis time to thunder, when he gripes the brand. [_Exeunt._ SCENE _II.--A Night Scene._ _Enter_ MALICORN _solus._ _Mal._ Thus far the cause of God; but God's or devil's,-- I mean my master's cause, and mine,--succeed, What shall the Guise do next? [_A flash of lightning._ _Enter the spirit_ MELANAX. _Mel._ First seize the king, and after murder him. _Mal._ Officious fiend, thou comest uncalled to-night. _Mel._ Always uncalled, and still at hand for mischief. _Mal._ But why in this fanatic habit, devil? Thou look'st like one that preaches to the crowd; Gospel is in thy face, and outward garb, And treason on thy tongue. _Mel._ Thou hast me right: Ten thousand devils more are in this habit; Saintship and zeal are still our best disguise: We mix unknown with the hot thoughtless crowd, And quoting scriptures, (which too well we know,) With impious glosses ban the holy text, And make it speak rebellion, schism, and murder; So turn the arms of heaven against itself. _Mal._ What makes the curate of St. Eustace here? _Mel._ Thou art mistaken, master; 'tis not he, But 'tis a zealous, godly, canting devil, Who has assumed the churchman's lucky shape, To talk the crowd to madness and rebellion. _Mal._ O true enthusiastic devil, true,-- (For lying is thy nature, even to me,) Did'st thou not tell me, if my lord, the Guise, Entered the court, his head should then lie low? That was a lie; he went, and is returned. _Mel._ 'Tis false; I said, _perhaps_ it should lie low; And, but I chilled the blood in Henry's veins, And crammed a thousand ghastly, frightful thoughts, Nay, thrust them foremost in his labouring brain, Even so it would have been. _Mal._ Thou hast deserved me, And I am thine, dear devil: what do we next? _Mel._ I said, first seize the king. _Mal._ Suppose it done: He's clapt within a convent, shorn a saint, My master mounts the throne. _Mel._ Not so fast, Malicorn; Thy master mounts not, till the king be slain. _Mal._ Not when deposed? _Mel._ He cannot be deposed: He may be killed, a violent fate attends him; But at his birth there shone a regal star. _Mal._ My master had a stronger.