John Dryden - The Works Of John Dryden, Vol. 7 (of 18)

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_Qu. M._ I still maintain, 'twas wisely done to spare him.

_Gril._ A pox on this unseasonable wisdom!
He was a fool to come; if so, then they,
Who let him go, were somewhat.

_King._ The event, the event will shew us what we were;
For, like a blazing meteor hence he shot,
And drew a sweeping fiery train along.--
O Paris, Paris, once my seat of triumph,
But now the scene of all thy king's misfortunes;
Ungrateful, perjured, and disloyal town,
Which by my royal presence I have warmed
So long, that now the serpent hisses out,
And shakes his forked tongue at majesty,
While I--

_Qu. M._ While you lose time in idle talk,
And use no means for safety and prevention.

_King._ What can I do? O mother, Abbot, Grillon!
All dumb! nay, then 'tis plain, my cause is desperate.
Such an overwhelming ill makes grief a fool,
As if redress were past.

_Gril._ I'll go to the next sheriff,
And beg the first reversion of a rope:
Dispatch is all my business; I'll hang for you.

_Abb._ 'Tis not so bad, as vainly you surmise;
Some space there is, some little space, some steps
Betwixt our fate and us: our foes are powerful,
But yet not armed, nor marshalled into order;
Believe it, sir, the Guise will not attempt,
Till he have rolled his snow-ball to a heap.

_King._ So then, my lord, we're a day off from death:
What shall to-morrow do?

_Abb._ To-morrow, sir,
If hours between slide not too idly by,
You may be master of their destiny,
Who now dispose so loftily of yours.
Not far without the suburbs there are quartered
Three thousand Swiss, and two French regiments.

_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.

_Mel._ No, not a stronger, but more popular.
Their births were full opposed, the Guise now strongest
But if the ill influence pass o'er Harry's head,
As in a year it will, France ne'er shall boast
A greater king than he; now cut him off,
While yet his stars are weak.

_Mal._ Thou talk'st of stars:
Can'st thou not see more deep into events,
And by a surer way?

_Mel._ No, Malicorn;
The ways of heaven are broken since our fall,
Gulph beyond gulph, and never to be shot.
Once we could read our mighty Maker's mind,
As in a crystal mirror, see the ideas
Of things that always are, as he is always;
Now, shut below in this dark sphere,
By second causes dimly we may guess,
And peep far off on heaven's revolving orbs,
Which cast obscure reflections from the throne.

_Mal._ Then tell me thy surmises of the future.

_Mel._ I took the revolution of the year,
Just when the Sun was entering in the Ham:
The ascending Scorpion poisoned all the sky,
A sign of deep deceit and treachery.
Full on his cusp his angry master sate,
Conjoined with Saturn, baleful both to man:
Of secret slaughters, empires overturned,
Strife, blood, and massacres, expect to hear,
And all the events of an ill-omened year.

_Mal._ Then flourish hell, and mighty mischief reign!
Mischief, to some, to others must be good.
But hark! for now, though 'tis the dead of night,
When silence broods upon our darkened world,
Methinks I hear a murmuring hollow sound,
Like the deaf chimes of bells in steeples touched.

_Mel._ It is truly guessed;
But know, 'tis from no nightly sexton's hand.
There's not a damned ghost, nor hell-born fiend,
That can from limbo 'scape, but hither flies;
With leathern wings they beat the dusky skies,
To sacred churches all in swarms repair;
Some crowd the spires, but most the hallowed bells, }
And softly toll for souls departing knells: }
Each chime, thou hear'st, a future death foretells, }
Now there they perch to have them in their eyes,
'Till all go loaded to the nether skies[15].

_Mal._ To-morrow then.

_Mel._ To-morrow let it be;
Or thou deceiv'st those hungry, gaping fiends,
And Beelzebub will rage.

_Mal._ Why Beelzebub? hast thou not often said,
That Lucifer's your king?

_Mel._ I told thee true;
But Lucifer, as he who foremost fell,
So now lies lowest in the abyss of hell,
Chained till the dreadful doom; in place of whom
Sits Beelzebub, vicegerent of the damned,
Who, listening downward, hears his roaring lord,
And executes his purpose.--But no more[16].
The morning creeps behind yon eastern hill,
And now the guard is mine, to drive the elves,
And foolish fairies, from their moonlight play,
And lash the laggers from the sight of day. [_Descends._
[_Exit_ MAL.

SCENE III.

_Enter_ GUISE, MAYENNE, CARDINAL, _and_ ARCHBISHOP.

_May._ Sullen, methinks, and slow the morning breaks,
As if the sun were listless to appear,
And dark designs hung heavy on the day.

_Gui._ You're an old man too soon, you're superstitious;
I'll trust my stars, I know them now by proof;
The genius of the king bends under mine:
Environed with his guards, he durst not touch me;
But awed and cravened, as he had been spelled,
Would have pronounced, Go kill the Guise, and durst not.

_Card._ We have him in our power, coop'd in his court.
Who leads the first attack? Now by yon heaven,
That blushes at my scarlet robes, I'll doff
This womanish attire of godly peace,
And cry,--Lie there, Lord Cardinal of Guise.

_Gui._ As much too hot, as Mayenne is too cool.
But 'tis the manlier fault of the two.

_Arch._ Have you not heard the king, preventing day,
Received the guards into the city gates,
The jolly Swisses marching to their fifes?
The crowd stood gaping, heartless and amazed,
Shrunk to their shops, and left the passage free.

_Gui._ I would it should be so, 'twas a good horror[17].
First let them fear for rapes, and ransacked houses;
That very fright, when I appear to head them,
Will harden their soft city courages:
Cold burghers must be struck, and struck like flints,
Ere their hid fire will sparkle.

_Arch._ I'm glad the king has introduced these guards.

_Card._ Your reason.

_Arch._ They are too few for us to fear;
Our numbers in old martial men are more,
The city not cast in; but the pretence,
That hither they are brought to bridle Paris,
Will make this rising pass for just defence.

_May._ Suppose the city should not rise?

_Gui._ Suppose, as well, the sun should never rise:
He may not rise, for heaven may play a trick;
But he has risen from Adam's time to ours.
Is nothing to be left to noble hazard?
No venture made, but all dull certainty?
By heaven I'll tug with Henry for a crown,
Rather than have it on tame terms of yielding:
I scorn to poach for power.

_Enter a Servant, who whispers_ GUISE.

A lady, say'st thou, young and beautiful,
Brought in a chair?
Conduct her in.-- [_Exit Servant._

_Card._ You would be left alone?

_Gui._ I would; retire. [_Exeunt_ MAY. CARD. _&c._

_Re-enter Servant with_ MARMOUTIERE, _and exit._

_Starting back._] Is't possible? I dare not trust my eyes!
You are not Marmoutiere?

_Mar._ What am I then?

_Gui._ Why, any thing but she:
What should the mistress of a king do here?

_Mar._ Find him, who would be master of a king.

_Gui._ I sent not for you, madam.

_Mar._ I think, my lord, the king sent not for you.

_Gui._ Do you not fear, your visit will be known?

_Mar._ Fear is for guilty men, rebels, and traitors:
Where'er I go, my virtue is my guard.

_Gui._ What devil has sent thee here to plague my soul?
O that I could detest thee now as much
As ever I have loved, nay, even as much
As yet, in spite of all thy crimes, I love!
But 'tis a love so mixt with dark despair,
The smoke and soot smother the rising flame,
And make my soul a furnace. Woman, woman,
What can I call thee more? if devil, 'twere less.
Sure, thine's a race was never got by Adam,
But Eve played false, engendering with the serpent,
Her own part worse than his.

_Mar._ Then they got traitors.

_Gui._ Yes, angel-traitors, fit to shine in palaces,
Forked into ills, and split into deceits;
Two in their very frame. 'Twas well, 'twas well,
I saw thee not at court, thou basilisk;
For if I had, those eyes, without his guards,
Had done the tyrant's work.

_Mar._ Why then it seems
I was not false in all: I told you, Guise,
If you left Paris, I would go to court:
You see I kept my promise.

_Gui._ Still thy sex:
Once true in all thy life, and that for mischief.

_Mar._ Have I said I loved you?

_Gui._ Stab on, stab:
'Tis plain you love the king.

_Mar._ Nor him, nor you,
In that unlawful way you seem to mean.
My eyes had once so far betrayed my heart,
As to distinguish you from common men;
Whate'er you said, or did, was charming all.

_Gui._ But yet, it seems, you found a king more charming.

_Mar._ I do not say more charming, but more noble,
More truly royal, more a king in soul,
Than you are now in wishes.

_Gui._ May be so:
But love has oiled your tongue to run so glib,--
Curse on your eloquence!

_Mar._ Curse not that eloquence that saved your life:
For, when your wild ambition, which defied
A royal mandate, hurried you to town;
When over-weening pride of popular power
Had thrust you headlong in the Louvre toils,
Then had you died: For know, my haughty lord,
Had I not been, offended majesty
Had doomed you to the death you well deserved.

_Gui._ Then was't not Henry's fear preserved my life?

_Mar._ You know him better, or you ought to know him:
He's born to give you fear, not to receive it.

_Gui._ Say this again; but add, you gave not up
Your honour as the ransom of my life;
For, if you did, 'twere better I had died.

_Mar._ And so it were.

_Gui._ Why said you, so it were?
For though 'tis true, methinks 'tis much unkind.

_Mar._ My lord, we are not now to talk of kindness.
If you acknowledge I have saved your life,
Be grateful in return, and do an act,
Your honour, though unasked by me, requires.

_Gui._ By heaven, and you, whom next to heaven I love,
(If I said more, I fear I should not lie,)
I'll do whate'er my honour will permit.

_Mar._ Go, throw yourself at Henry's royal feet,
And rise not till approved a loyal subject.

_Gui._ A duteous loyal subject I was ever.

_Mar._ I'll put it short, my lord; depart from Paris.

_Gui._ I cannot leave
My country, friends, religion, all at stake.
Be wise, and be before-hand with your fortune;
Prevent the turn, forsake the ruined court;
Stay here, and make a merit of your love.

_Mar._ No; I'll return, and perish in those ruins.
I find thee now, ambitious, faithless, Guise.
Farewell, the basest and the last of men!

_Gui._ Stay, or--O heaven!--I'll force you: Stay--

_Mar._ I do believe
So ill of you, so villainously ill,
That, if you durst, you would:
Honour you've little, honesty you've less;
But conscience you have none:
Yet there's a thing called fame, and men's esteem,
Preserves me from your force. Once more, farewell.
Look on me, Guise; thou seest me now the last;
Though treason urge not thunder on thy head,
This one departing glance shall flash thee dead. [_Exit._

_Gui._ Ha, said she true? Have I so little honour?
Why, then, a prize so easy and so fair
Had never 'scaped my gripe: but mine she is;
For that's set down as sure as Henry's fall.
But my ambition, that she calls my crime;--
False, false, by fate! my right was born with me.
And heaven confest it in my very frame;
The fires, that would have formed ten thousand angels,
Were crammed together for my single soul.

_Enter_ MALICORN.

_Mal._ My lord, you trifle precious hours away;
The heavens look gaudily upon your greatness,
And the crowned moments court you as they fly.
Brisac and fierce Aumale have pent the Swiss,
And folded them like sheep in holy ground;
Where now, with ordered pikes, and colours furled,
They wait the word that dooms them all to die:
Come forth, and bless the triumph of the day.

_Gui._ So slight a victory required not me:
I but sat still, and nodded, like a god,
My world into creation; now 'tis time
To walk abroad, and carelessly survey
How the dull matter does the form obey. [_Exit with_ MALICORN.

SCENE IV.

_Enter Citizens, and_ MELANAX, _in his fanatic Habit, at the head
them._

_Mel._ Hold, hold, a little, fellow citizens; and you, gentlemen of
the rabble, a word of godly exhortation to strengthen your hands, ere
you give the onset.

_1 Cit._ Is this a time to make sermons? I would not hear the devil
now, though he should come in God's name, to preach peace to us.

_2 Cit._ Look you, gentlemen, sermons are not to be despised; we have
all profited by godly sermons that promote sedition: let the precious
man hold forth.

_Omn._ Let him hold forth, let him hold forth.

_Mel._ To promote sedition is my business: It has been so before any
of you were born, and will be so, when you are all dead and damned; I
have led on the rabble in all ages.

_1 Cit._ That's a lie, and a loud one.

_2 Cit._ He has led the rabble both old and young, that's all ages: A
heavenly sweet man, I warrant him; I have seen him somewhere in a
pulpit.

_Mel._ I have sown rebellion every where.

_1 Cit._ How, every where? That's another lie: How far have you
travelled, friend?

_Mel._ Over all the world.

_1 Cit._ Now, that's a rapper.

_2 Cit._ I say no: For, look you, gentlemen, if he has been a
traveller, he certainly says true, for he may lie by authority.

_Mel._ That the rabble may depose their prince, has in all times, and
in all countries, been accounted lawful.

_1 Cit._ That's the first true syllable he has uttered: but as how,
and whereby, and when, may they depose him?

_Mel._ Whenever they have more power to depose, than he has to oppose;
and this they may do upon the least occasion.

_1 Cit._ Sirrah, you mince the matter; you should say, we may do it
upon no occasion, for the less the better.

_Mel._ [_Aside._] Here's a rogue now, will out-shoot the devil in his
own bow.

_2 Cit._ Some occasion, in my mind, were not amiss: for, look you,
gentlemen, if we have no occasion, then whereby we have no occasion to
depose him; and therefore, either religion or liberty, I stick to
those occasions; for when they are gone, good night to godliness and
freedom.

_Mel._ When the most are of one side, as that's our case, we are
always in the right; for they, that are in power, will ever be the
judges: so that if we say white is black, poor white must lose the
cause, and put on mourning; for white is but a single syllable, and we
are a whole sentence. Therefore, go on boldly, and lay on resolutely
for your Solemn League and Covenant; and if here be any squeamish
conscience who fears to fight against the king,--though I, that have
known you, citizens, these thousand years, suspect not any,--let such
understand that his majesty's politic capacity is to be distinguished
from his natural; and though you murder him in one, you may preserve
him in the other; and so much for this time, because the enemy is at
hand.

_2 Cit._ [_Looking out._] Look you, gentlemen, 'tis Grillon, the
fierce colonel; he that devours our wives, and ravishes our children.

_1 Cit._ He looks so grum, I don't care to have to do with him; would
I were safe in my shop, behind the counter.

_2 Cit._ And would I were under my wife's petticoats. Look you,
gentlemen.

_Mel._ You, neighbour, behind your counter, yesterday paid a bill of
exchange in glass louis d'ors; and you, friend, that cry, look you,
gentlemen, this very morning was under another woman's petticoats, and
not your wife's.

_2 Cit._ How the devil does he know this?

_Mel._ Therefore, fight lustily for the cause of heaven, and to make
even tallies for your sins; which, that you may do with a better
conscience, I absolve you both, and all the rest of you: Now, go on
merrily; for those, that escape, shall avoid killing; and those, who
do not escape, I will provide for in another world.
[_Cry within, on the other side of the
stage,_ Vive le Roi, vive le Roi!

_Enter_ GRILLON, _and his Party._

_Gril._ Come on, fellow soldiers, _Commilitones_; that's my word, as
'twas Julius Caesar's, of pagan memory. 'Fore God, I am no speech
maker; but there are the rogues, and here's bilbo, that's a word and a
blow; we must either cut their throats, or they cut ours, that's pure
necessity, for your comfort: Now, if any man can be so unkind to his
own body,--for I meddle not with your souls,--as to stand still like a
good Christian, and offer his weasand to a butcher's whittle,--I say
no more, but that he may be saved, and that's the best can come on
him. [_Cry on both sides,_ Vive le Roi,
vive Guise! _They fight._

_Mel._ Hey, for the duke of Guise, and property! Up with religion and
the cause, and down with those arbitrary rogues there! Stand to't, you
associated cuckolds. [_Citizens go back._] O rogues! O cowards!--Damn
these half-strained shopkeepers, got between gentlemen and city wives;
how naturally they quake, and run away from their own fathers! twenty
souls a penny were a dear bargain of them.
[_They all run off,_ MELANAX _with them;
the 1st and 2d Citizens taken._

_Gril._ Possess yourselves of the place, Maubert, and hang me up those
two rogues, for an example.

_1 Cit._ O spare me, sweet colonel; I am but a young beginner, and new
set up.

_Gril._ I'll be your customer, and set you up a little better,
sirrah;--go, hang him at the next sign-post:--What have you to say for
yourself, scoundrel? why were you a rebel?

_2 Cit._ Look you, colonel, 'twas out of no ill meaning to the
government; all that I did, was pure obedience to my wife.

_Gril._ Nay, if thou hast a wife that wears the breeches, thou shalt
be condemned to live: Get thee home for a hen-pecked traitor.--What,
are we encompassed? Nay, then, faces this way; we'll sell our skins to
the fairest chapmen.

_Enter_ AUMALE _and Soldiers, on the one side, Citizens on the
other._ GRILLON, _and his Party, are disarmed._

_1 Cit._ Bear away that bloody-minded colonel, and hang him up at the
next sign-post: Nay, when I am in power, I can make examples too.

_Omn._ Tear him piece-meal; tear him piece-meal. [_Pull and haul him._

_Gril._ Rogues, villains, rebels, traitors, cuckolds! 'Swounds, what
do you make of a man? do you think legs and arms are strung upon a
wire, like a jointed baby? carry me off quickly, you were best, and
hang me decently, according to my first sentence.

_2 Cit._ Look you, colonel; you are too bulky to be carried off all at
once; a leg or an arm is one man's burden: give me a little finger for
a sample of him, whereby I'll carry it for a token to my sovereign
lady.

_Gril._ 'Tis too little, in all conscience, for her; take a bigger
token, cuckold. _Et tu, Brute,_ whom I saved? O the conscience of a
shopkeeper!

_2 Cit._ Look you, colonel, for your saving of me, I thank you
heartily, whereby that debt's paid; but for speaking treason against
my anointed wife, that's a new reckoning between us.

_Enter_ GUISE, _with a General's Staff in his Hand;_ MAYENNE,
_Cardinal, Archbishop,_ MALICORN, _and Attendants._

_Omn._ _Vive_ Guise!

_Gui._ [_Bowing, and bareheaded._]
I thank you, countrymen: the hand of heaven
In all our safeties has appeared this day.
Stand on your guard, and double every watch,
But stain your triumph with no Christian blood;
French we are all, and brothers of a land.

_Card._ What mean you, brother, by this godly talk,
Of sparing Christian blood? why, these are dogs;
Now, by the sword that cut off Malchus' ear,
Mere dogs, that neither can be saved nor damned.

_Arch._ Where have you learnt to spare inveterate foes?

_Gui._ You know the book.

_Arch._ And can expound it too:
But Christian faith was in the nonage then,
And Roman heathens lorded o'er the world.
What madness were it for the weak and few,
To fight against the many and the strong?
Grillon must die, so must the tyrant's guards,
Lest, gathering head again, they make more work.

_Mal._ My lord, the people must be fleshed in blood,
To teach them the true relish; dip them with you,
Or they'll perhaps repent.

_Gui._ You are fools; to kill them, were to shew I feared them;
The court, disarmed, disheartened and besieged,
Are all as much within my power, as if
I griped them in my fist.

_May._ 'Tis rightly judged:
And, let me add, who heads a popular cause,
Must prosecute that cause by popular ways:
So, whether you are merciful or no,
You must affect to be.

_Gui._ Dismiss those prisoners.--Grillon, you are free;
I do not ask your love, be still my foe.

_Gril._ I will be so: but let me tell you, Guise,
As this was greatly done, 'twas proudly too:
I'll give you back your life when next we meet;
'Till then I am your debtor.

_Gui._ That's till dooms-day. [GRILLON _and his Party exeunt
one way, Rabble the other._
Haste, brother, draw out fifteen thousand men,
Surround the Louvre, lest the prey should 'scape.
I know the king will send to treat;
We'll set the dice on him in high demands,
No less than all his offices of trust;
He shall be pared, and cantoned out, and clipped
So long, he shall not pass.

_Card._ What! do we talk
Of paring, clipping, and such tedious work,
Like those that hang their noses o'er a potion,
And qualm, and keck, and take it down by sips!

_Arch._ Best make advantage of this popular rage,
Let in the o'erwhelming tide on Harry's head;
In that promiscuous fury, who shall know,
Among a thousand swords, who killed the king?

_Mal._ O my dear lord, upon this only day
Depends the series of your following fate:
Think your good genius has assumed my shape,
In this prophetic doom.

_Gui._ Peace, croaking raven!--
I'll seize him first, then make him a led monarch;
I'll be declared lieutenant-general
Amidst the three estates, that represent
The glorious, full, majestic face of France,
Which, in his own despite, the king shall call:
So let him reign my tenant during life,
His brother of Navarre shut out for ever,
Branded with heresy, and barred from sway;
That, when Valois consumed in ashes lies,
The Phoenix race of Charlemain may rise. [_Exeunt._

SCENE V.--_The Louvre._

_Enter King, Queen-Mother, Abbot, and_ GRILLON.

_King._ Dismissed with such contempt?

_Gril._ Yes, 'faith, we past like beaten Romans underneath the fork.

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