_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 thos