e 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.

_King._ Give me my arms.

_Gril._ For what?

_King._ I'll lead you on.

_Gril._ You are a true lion, but my men are sheep;
If you run first, I'll swear they'll follow you.

_King._ What, all turned cowards? not a man in France
Dares set his foot by mine, and perish by me?

_Gril._ Troth, I can't find them much inclined to perishing.

_King._ What can be left in danger, but to dare?
No matter for my arms, I'll go barefaced,
And seize the first bold rebel that I meet.

_Abb._ There's something of divinity in kings,
That sits between their eyes, and guards their life.

_Gril._ True, Abbot; but the mischief is, you churchmen
Can see that something further than the crowd;
These musket bullets have not read much logic,
Nor are they given to make your nice distinctions:
[_One enters, and gives the
Queen a Note, she reads--_
One of them possibly may hit the king
In some one part of him that's not divine;
And so that mortal part of his majesty would draw
the divinity of it into another world, sweet Abbot.

_Qu. M._ 'Tis equal madness to go out or stay;
The reverence due to kings is all transferred
To haughty Guise; and when new gods are made,
The old must quit the temple; you must fly.

_King._ Death! had I wings, yet would I