r;
I'm but a stripling in the trade of war:
But you, whose life is one continued broil,
What will not your triumphant arms accomplish!
You, that were formed for mastery in war.
That, with a start, cried to your brother Mayenne,--
"To horse!" and slaughtered forty thousand Germans[9].

_Gui._ Let me beseech you, colonel, no more.

_Gril._ But, sir, since I must make at least a figure
In this great business, let me understand
What 'tis you mean, and why you force the king
Upon so dangerous an expedition.

_Gui._ Sir, I intend the greatness of the king;
The greatness of all France, whom it imports
To make their arms their business, aim, and glory;
And where so proper as upon those rebels,
That covered all the state with blood and death?

_Gril._ Stored arsenals and armouries, fields of horse,
Ordnance, munition, and the nerve of war,
Sound infantry, not harassed and diseased,
To meet the fierce Navarre, should first be thought on.

_Gui._ I find, my lord, the argument grows warm,
Therefore, thus much, and I have done: I go
To join the Holy League in this great war,
In which no place of office, or command,
Not of the greatest, shall be bought or sold;
Whereas too often honours are conferred
On soldiers, and no soldiers: This man knighted,
Because he charged a troop before his dinner,
And sculked behind a hedge i'the afternoon:
I will have strict examination made
Betwixt the meritorious and the base.

_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