I, feare not: stand close, be resolute:

[The murtherers go aside as if in the next room.]

Now fals the star whose influence governes France,
Whose light was deadly to the Protestants:
Now must he fall and perish in his height.

Enter the King and Epernoune.

KING. Now Captain of my guarde, are these murtherers ready?

CAPTAINE. They be my good Lord.

KING. But are they resolute and armde to kill,
Hating the life and honour of the Guise?

CAPTAINE. I warrant you my Lord.

[Exit.]

KING. Then come proud Guise and heere disgordge thy brest,
Surchargde with surfet of ambitious thoughts:
Breath out that life wherein my death was hid,
And end thy endles treasons with thy death.

Enter the Guise [within] and knocketh.

GUISE. Holla varlet, hey: Epernoune, where is the King?

EPERNOUNE. Mounted his royall Cabonet.

GUISE. I prethee tell him that the Guise is heere.

EPERNOUNE. And please your grace the Duke of Guise doth crave
Accesse unto your highnes.

KING. Let him come in.
Come Guise and see thy traiterous guile outreacht,
And perish in the pit thou mad'st for me.

The Guise comes to the King.

GUISE. Good morrow to your Majestie.

KING. Good morrow to my loving Cousin of Guise.
How fares it this morning with your excellence?

GUISE. I heard your Majestie was scarcely pleasde,
That in the Court I bear so great a traine.

KING. They were to blame that said I was displeasde,
And you good Cosin to imagine it.
Twere hard with me if I should doubt my kinne,
Or be suspicious of my deerest freends:
Cousin, assure you I am resolute,
Whatever any whisper in mine eares,
Not to suspect disloyaltye in thee,
And so sweet Cuz farwell.

Exit King [and Epernoune].

GUISE. So,
Now sues the King for favour to the Guise,
And all his Minions stoup when I commaund:
Why this tis to have an army in the fielde.
Now by the holy sacrament I sweare,
As ancient Romanes over their Captive Lords,
So will I triumph over this wanton King,
And he shall follow my proud Chariots wheeles.
Now doe I but begin to look about,
And all my former time was spent in vaine:
Holde Sworde,
For in thee is the Guises hope.

Enter one of the Murtherers.

Villaine, why cost thou look so gastly? speake.

3. O pardon me my Lord of Guise.