Bussy D'Ambois and The Revenge of Bussy D'Ambois Part 25

_Beh._ The Guise and Monsieur.

_Buss._ A fit paire of sheeres To cut the threds of kings and kingly spirits, 65 And consorts fit to sound forth harmony Set to the fals of kingdomes. Shall the hand Of my kind mistresse kill me?

_Beh._ If thou yeeld To her next summons. Y'are faire warn'd; farewell!

_Thunders. Exit._

_Buss._ I must fare well, how ever, though I die, 70 My death consenting with his augurie.

Should not my powers obay when she commands, My motion must be rebell to my will, My will to life; if, when I have obay'd, Her hand should so reward me, they must arme it, 75 Binde me, or force it; or, I lay my life, She rather would convert it many times On her owne bosome, even to many deaths.

But were there danger of such violence, I know 'tis farre from her intent to send: 80 And who she should send is as farre from thought, Since he is dead whose only mean she us'd. _Knocks._ Whose there? Look to the dore, and let him in, Though politick Monsieur, or the violent Guise.

_Enter Montsurry like the Frier, with a letter written in bloud._

_Mont._ Haile to my worthy sonne!

_Buss._ O lying Spirit, 85 To say the Frier was dead! Ile now beleeve Nothing of all his forg'd predictions.

My kinde and honour'd father, well reviv'd!

I have beene frighted with your death and mine, And told my mistresse hand should be my death, 90 If I obeyed this summons.

_Mont._ I beleev'd Your love had bin much clearer then to give Any such doubt a thought, for she is cleare, And having freed her husbands jealousie (Of which her much abus'd hand here is witnesse) 95 She prayes, for urgent cause, your instant presence.

_Buss._ Why, then, your Prince of Spirits may be call'd The Prince of lyers.

_Mont._ Holy Writ so calls him.

_Buss._ What! writ in bloud!

_Mont._ I, 'tis the ink of lovers.

_Buss._ O, 'tis a sacred witnesse of her love. 100 So much elixer of her bloud as this, Dropt in the lightest dame, would make her firme As heat to fire; and, like to all the signes, Commands the life confinde in all my veines.

O, how it multiplies my bloud with spirit, 105 And makes me apt t'encounter death and h.e.l.l.

But come, kinde father; you fetch me to heaven, And to that end your holy weed was given. _Exeunt._

LINENOTES:

_with tapers_. A omits.

_Thunder._ A omits.

8 _Nods_. A, Crackes.

_Enter . . . Frier_. Placed after _heaven_ in Qq.

9 _deare_. A, my.

15-16 _and now . . . imminent_. A omits.

17 _upper_. A, utmost.

49 _s.h.i.+ne_. A, see.

50 _men are_. A, sense is.

_Thunders_ A omits

_Thunders._ A omits.

76 _or_. A, and.

_with a letter written in bloud_. A omits.

85-98 _O lying Spirit . . . calls him_. Omitted in A, which has instead:--

_Buss._ O lying Spirit: welcome, loved father, How fares my dearest mistresse?

_Mont._ Well as ever, Being well as ever thought on by her lord: Wherof she sends this witnesse in her hand, And praies, for urgent cause, your speediest presence.

91-92 _I beleeved . . . give_. One line in B.

[SCENA QUARTA.

_A Room in Montsurry's House._]

_Thunder. Intrat Umbra Frier and discovers Tamyra._

_[Umbra] Friar._ Up with these stupid thoughts, still loved daughter, And strike away this heartlesse trance of anguish: Be like the sunne, and labour in eclipses.

Look to the end of woes: oh, can you sit Mustering the horrors of your servants slaughter 5 Before your contemplation, and not study How to prevent it? Watch when he shall rise, And, with a suddaine out-crie of his murther, Blow his retreat before he be revenged.

_Tamyra._ O father, have my dumb woes wak'd your death? 10 When will our humane griefes be at their height?

Man is a tree that hath no top in cares, No root in comforts; all his power to live Is given to no end but t'have power to grieve.

_Umb. Fri._ It is the misery of our creation. 15 Your true friend, Led by your husband, shadowed in my weed, Now enters the dark vault.

_Tam._ But, my dearest father, Why will not you appeare to him your selfe, And see that none of these deceits annoy him? 20

_Umb. Fri._ My power is limited; alas! I cannot; All that I can doe--See! the cave opens. _Exit._

_D'Amboys at the gulfe._

_Tam._ Away (my love) away! thou wilt be murther'd.

_Enter Monsieur and Guise above._

_Bussy._ Murther'd! I know not what that Hebrew means: That word had ne're bin nam'd had all bin D'Ambois. 25 Murther'd! By heaven, he is my murtherer That shewes me not a murtherer: what such bugge Abhorreth not the very sleepe of D'Amboys?

Murther'd! Who dares give all the room I see To D'Ambois reach? or look with any odds 30 His fight i'th' face, upon whose hand sits death, Whose sword hath wings, and every feather pierceth?

If I scape Monsieurs pothecarie shops, Foutir for Guises shambles! 'Twas ill plotted; They should have mall'd me here 35 When I was rising. I am up and ready.

Let in my politique visitants, let them in, Though entring like so many moving armours.