oaring lord,
And executes his purpose.--But no more[16].
The morning creeps behind yon eastern hill,
And now the guard is mine, to drive the elves,
And foolish fairies, from their moonlight play,
And lash the laggers from the sight of day. [_Descends._
[_Exit_ MAL.

SCENE III.

_Enter_ GUISE, MAYENNE, CARDINAL, _and_ ARCHBISHOP.

_May._ Sullen, methinks, and slow the morning breaks,
As if the sun were listless to appear,
And dark designs hung heavy on the day.

_Gui._ You're an old man too soon, you're superstitious;
I'll trust my stars, I know them now by proof;
The genius of the king bends under mine:
Environed with his guards, he durst not touch me;
But awed and cravened, as he had been spelled,
Would have pronounced, Go kill the Guise, and durst not.

_Card._ We have him in our power, coop'd in his court.
Who leads the first attack? Now by yon heaven,
That blushes at my scarlet robes, I'll doff
This womanish attire of godly peace,
And cry,--Lie there, Lord Cardinal of Guise.

_Gui._ As much too hot, as Mayenne is too cool.
But 'tis the manlier fault of the two.

_Arch._ Have you not heard the king, preventing day,
Received the guards into the city gates,
The jolly Swisses marching to their fifes?
The crowd stood gaping, heartless and amazed,
Shrunk to their shops, and left the passage free.

_Gui._ I would it should be so, 'twas a good horror[17].
First let them fear for rapes, and ransacked houses;
That very fright, when I appear to head them,
Will harden their soft city courages:
Cold burghers must be struck, and struck like flints,
Ere their hid fire will sparkle.

_Arch._ I'm glad the king has introduced these guards.

_Card._ Your reason.

_Arch._ They are too few for us to fear;
Our numbers in old martial men are more,
The city not cast in; but the pretence,
That hither they are brought to bridle Paris,
Will make this rising pass for just defence.

_May._ Suppose the city should not rise?

_Gui._ Suppose, as well, the sun should never rise:
He may not rise, for heaven may play a trick;
But he has risen from Adam's time to ours.
Is nothing to be left to noble hazard?
No venture made, but all dull certainty?
By heaven I'll tug with Henry for a crown,
Rather than have it on tame terms of yielding:
I scorn to poach for power.

_Enter a Servant, who whispers_ GUISE.

A lady, say'st thou, young and beautiful,