ere you may see
How to make ready black fac'd tragedy:
You now discerne, I hope, through all her paintings, 115
Her gasping wrinkles and fames sepulchres.

_Guise._ Think you he faines, my lord? what hold you now?
Doe we maligne your wife, or honour you?

_Mons._ What, stricken dumb! Nay fie, lord, be not danted:
Your case is common; were it ne're so rare, 120
Beare it as rarely! Now to laugh were manly.
A worthy man should imitate the weather,
That sings in tempests, and being cleare, is silent.

_Gui._ Goe home, my lord, and force your wife to write
Such loving lines to D'Ambois as she us'd 125
When she desir'd his presence.

_Mons._ Doe, my lord,
And make her name her conceal'd messenger,
That close and most inennerable pander,
That passeth all our studies to exquire:
By whom convay the letter to her love; 130
And so you shall be sure to have him come
Within the thirsty reach of your revenge.
Before which, lodge an ambush in her chamber,
Behind the arras, of your stoutest men
All close and soundly arm'd; and let them share 135
A spirit amongst them that would serve a thousand.

_Enter Pero with a letter._

_Gui._ Yet, stay a little: see, she sends for you.

_Mons._ Poore, loving lady, she'le make all good yet;
Think you not so, my lord? _Mont[surry] stabs Pero, and exit._

_Gui._ Alas, poore soule!

_Mons._ This was cruelly done, y'faith.

_Pero._ T'was nobly done; 140
And I forgive his lordship from my soule.

_Mons._ Then much good doo't thee, Pero! hast a letter?

_Per._ I hope it rather be a bitter volume
Of worthy curses for your perjury.

_Gui._ To you, my lord.

_Mons._ To me? Now out upon her! 145

_Gui._ Let me see, my lord.

_Mons._ You shall presently: how fares my Pero? _Enter Servant._
Who's there? Take in this maid, sh'as caught a clap,
And fetch my surgeon to her. Come, my lord,
We'l now peruse our letter.
_Exeunt Mons[ieur], Guise. Lead her out._

_Per._ Furies rise 150
Out of the black lines, and torment his soule!

* * * * *

_Tam._ Hath my lo