  A room in the Court.] Henry, Guise, Montsurry, Elenor, Tamyra, Beaupre, Pero, Charlotte, Pyra, Annable. Henry. Duchesse of Guise, your Grace is much enricht In the attendance of that English virgin, That will initiate her prime of youth, (Dispos'd to Court conditions) under the hand Of your prefer'd instructions and command,5 Rather than any in the English Court, Whose ladies are not matcht in Christendome For gracefull and confirm'd behaviours, More than the Court, where they are bred, is equall'd. Guise. I like not their Court-fashion; it is too crestfalne In all observance, making demi-gods Of their great nobles; and of their old Queene An ever-yong and most immortall goddesse. Montsurry. No question shee's the rarest Queene in Europe. Guis. But what's that to her immortality? Henr. Assure you, cosen Guise, so great a courtier, So full of majestic and roiall parts, No Queene in Christendome may vaunt her selfe. Her Court approves it: that's a Court indeed, Not mixt with clowneries us'd in common houses; But, as Courts should be th'abstracts of their Kingdomes, In all the beautie, state, and worth they hold, So is hers, amplie, and by her inform'd. The world is not contracted in a man, With more proportion and expression,25 Than in her Court, her kingdome. Our French Court Is a meere mirror of confusion to it: The king and subject, lord and every slave, Dance a continuall haie; our roomes of state Kept like our stables; no place more observ'd Than a rude market-place: and though our custome Keepe this assur'd confusion from our eyes, 'Tis nere the lesse essentially unsightly, Which they would soone see, would they change their forme To this of ours, and then compare them both; Which we must not affect, because in kingdomes, Where the Kings change doth breed the subjects terror, Pure innovation is more grosse than error. Mont. No question we shall see them imitate (Though a farre off) the fashions of our Courts, As they have ever ap't us in attire; Never were men so weary of their skins, And apt to leape out of themselves as they; Who, when they travell to bring forth rare men, Come home delivered of a fine French suit: Their braines lie with their tailors, and get babies For their most compleat issue; hee's sole heire To all the morall vertues that first greetes The light with a new fashion, which becomes them Like apes, disfigur'd with the attires of men. Henr. No question they much wrong their reall worth In affectation of outlandish scumme; But they have faults, and we more: they foolish-proud To jet in others plumes so haughtely; We proud that they are proud of foolerie, Holding our worthes more compleat for their vaunts. Enter Monsieur, D'Ambois. Monsieur. Come, mine owne sweet heart, I will enter thee. Sir, I have brought a gentleman to court; And pray, you would vouchsafe to doe him grace. Henr. D'Ambois, I thinke. Bussy. That's still my name, my lord, Though I be something altered in attire. Henr. We like your alteration, and must tell you, We have expected th'offer of your service; For we (in feare to make mild vertue proud) Use not to seeke her out in any man. Buss. Nor doth she use to seeke out any man: He that will winne, must wooe her: she's not shameless. Mons. I urg'd her modestie in him, my lord, And gave her those rites that he sayes shee merits. Henr. If you have woo'd and won, then, brother, weare him. Mons. Th'art mine, sweet heart! See, here's the Guises Duches; The Countesse of Mountsurreaue, Beaupre. Come, I'le enseame thee. Ladies, y'are too many To be in counsell: I have here a friend That I would gladly enter in your graces. Buss. 'Save you, ladyes! Duchess. If you enter him in our graces, my lord, me thinkes, by his blunt behaviour he should come out of himselfe. Tamyra. Has he never beene courtier, my80 lord? Mons. Never, my lady. Beaupre. And why did the toy take him inth' head now? Buss. Tis leape yeare, lady, and therefore very good to enter a courtier. Henr. Marke, Duchesse of Guise, there is one is not bashfull. Duch. No my lord, he is much guilty of the bold extremity.90 Tam. The man's a courtier at first sight. Buss. I can sing pricksong, lady, at first sight; and why not be a courtier as suddenly? Beaup. Here's a courtier rotten before he be ripe. Buss. Thinke me not impudent, lady; I am yet no courtier; I desire to be one and would gladly take entrance, madam, under your princely colours. Enter Barrisor, L'Anou, Pyrhot. Duch. Soft sir, you must rise by degrees, first being the servant of some common Lady or Knights wife, then a little higher to a Lords wife; next a little higher to a Countesse; yet a little higher to a Duchesse, and then turne the ladder.105 Buss. Doe you alow a man then foure mistresses, when the greatest mistresse is alowed but three servants? Duch. Where find you that statute sir. Buss. Why be judged by the groome-porters. Duch. The groome-porters! Buss. I, madam, must not they judge of all gamings i'th' Court? Duch. You talke like a gamester. Gui. Sir, know you me?115 Buss. My lord! Gui. I know not you; whom doe you serve? Buss. Serve, my lord! Gui. Go to companion; your courtship's too saucie. Buss. Saucie! Companion! tis the Guise, but yet those termes might have beene spar'd of the guiserd. Companion! He's jealous, by this light. Are you blind of that side, Duke? Ile to her againe for that. Forth, princely mistresse, for the honour of courtship. Another riddle. Gui. Cease your courtshippe, or, by heaven, Ile cut your throat. Buss. Cut my throat? cut a whetstone, young Accius Noevius! Doe as much with your tongue as he did with a rasor. Cut my throat! Barrisor. What new-come gallant have wee heere, that dares mate the Guise thus? L'Anou. Sfoot, tis D'Ambois! the Duke mistakes him (on my life) for some Knight of the new edition. Buss. Cut my throat! I would the King fear'd thy cutting of his throat no more than I feare thy cutting of mine. Gui. Ile doe't, by this hand. Buss. That hand dares not doe't; y'ave cut too many throats already, Guise, and robb'd the realme of many thousand soules, more precious than thine owne. Come, madam, talk on. Sfoot, can you not talk? Talk on, I say. Another riddle. Pyrhot. Here's some strange distemper. Bar. Here's a sudden transmigration with D'Ambois, out of the Knights ward into the Duches bed.150 L'An. See what a metamorphosis a brave suit can work. Pyr. Slight! step to the Guise, and discover him. Bar. By no meanes; let the new suit work;155 wee'll see the issue. Gui. Leave your courting. Buss. I will not. I say, mistresse, and I will stand unto it, that if a woman may have three servants, a man may have threescore mistresses. Gui. Sirrha, Ile have you whipt out of the Court for this insolence. Buss. Whipt! Such another syllable out a th'presence, if thou dar'st, for thy Dukedome. Gui. Remember, poultron! Mons. Pray thee forbeare! Buss. Passion of death! Were not the King here, he should strow the chamber like a rush. Mons. But leave courting his wife then. Buss. I wil not: Ile court her in despight of170 him. Not court her! Come madam, talk on; feare me nothing. [To Guise.] Well mai'st thou drive thy master from the Court, but never D'Ambois. Mons. His great heart will not down, tis like the sea, That partly by his owne internall heat, Partly the starrs daily and nightly motion, Their heat and light, and partly of the place The divers frames, but chiefly by the moone, Bristled with surges, never will be wonne, (No, not when th'hearts of all those powers are burst) To make retreat into his setled home, Till he be crown'd with his owne quiet fome. Henr. You have the mate. Another? Gui. No more. Flourish short. Exit Guise; after him the King, Mons[ieur] whispering. Bar. Why here's the lion skar'd with the185 throat of a dunghill cock, a fellow that has newly shak'd off his shackles; now does he crow for that victory. L'An. Tis one of the best jiggs that ever was acted.190 Pyr. Whom does the Guise suppose him to be, troe? L'An. Out of doubt, some new denizond Lord, and thinks that suit newly drawne out a th' mercers books.195 Bar. I have heard of a fellow, that by a fixt imagination looking upon a bulbaiting, had a visible paire of hornes grew out of his forhead: and I beleeve this gallant overjoyed with the conceit of Monsieurs cast suit, imagines himselfe to be the Monsieur. L'An. And why not? as well as the asse stalking in the lions case, bare himselfe like a lion, braying all the huger beasts out of the forrest? Pyr. Peace! he looks this way. Bar. Marrie, let him look, sir; what will you say now if the Guise be gone to fetch a blanquet for him? L'An. Faith, I beleeve it, for his honour sake. Pyr. But, if D'Ambois carrie it cleane? Exeunt Ladies. Bar. True, when he curvets in the blanquet. Pyr. I, marrie, sir. L'An. Sfoot, see how he stares on's. Bar. Lord blesse us, let's away.215 Buss. Now, sir, take your full view: who does the object please ye? Bar. If you aske my opinion, sir, I think your suit sits as well as if't had beene made for you.220 Buss. So, sir, and was that the subject of your ridiculous joylity? L'An. What's that to you, sir? Buss. Sir, I have observ'd all your fleerings; and resolve your selves yee shall give a strickt account for't. Enter Brisac, Melynell. Bar. O miraculous jealousie! Doe you think your selfe such a singular subject for laughter that none can fall into the matter of our merriment but you?230 L'An. This jealousie of yours, sir, confesses some close defect in your selfe that wee never dream'd of. Pyr. Wee held discourse of a perfum'd asse, that being disguis'd in a lions case imagin'd himself a lion: I hope that toucht not you. Buss. So, sir? Your descants doe marvellous well fit this ground; we shall meet where your buffonly laughters will cost ye the best blood in your bodies. Bar. For lifes sake, let's be gone; hee'll kill's outright else. Buss. Goe, at your pleasures; Ile be your ghost to haunt you; and yee sleepe an't, hang me.245 L'An. Goe, goe, sir; court your mistresse. Pyr. And be advis'd; we shall have odds against you. Buss. Tush, valour stands not in number: Ile maintaine it that one man may beat three boyes.250 Brisac. Nay, you shall have no ods of him in number, sir; hee's a gentleman as good as the proudest of you, and yee shall not wrong him. Bar. Not, sir? Melynell. Not, sir; though he be not so rich,255 hee's a better man than the best of you; and I will not endure it. L'An. Not you, sir? Bris. No, sir, nor I. Buss. I should thank you for this kindnesse, if I thought these perfum'd musk-cats (being out of this priviledge) durst but once mew at us. Bar. Does your confident spirit doubt that, sir? Follow us and try. L'An. Come, sir, wee'll lead you a dance. 265 Exeunt. Finis Actus Primi. LINENOTES:2 that. A, this. 4 the. A omits. 11 demi-gods. A, semi-gods. 14-15 No question ... immortality. A omits. 54 To jet ... haughtely. A, To be the pictures of our vanitie. 58 a. A, this. to court. A, t'attend you. 62, 63 We. A, I. 68-75. I urg'd ... graces. Printed as prose in Qq. 126 Another riddle. A omits. 129 young. A, good. 229 the matter of. A omits. 227-231 O ... you. Printed as three lines of verse, ending in selfe, into, you. |
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