Mons. Or did the slie Guise put thee 270
Into my bosome t'undermine my projects?
I feare thee not; for, though I be not sure
I have thy heart, I know thy braine-pan yet
To be as emptie a dull piece of wainscot
As ever arm'd the scalpe of any courtier;[275]
A fellow onely that consists of sinewes;
Meere Swisser, apt for any execution.
Cler. But killing of the King!
Mons. Right: now I see