Gril. Rather let me demand your majesty,
Why fly you from yourself? I've heard you say,
You'd arm against the League; why do you not?
The thoughts of such as you, are starts divine;
And when you mould with second cast the spirit,
The air, the life, the golden vapour's gone.
King. Soft, my old friend; Guise plots upon my life;
Polin shall tell thee more. Hast thou not heard
The insufferable affronts he daily offers,—
War without treasure on the Huguenots;
While I am forced against my bent of soul,
Against all laws, all custom, right, succession,
To cast Navarre from the Imperial line?
Gril. Why do you, sir? Death, let me tell the traitor—
King. Peace, Guise is going to his government;
You are his foe of old; go to him, Grillon;
Visit him as from me, to be employed
In this great war against the Huguenots;
And, pr'ythee, tell him roundly of his faults,
No farther, honest Grillon.
Gril. Shall I fight him?
King. I charge thee, not.
Gril. If he provokes me, strike him;
You'll grant me that?
King. Not so, my honest soldier;
042 Yet speak to him.
Gril. I will, by heaven, to the purpose;
And, if he force a beating, who can help it?[Exit.
King. Follow, Alphonso; when the storm is up,
Call me to part them.