King. O villain, slave, wert thou my late-born heir,
065 Given me by heaven, even when I lay a-dying—
But peace, thou festering thought, and hide thy wound;—
Where is he?
Gril. With her majesty, your mother;
She has taken chair, and he walks bowing by her,
With thirty thousand rebels at his heels.
King. What's to be done? No pall upon my spirit;
But he that loves me best, and dares the most
On this nice point of empire, let him speak.
Alph. I would advise you, sir, to call him in,
And kill him instantly upon the spot.
Abb. I like Alphonso's counsel, short, sure work;
Cut off the head, and let the body walk.
Enter Queen-Mother.
Qu. M. Sir, the Guise waits.
King. He enters on his fate.
Qu. M. Not so,—forbear; the city is up in arms;
Nor doubt, if, in their heat, you cut him off,
That they will spare the royal majesty.
Once, sir, let me advise, and rule your fury.
King. You shall: I'll see him, and I'll spare him now.