_Tam._ I am in no powre earthly, but in yours. To what end should I goe to bed, my lord, 95 That wholly mist the comfort of my bed? Or how should sleepe possesse my faculties, Wanting the proper closer of mine eyes?
_Mont._ Then will I never more sleepe night from thee: All mine owne businesse, all the Kings affaires, 100 Shall take the day to serve them; every night Ile ever dedicate to thy delight.
_Tam._ Nay, good my lord, esteeme not my desires Such doters on their humours that my judgement Cannot subdue them to your worthier pleasure: 105 A wives pleas'd husband must her object be In all her acts, not her sooth'd fantasie.
_Mont._ Then come, my love, now pay those rites to sleepe Thy faire eyes owe him: shall we now to bed?
_Tam._ O no, my lord! your holy frier sayes 110 All couplings in the day that touch the bed Adulterous are, even in the married; Whose grave and worthy doctrine, well I know, Your faith in him will liberally allow.
_Mont._ Hee's a most learned and religious man. 115 Come to the Presence then, and see great D'Ambois (Fortunes proud mushrome shot up in a night) Stand like an Atlas under our Kings arme; Which greatnesse with him Monsieur now envies As bitterly and deadly as the Guise. 120
_Tam._ What! he that was but yesterday his maker, His raiser, and preserver?
_Mont._ Even the same. Each naturall agent works but to this end, To render that it works on like it selfe; Which since the Monsieur in his act on D'Ambois 125 Cannot to his ambitious end effect, But that (quite opposite) the King hath power (In his love borne to D'Ambois) to convert The point of Monsieurs aime on his owne breast, He turnes his outward love to inward hate: 130 A princes love is like the lightnings fume, Which no man can embrace, but must consume. _Exeunt._
_Enter D'Ambois . . . pearle_. A, Bucy, Tamyra.
45-61 _Now let . . . Descendit Frier and D'Amb[ois]_. A omits.
118 _under our Kings arme_. A, underneath the King.
_Henry, D'Ambois, Monsieur, Guise, Dutches, Annabell, Charlot, Attendants._
_Henry._ Speak home, my Bussy! thy impartiall words Are like brave faulcons that dare trusse a fowle Much greater than themselves; flatterers are kites That check at sparrowes; thou shalt be my eagle, And beare my thunder underneath thy wings: 5 Truths words like jewels hang in th'eares of kings.