Tame this proud spirit, curb this untrain'd charger?
We will not weigh too heavily, nor grind
Too hard, but, having bow'd him to the earth,
Leave the pursuit to others--carrion birds,
Who stoop, but not until the falcon's gorg'd
Upon the prey he leaves to their base talons.

GONZALES.

It rests but with your grace to point the means.

QUEEN.

Where be the plans of those possessions
Of Bourbon's house?--see that thou find them straight:
His mother was my kinswoman, and I
Could aptly once trace characters like those
She used to write--enough--Guienne--Auvergne
And all Provence that lies beneath his claim,--
That claim disprov'd, of right belong to me.--
The path is clear, do thou fetch me those parchments.
[_Exit_ Gonzales.
Not dearer to my heart will be the day
When first the crown of France deck'd my son's forehead,
Than that when I can compass thy perdition,--
When I can strip the halo of thy fame
From off thy brow, seize on the wide domains,
That make thy hatred house akin to empire,
And give thy name to deathless infamy. [_Exit_.