_Cur._ I'll swear him guilty.
I swallow oaths as easy as snap-dragon,
Mock-fire that never burns.

_Gui._ Then, Bussy, be it your care to admit my troops,
At Port St Honore: [_Rises._] Night wears apace,
And day-light must not peep on dark designs.
I will myself to court, pay formal duty,
Take leave, and to my government retire;
Impatient to be soon recalled, to see
The king imprisoned, and the nation free[2]. [_Exeunt._


SCENE II.

_Enter_ MALICORN _solus._

_Mal._ Each dismal minute, when I call to mind
The promise, that I made the Prince of Hell,
In one-and-twenty years to be his slave,
Of which near twelve are gone, my soul runs back,
The wards of reason roll into their spring.
O horrid thought! but one-and-twenty years,
And twelve near past, then to be steeped in fire,
Dashed against rocks, or snatched from molten lead,
Reeking, and dropping, piece-meal borne by winds,
And quenched ten thousand fathom in the deep!--
But hark! he comes: see there! my blood stands still,
[_Knocking at the Door._
My spirits start on end for Guise's fate.