_Gril._ O, your pardon, sir;
I'm but a stripling in the trade of war:
But you, whose life is one continued broil,
What will not your triumphant arms accomplish!
You, that were formed for mastery in war.
That, with a start, cried to your brother Mayenne,--
"To horse!" and slaughtered forty thousand Germans[9].

_Gui._ Let me beseech you, colonel, no more.

_Gril._ But, sir, since I must make at least a figure
In this great business, let me understand
What 'tis you mean, and why you force the king
Upon so dangerous an expedition.

_Gui._ Sir, I intend the greatness of the king;
The greatness of all France, whom it imports
To make their arms their business, aim, and glory;
And where so proper as upon those rebels,
That covered all the state with blood and death?

_Gril._ Stored arsenals and armouries, fields of horse,
Ordnance, munition, and the nerve of war,
Sound infantry, not harassed and diseased,
To meet the fierce Navarre, should first be thought on.

_Gui._ I find, my lord, the argument grows warm,
Therefore, thus much, and I have done: I go
To join the Holy League in this great war,
In which no place of office, or command,