_Gril._ Hark you, my friends, if you are not in haste,
Because you are the pillars of the city,
I would inform you of a general ruin.

_2 Sher._ Ruin to the city! marry, heaven forbid!

_Gril._ Amen, I say; for, look you, I'm your friend.
'Tis blown about, you've plotted on the king,
To seize him, if not kill him; for, who knows,
When once your conscience yields, how far 'twill stretch;
Next, quite to dash your firmest hopes in pieces,
The duke of Guise is dead.

_1 Sher._ Dead, colonel!

_2 Sher._ Undone, undone!

_Gril._ The world cannot redeem you;
For what, sirs, if the king, provoked at last,
Should join the Spaniard, and should fire your city;
Paris, your head,--but a most venomous one,--
Which must be blooded?

_1 Sher._ Blooded, colonel!

_Gril._ Ay, blooded, thou most infamous magistrate,
Or you will blood the king, and burn the Louvre;
But ere that be, fall million miscreant souls,
Such earth-born minds as yours; for, mark me, slaves,
Did you not, ages past, consign your lives,