I feel my blood kindling within my veins;
The genius of the throne knocks at my heart:
Come what may come, he dies.

_Qu. M._ [_Stopping the king._] What mean you, sir?
You tremble and look pale; for heaven's sake think,
'Tis your own life you venture, if you kill him.

_King._ Had I ten thousand lives, I'll venture all.
Give me way, madam!

_Qu. M._ Not to your destruction.
The whole Parisian herd is at your gates;
A crowd's a name too small, they are a nation,
Numberless, armed, enraged, one soul informs them.

_King._ And that one soul's the Guise. I'll rend it out,
And damn the rabble all at once in him.

_Gui._ My fate is now in the balance; fool within,
I thank thee for thy foresight. [_Aside._

_Qu. M._ Your guards oppose them!

_King._ Why not? a multitude's a bulky coward.

_Qu. M._ By heaven, there are not limbs in all your guards,
For every one a morsel.

_King._ Cæsar quelled them,