_Abb._ To-morrow, sir,
If hours between slide not too idly by,
You may be master of their destiny,
Who now dispose so loftily of yours.
Not far without the suburbs there are quartered
Three thousand Swiss, and two French regiments.

_King._ Would they were here, and I were at their head!

_Qu. M._ Send Mareschal Byron to lead them up.

_King._ It shall be so: by heaven there's life in this!
The wrack of clouds is driving on the winds,
And shews a break of sunshine--
Go Grillon, give my orders to Byron,
And see your soldiers well disposed within,
For safeguard of the Louvre.

_Qu. M._ One thing more:
The Guise (his business yet not fully ripe,)
Will treat, at least, for shew of loyalty;
Let him be met with the same arts he brings.

_King._ I know, he'll make exorbitant demands,
But here your part of me will come in play;
The Italian soul shall teach me how to sooth:
Even Jove must flatter with an empty hand,
'Tis time to thunder, when he gripes the brand. [_Exeunt._