In all her acts, not her soothed fantasy.  
_Mont._ Then come, my love, now pay those rites to sleep
Thy fair eyes owe him: shall we now to bed?  
_Tam._ O no, my lord! your holy friar says
All couplings in the day that touch the bed
Adulterous are, even in the married;
Whose grave and worthy doctrine, well I know,
Your faith in him will liberally allow.  
_Mont._ He's a most learned and religious man.
Come to the Presence then, and see great D'Ambois
(Fortunes proud mushroom shot up in a night)
Stand like an Atlas under our Kings arm;
Which greatness with him Monsieur now envies
As bitterly and deadly as the Guise.  
_Tam._ What! he that was but yesterday his maker,
His raiser, and preserver?  
_Mont._ Even the same.
Each natural agent works but to this end,
To render that it works on like itself;
Which since the Monsieur in his act on D'Ambois
Cannot to his ambitious end effect,
But that (quite opposite) the King hath power
(In his love borne to D'Ambois) to convert
The point of Monsieurs aim on his own breast,
He turns his outward love to inward hate:
A prince's love is like the lightnings fume,
Which no man can embrace, but must consume.  
_Exeunt._  
_ACTUS TERTII SCENA SECUNDA. A room in the Court._  
_Henry, D'Ambois, Monsieur, Guise, Duchess, Annabell,
Charlot, Attendants._  
_Henry._ Speak home, my Bussy! thy impartial words
Are like brave falcons that dare truss a fowl
Much greater than themselves; flatterers are kites
That check at sparrows; thou shalt be my eagle,
And bear my thunder underneath thy wings:
Truths words like jewels hang in th' ears of kings.  
_Bussy._ Would I might live to see no Jews hang there
In steed of jewels--sycophants, I mean,
Who use Truth like the Devil, his true foe,

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