_Queen._ Then come, sweet death, and rid me of this grief. 90 [_Exit._
_Re-enter a_ Lord, _with the head of_ MORTIMER.
_Lord._ My lord, here is the head of Mortimer.
_King._ Go fetch my father"s hea.r.s.e, where it shall lie; And bring my funeral robes. Accursed head, Could I have ruled thee then, as I do now, Thou had"st not hatched this monstrous treachery.
Here comes the hea.r.s.e; help me to mourn, my lords.
Sweet father, here unto thy murdered ghost I offer up this wicked traitor"s head; And let these tears, distilling from mine eyes, Be witness of my grief and innocency. 100 [_Exeunt._
THE Ma.s.sACRE AT PARIS.
Of _The Ma.s.sacre at Paris_ there is only one early edition, an undated 8vo. (printed _circ._ 1596?) The t.i.tle is:--
_The Ma.s.sacre at Paris: With the death of the Duke of Guise. As it was plaide by the right honourable the Lord high Admirall his Seruants.
Written by Christopher Marlowe. At London Printed by E. A. for Edward White, dwelling neere the little North doore of S. Paules Church at the signe of the Gun._
_PERSONS REPRESENTED._
CHARLES THE NINTH, _king of France._ DUKE OF ANJOU, _his Brother, afterwards_ KING HENRY THE THIRD.
KING OF NAVARRE.
PRINCE OF CONDe, _his Cousin._
DUKE OF GUISE, } CARDINAL OF LORRAINE,} _Brothers._ DUKE DUMAINE, }
Son to the DUKE OF GUISE, _a Boy._ THE LORD HIGH ADMIRAL.
DUKE JOYEUX.
EPERNOUN.
PLESHe.
BARTUS.
TWO LORDS OF POLAND.
GONZAGO.
RETES.
MOUNTSORRELL.
MUGEROUN.
LOREINE, _a Preacher._ SEROUNE.
RAMUS.
TALaeUS.
Friar.
Surgeon.
English Agent.
Apothecary.
Cutpurse.
Captain of the Guard, Protestants, Schoolmasters, Soldiers, Murderers, Attendants, &c.
CATHERINE, the Queen-Mother of France.
MARGARET, _her Daughter, wife to the_ KING OF NAVARRE.
THE OLD QUEEN OF NAVARRE.
d.u.c.h.eSS OF GUISE.
Wife to SEROUNE.
Maid to the d.u.c.h.eSS OF GUISE.
THE Ma.s.sACRE AT PARIS.
SCENE I.
_Enter_ CHARLES,[348] _the French king_; CATHERINE, _the Queen-Mother; the_ KING OF NAVARRE; MARGARET, _Queen of Navarre; the_ PRINCE OF CONDe; _the_ LORD HIGH ADMIRAL; _the_ OLD QUEEN OF NAVARRE; _with others_.
_Char._ Prince of Navarre, my honourable brother, Prince Conde, and my good Lord Admiral, I wish this union and religious league, Knit in these hands, thus joined in nuptial rites, May not dissolve till death dissolve our lives; And that the native sparks of princely love, That kindled first this motion in our hearts, May still be fuelled in our progeny.
_Nav._ The many favours which your grace hath shown, From time to time, but specially in this, 10 Shall bind me ever to your highness" will, In what Queen-Mother or your grace commands.
_Cath._ Thanks, son Navarre. You see we love you well, That link you in marriage with our daughter here; And, as you know, our difference in religion Might be a means to cross you in your love,--
_Char._ Well, madam, let that rest.-- And now, my lords, the marriage rites performed, We think it good to go and cnsummate The rest with hearing of a holy ma.s.s.-- 20 Sister, I think yourself will bear us company.
_Mar._ I will, my good lord.
_Char._ The rest that will not go, my lords, may stay.-- Come, mother, Let us go to honour this solemnity.
_Cath._ Which I"ll dissolve with blood and cruelty. [_Aside._ [_Exeunt all except the_ KING OF NAVARRE, CONDe, _and the_ ADMIRAL.
_Nav._ Prince Conde, and my good Lord Admiral, Now Guise may storm, but do us little hurt, Having the king, Queen-Mother on our sides, To stop the malice of his envious heart, 30 That seeks to murder all the Protestants.
Have you not heard of late how he decreed (If that the king had given consent thereto) That all the Protestants that are in Paris Should have been murdered the other night?
_Adm._ My lord, I marvel that th" aspiring Guise Dares once adventure, without the king"s consent, To meddle or attempt such dangerous things.
_Con._ My lord, you need not marvel at the Guise, For what he doth, the Pope will ratify, 40 In murder, mischief, or in tyranny.
_Nav._ But he that sits and rules above the clouds Doth hear and see the prayers of the just, And will revenge the blood of innocents, That Guise hath slain by treason of his heart, And brought by murder to their timeless[349] ends.
_Adm._ My lord, but did you mark the Cardinal, The Guise"s brother, and the Duke Dumaine, How they did storm at these your nuptial rites, Because the house of Bourbon now comes in, 50 And joins your lineage to the crown of France?
_Nav._ And that"s the cause that Guise so frowns at us, And beats his brains to catch us in his trap, Which he hath pitched within his deadly toil.
Come, my lords, let"s go to the church, and pray That G.o.d may still defend the right of France, And make his Gospel flourish in this land.
[_Exeunt._
SCENE II.