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Dumaine. But how wilt thou get opportunitye?
We will goe talke more of this within.
Sound Drumme and Trumpets, and enter the King of France, and Nauarre, Epernoune, Bartus, Pleshe, and Souldiers.
Brother of Nauarre I sorrow much,
That euer I was prou'd your enemy,
And that the sweet and princely minde you beare
I vow as I am lawfull King of France,
That euer I vouchsafte my dearest freends.
Nauarre. It is enough if that Nauarre may be Esteemed faithfull to the King of France,
Whose seruice he may still commaund till death.
King. Thankes to my Kingly Brother of Nauarre.
Then heere wee'l lye before Lutecia walles,
Enter a Messenger.
And it please your Maiestie heere is a Frier of the order of the Iacobins, sent from the President of Paris, that craues accesse vnto your grace.
King. Let him come in.
Enter Frier with a Letter.
I like not this Friers look.
Twere not amisse my Lord, if he were searcht.
King. Sweete Epernoune, our Friers are holy men,
And will not offer violence to their King,
For all the wealth and treasure of the world.
Frier, thou dost acknowledge me thy King?
1151+(Act III.) Scene IV. add. Rob., Cunn.: Scene XIV add. Bull. 1164 Lutetia-walls Dyce, Bull. Lucrecia walles 0: Lutetia's walls Cunn.
King. Then come thou neer, and tell what newes the
Frier. My Lord,
The President of Paris greetes your grace,
King. Ile read them Frier, and then Ile answere the Frier. Sancte Iacobus, now haue mercye vpon me. rs He stabs the King with a knife as he readeth the letter. and then the King getteth the knife and killes him.
O my Lord, let him liue a while.
King. No, let the villaine dye, and feele in hell Iust torments for his trechery.
Nauarre. What, is your highnes hurt?
King. Yes Nauarre, but not to death I hope.
Nauarre. God shield your grace from such a sodaine death:
Goe call a surgeon hether strait.
King. What irreligeous Pagans partes be these,
Take hence that damned villaine from my sight.
King. Sweet Epernoune all Rebels vnder heauen,
Ile send my sister England newes of this,
And giue her warning of her trecherous foes.
Nauarre. Pleaseth your grace to let the Surgeon search your wound.
King. The wound I warrant ye is deepe my Lord, 1205 Search Surgeon and resolue me what thou seest.
The Surgeon searcheth.
Enter the English Agent.
Agent for England, send thy mistres word,
1180-3 Prose 0: corr. Dyce etc. add. Dyce, Bull. 1185 Jacobe Dyce etc. Dyce etc. 1192+S.D. Exit an Attendant +S.D. Attendants carry out the Friar's 1199-1200 Prose 0: corr. Dyce etc.
1183+S.D. Gives letter 1187-8 Prose 0; corr.
add. Dyce etc.
body add. Dyce etc. 1199 his Dyce etc.:
their O 1201+S.D. Exit an Attendant add. Dyce, Bull. 1203 +S.D. Enter a Surgeon add. Dyce etc.
What this detested Iacobin hath done.
Nauarre. These words reuiue my thoughts and com-
To see your highnes in this vertuous minde.
Sur. Alas my Lord, the wound is dangerous,
King. A poysoned knife, what shall the French king dye,
Wounded and poysoned, both at once?
Eper. O that that damned villaine were aliue againe, That we might torture him with some new found death. 1230 Bar. He died a death too good, the deuill of hell
Torture his wicked soule.
King. Ah curse him not sith he is dead. O,
King. Oh no Nauarre, thou must be King of France.
King. Sweet Epernoune thy King must dye. My Lords Fight in the quarrell of this valiant Prince,
For he is your lawfull King and my next heire:
Valoyses lyne ends in my tragedie.
1210 Ends wrack 0: corr. Malone
1211 and] and th'
1214 enforce conj. Dyce', Dyce, etc.: incense O 1221 Papestry] popery Cunn. 1231-2 Prose O: div. after div. after dead, breast Dyce
1215 holy] lowly Dyce etc. 1225-6 Prose 0: corr. Dyce etc. good Dyce etc.
1233-5 Prose O: 1241 Ends dye 0: corr. Dyce
Now let the house of Bourbon weare the crowne,
He loues me not (the most) that sheds most teares,
Fire Paris where these trecherous rebels lurke.
I dye Nauarre, come beare me to my Sepulchre.
Nauarre. Come Lords, take vp the body of the King, That we may see it honourably interde: And then I vow for to reuenge his death,
As Rome and all those popish Prelates there,
Shall curse the time that ere Nauarre was King,
They march out with the body of the King, lying
APPENDIX TO THE MASSACRE AT PARIS
11. 812-827. In place of this passage, as given in the quarto, Collier published an amplified version which he claims to have derived from a manuscript source. The first allusion to the matter occurs in the introduction to Collier's edition of The Jew of Malta in the Dodsley of 1825, vol. viii, pp. 244, 245, where the editor says, alluding to the Massacre at Paris:
'A curious MS. fragment of one quarto leaf of this tragedy came into the hands of Mr. Rodd of Newport-street not long since, which, as it very materially differs from the printed edition, is here inserted literatim: it perhaps formed part of a copy belonging to the theatre at the time it was first acted, and it would be still more valuable should any accident hereafter shew that it is in the original handwriting of Marlow.' He then inserts the following version of the scene:
'Enter a SoULDIER wth a muskett.
Souldier. Now, ser, to you yt dares make a duke a cuckolde, and use a counterfeyt key to his privie chamber: thoughe you take out none but yor owne treasure, yet you put in yt displeases him, and fill up his rome yt he shold occupie. Herein, ser, you forestalle the markett, and sett upe yoTM standinge where you shold not. But you will say you leave him rome enoughe besides that's no answere: he's to have the choyce of his owne freeland, yf it be not to free, there's the questione. Now for where he is your landlorde, you take upon you to be his, and will needs enter by defaulte. What thoughe you weere once in possession yett comminge upon you once unawares, he frayde you out againe: therefore your entrye is mere intrusion: this is against the law, ser. And thoughe I come not to keep possessione as I wolde I mighte, yet I come to keepe you out, ser,
You are welcome, ser! have at you. [He kills him. Minion. Trayterous Guise ah, thou has morthered me !
Guise. Hold thee, tale soldier: take thee this and flye.
Thus falls imperfett exhalation,
Which our great sonn of France cold not effecte;
Lye there, the kinge's delyght and Guise's scorne!