The Works of Christopher Marlowe Including His Translations

Enter the King, with the Lords. First Lord. Fear not, my lord, know that you are a king. King. Villain!

Y. Mor. How now, my lord?

King. Think not that I am frighted with thy words!

My father's murdered through thy treachery; And thou shalt die, and on his mournful hearse

Thy hateful and accursed head shall lie,
To witness to the world, that by thy means
His kingly body was too soon interred,
Queen. Weep not, sweet son!

King. Forbid not me to weep, he was my father;

And, had you loved him half so well as I, You could not bear his death thus patiently. But you, I fear, conspired with Mortimer.

Lords. Why speak you not unto my lord the king?

Y. Mor. Because I think scorn to be accused.

Who is the man dare say I murdered him? King. Traitor! in me my loving father speaks,

And plainly saith, 'twas thou that murder'dst

him.

Bring him unto a hurdle, drag him forth, Hang him I say, and set his quarters up. But bring his head back presently to me. Queen. For my sake, sweet son, pity Mortimer.

Y. Mor. Madam, entreat not, I will rather die,

Than sue for life unto a paltry boy.

King. Hence with the traitor! with the murderer!

Y. Mor. Base Fortune, now I see, that in thy wheel

There is a point, to which when men aspire,

They tumble headlong down: that point I touched,

And, seeing there was no place to mount up higher,

Why should I grieve at my declining fall? Farewell, fair queen; weep not for Mortimer,

That scorns the world, and, as a traveller, Goes to discover countries yet unknown. King. What! suffer you the traitor to delay? [Mortimer is taken away. Queen. As thou receivedest thy life from

Queen. That rumour is untrue; for loving thee,

Is this report raised on poor Isabel?
King. I do not think her so unnatural.
Second Lord. My lord, I fear me it will
prove too true.

King. Mother, you are suspected for his death,

And therefore we commit you to the
Tower,

Till farther trial may be made thereof;
If you be guilty, though I be your son,
Think not to find me slack or pitiful.

Queen. Nay, to my death, for too long have I lived,

Whenas my son thinks to abridge my days.

King. Away with her, her words enforce these tears,

And I shall pity her if she speak again. Queen. Shall I not mourn for my beloved lord,

And with the rest accompany him to his grave?

Lord. Thus, madam, 'tis the king's will you shall hence.

Queen. He hath forgotten me; stay, I am his mother.

Lord. That boots not; therefore, gentle madam, go. Queen. Then come, sweet death, and rid me of this grief. [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 hearse, 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 hearse; 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.

[Éxeunt.

ACT THE FIRST. SCENE I. Enter Charles, the French King; the Queen Mother; King of Navarre; Margaret; the Prince of Condé; the Lord High Admiral; the Old Queen of Navarre, and others.

Char. Prince of Navarre, my honourable brother,

Prince Condé, 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,
Shall bind me ever to your highness' will,
In what Queen Mother or your grace com-
mands.

Q. Mo. 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 consummate The rest with hearing of an holy mass. 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.

Q. Mo. Which I'll dissolve with blood and cruelty. [Aside. [Exeunt all but Navarre, Condé, and the Lord High Admiral. Nav. Prince Condé 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, 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 The love thou bear'st unto the house of night?

Adm. My lord, I marvel that the aspiring Guise,

Dares once adventure, without the king's assent,

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,
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
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,

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 God may still defend the right of
France,

And make His Gospel flourish in this land.

SCENE II.

Enter Guise.

[Exeunt.

Guise.

Where are those perfumed gloves, which
late I sent

To be poisoned? Hast thou done them?
Speak.

Will every savour breed a pang of death?
Apoth. See where they be, my lord; and
he that smells

But to them, dies.

Sol. I will, my lord.

[Exit.

Guise. Now, Guise, begin those deepengendered thoughts

To burst abroad those never-dying flames,
Which cannot be extinguished but by
blood.

Oft have I levelled, and at last have learned
That peril is the chiefest way to happiness;
And resolution, honour's fairest aim.
What glory is there in a common good,
That hangs for every peasant to achieve?
That like I best, that flies beyond my
reach.

Set me to scale the high Pyramides,

And thereon set the diadem of France;
I'll either rend it with my nails to naught,
Or mount the top with my aspiring wings,
Although my downfall be the deepest hell.
For this, I wake, when others think I sleep;
For this, I wait, that scorn attendance else;
For this, my quenchless thirst, whereon İ
build,

Hath often pleaded kindred to the king;

For this, this head, this heart, this hand and Blinds Europe's eyes, and troubleth our

sword,

I execute, and he sustains the blame.

The Mother-Queen works wonders for my sake,

And in my love entombs the hope of
France;

Rifling the bowels of her treasury,
To supply my wants and necessity.
Paris hath full five hundred colleges,

As monasteries, priories, abbeys, and halls,
Wherein are thirty thousand able men,
Besides a thousand sturdy student Catholics :
And more,-of my knowledge, in one
cloister keep

Five hundred fat Franciscan friars and priests.

All this, and more, if more may be comprised,

Do bring the will of our desires to end.
Then, Guise,

Since thou hast all the cards within thy hands,

To shuffle or cut, take this as surest thing, That, right or wrong, thou deal'st thyself a king.

Aye, but Navarre,-'tis but a nook of France,

Sufficient yet for such a petty king,

That with a rabblement of his heretics

estate.

Him, will we- [Pointing to his sword.
But first let's follow those in France,
That hinder our possession to the crown.
As Cæsar to his soldiers, so say I;
Those that hate me will I learn to loathe.
Give me a look, that when I bend the brows,
Pale death may walk in furrows of my face:
A hand, that with a grasp may gripe the
world:

An ear to hear what my detractors say;
A royal seat, a sceptre, and a crown,
That those which do behold them may be-

come

As men that stand and gaze against the sun. The plot is laid, and things shall come to pass,

Where resolution strives for victory. [Exit.

SCENE III.

Enter the King of Navarre, Margaret, the Old Queen of Navarre, the Prince of Condé, and the Admiral. They are met by the Apothecary, with the gloves, which he gives to the Old Queen.

Apoth. Madam,

I beseech your grace to accept this simple gift.

Old Queen. Thanks, my good friend; hold, take thou this reward.

Apoth. I humbly thank your majesty.

[Exit. Old Queen. Methinks the gloves have a very strong perfume,

The scent whereof doth make my head to ache.

Nav. Doth not your grace know the man that gave them you?

Old Queen. Not well, but do remember such a man.

Adm. Your grace was ill-advised to take them then,

Considering of these dangerous times. Old Queen. Help, son Navarre! I am poisoned !

Mar. The heavens forbid your highness such mishap!

Nav. The late suspicion of the Duke of
Guise

Might well have moved your highness to be

ware

How you did meddle with such dangerous gifts.

Mar. Too late it is, my lord, if that be true,

To blame her highness; but I hope it be Only some natural passion makes her sick.

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