Abbildungen der Seite

But he doth lurk within his drowsy couch,
And makes his footstool on security:
So he be safe, he cares not what becomes
Of king or country; no, not for them both.
But come, my lords, let us away with speed,
And place ourselves in order for the fight.





Henry. My sweet Joyeux, I make thee general

Of all my army, now in readiness

To march 'gainst the rebellious King Navarre ;
At thy request I am content thou go,

Although my love to thee can hardly suffer['t],

Regarding still the danger of thy life.

Joyeux. Thanks to your majesty: and so, I take my leave.

Farewell to my Lord of Guise, and Epernoun.

Guise. Health and hearty farewell to my Lord Joyeux.


Henry. So kindly, cousin of Guise, you and your wife Do both salute our lovely minions.

Remember you the letter, gentle sir,

Which your wife writ

To my dear minion, and her chosen friend?


[Makes horns at GUISE

1 Scene: an apartment in the Louvre.

Guise. How now, my Lord! faith, this is more than


Am I thus to be jested at and scorn'd?

'Tis more than kingly or emperious :

And, sure, if all the proudest kings

In Christendom should bear me such derision,

They should know how I scorn'd them and their mocks. 20
I love your minions! dote on them yourself;

I know none else but holds them in disgrace;
And here, by all the saints in heaven, I swear,
That villain for whom I bear this deep disgrace,
Even for your words that have incens'd me so,
Shall buy that strumpet's favour with his blood!
Whether he have dishonour'd me or no,

Par la mort de Dieu1 il mourra!

Henry. Believe me, this jest bites sore.


Eper. My lord, 'twere good to make them friends, 30 For his oaths are seldom spent in vain.


Henry. How now, Mugeroun ! mett'st thou not the Guise at the door?

Mug. Not I, my lord; what if I had?

Henry. Marry, if thou hadst, thou mightst have had the stab,

For he hath solemnly sworn thy death.

Mug. I may be stabb'd, and live till he be dead:

But wherefore bears he me such deadly hate?

Henry. Because his wife bears thee such kindly love.

1 Old ed. "mor du."

Mug. If that be all, the next time that I meet


I'll make her shake off love with her heels.

But which way is he gone? I'll go take1 a walk
On purpose from the court to meet with him.




Henry. I like not this. Come, Epernoun,
Let us go seek the duke, and make them friends.


Alarums within, and a cry-" The DUKE JOYEUX is slain." Enter the KING OF NAVARRE, BARTUS, and train.

Nav. The duke is slain, and all his power dispers'd,

And we are graced with wreaths of victory.
Thus God, we see, doth ever guide the right,
To make his glory great upon the earth.

Bar. The terror of this happy victory,

I hope, will make the king surcease his hate,
And either never manage army more,

Or else employ them in some better cause.

Nav. How many noblemen have lost their lives

In prosecution of these cruel arms,

Is ruth, and almost death, to call to mind.
But God we know will always put them down
That lift themselves against the perfect truth;
Which I'll maintain so long as life doth last,

1 Old ed. "make."

2 Scene: near Coutras.


And with the Queen of England join my force
To beat the papal monarch from our lands,
And keep those relics from our countries' coasts.
Come, my lords; now that this storm is over-past,
Let us away with triumph to our tents.


Enter1 a Soldier.


Sold. Sir, to you, sir, that dares make the duke a

1 Scene outside the Louvre.-In his Hist. of Eng. Dram. Poetry, iii. 134 (old ed.), Collier printed a portion (given below) of this scene from a fragment of a MS. copy. It will be seen that the printed text

was much mutilated.

"Enter a Souldier with a muskett.

But you

Souldier. Now, sir, to you that dares make a duke a cuckolde, and use a counterfeyt key to his privye chamber: though you take out none but your owne treasure, yett you put in that displeases him, and fill up his rome that he shold occupye. Herein, sir, you forestalle the markett, and sett up your standinge where you shold not. will saye you leave him rome enoghe besides: that's no answere; he's to have the choyce of his owne freeland; yf it be not too free, there's the questione. Nowe, for where he is your landlorde, you take upon you to be his, and will needs enter by defaulte: what though you were once in possession, yett comminge upon you once unawares, he frayde you out againe; therefore your entrye is mere intrusione: this is against the law, sir: and though I come not to keepe possessione (as I wolde I might!), yet I come to keepe you out, sir.


You are wellcome, sir: have at you!

[He kills him.

Minion. Trayterouse Guise, ah, thou hast morthered me!

Enter GUISE.

Guise. Hold the[e], tall soldier ! take the[e] this, and flye.

[Exit [Soldier].

Thus fall, imperfett exhalatione,
Which our great sonn of France cold not effecte;

cuckold, and use a counterfeit key to his privy-chamberdoor; and although you take out nothing but your own, yet you put in that which displeaseth him, and so forestall his market, and set up your standing where you should not; and whereas he is your landlord, you will take upon you to be his, and till the ground that he himself should occupy, which is his own free land; if it be not too free -there's the question; and though I come not to take possession (as I would I might !), yet I mean to keep you out; which I will, if this gear hold.


What, are ye come so soon? have at ye, sir!


[Shoots at MUGEROUN and kills him.1

A fyery meteor in the fermament:

Lye there, the kinge's delyght and Guise's scorne!
Revenge it, Henry, yf thou list or darst :

I did it onely in dispight of thee.

Fondlie hast thou incenste the Guise's sowle,
That of it selfe was hote enough to worke
Thy just degestione with extreamest shame.
The armye I have gatherd now shall ayme,
More at thie end then exterpatione;
And when thou thinkst I have forgotten this,
And that thou most reposest in my faythe,
Than will I wake thee from thy folishe dreame,
And lett thee see thie selfe my prysoner.


Mugeroun (Maugiron) fell in a duel: Anquetil, Hist. de France, t. v. 344, ed. 1817: but Saint-Mégrin, the gallant of the Duchess of Guise, was assassinated. 'Ils dressèrentu ne embuscade à la porte du Louvre. Comme Saint-Mégrin, en sortoit la nuit, des assassins apostés se jetèrent sur lui, et l'étendirent sur le pavé, percé de trente-cinq coups. Il vécut cependant jusqu'au lendemain.' Anquetil, Ibid. p. 347.”—Dyce.

« ZurückWeiter »