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I am a friar of the Order of the Jacobines,
That for my conscience' sake will kill the king.
DUM. But what doth move thee, above the rest,
to do the deed.
FR1. O, my lord, I have been a great sinner in my
days; and the deed is meritorious.
DuM. But how wilt thou get opportunity?
FR1. Tush, my lord, let me alone for that.
DUM. Friar, come with me;
We will go talk more of this within. [Ereuni.

Enter the KING of FRAN ce and NAvARRE, EPER-
Nou NE, BARTUs, PLESHE, and Soldiers.
Drums and Trumpets.

KING. Brother of Navarre, I sorrow much,
That ever I was prov'd your enemy;
And that the sweet and princely mind you bear,
Was ever troubled with injurious wars.
I vow, as I am lawful king of France,
To recompense your reconciled love
With all the honours and affections
That ever I vouchsaf'd my dearest friends.

Nav. It is enough if that Navarre may be
Esteemed faithful to the king of France,
Whose service he may still command to death.

KING. Thanks to my kingly brother of Navarre : Then there he'll lie before Lutetia's walls, Girting this strumpet city with our siege, Till surfeiting with our afflicting arms,

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She cast her hateful stomach to the earth.
Enter a Messeng ER.
MEs. An it please your majesty, here is a friar of
the Order of the Jacobins, sent from the President
of Paris, that craves access unto your grace.
KING. Let him come in.
Enter the FRIAR, with a letter.
EPER. I like not this friar's look;
"Twere not amiss, my lord, if he were search'd.
KING. Sweet Epernoune, our friars are holy men,
And will not offer violence to their king,
For all the wealth and treasure of the world.
Friar, thou dost acknowledge me thy king!
FRI. Aye, my good lord, and will die therein.
KING. Then come thou near, and tell what news
thou bring'st.
FR1. My lord,
The president of Paris greets your grace,
And sends his duty by these speedy lines.
Humbly craving your gracious reply.
KING.. I'll read them, friar, and then I'll answer
FR1. Sancte Jacobus, now have mercy on me!
[He stabs the king with a knife, as he reads the
letter; and then the king gets the knife, and
kills him.
Epen. O, my lord let him live awhile !
KING. No, let the villain die, and feel in hell
Just torments for his treachery.
VOL. I. 22

NAv. What, is your highness hurt? KING. Yes, Navarre, but not to death, I hope. Nav. God shield your grace from such a sudden death ! Go, call a surgeon hither straight. KING. What irreligious Pagans' parts be these, Of such as hold them of the holy church! Take hence that damned villain from my sight. EPEa. Ah! had your highness let him live, We might have punish'd him for his deserts. KING. Sweet Epernoune, all rebels under heav'n Shall take example by his punishment, How they bear arms against their sovereign. Go, call the English agent hither straight; I'll send my sister England news of this, And give her warning of her treach'rous foes. • Enter a SURGEoN. NA v. Pleaseth your grace to let the surgeon search your wound? KING. The wound, I warrant you, is deep, my lord: Search, surgeon, and resolve me what thou see'st. [The surgeon searches. Enter the ENGL1sh AG ENT. Agent for England, send thy mistress word What this detested Jacobin hath done. Tell her, for all this, that I hope to live; Which if I do, the papal monarch goes to wrack; And antichristian kingdom falls.

These bloody hands shall tear his triple crown,
And fire accursed Rome about his ears;
I'll fire his crazed buildings, and incense
The papal towers to kiss the holy earth.
Navarre, give me thy hand; I here do swear
To ruinate this wicked Church of Rome,
That hatcheth up such bloody practices:
And here protest eternal love to thee,
And to the Queen of England especially,
Whom God hath blest for hating popery.
Nav. These words revive my thoughts, and com-
fort me,
To see your highness in this virtuous mind.
KING. Tell me, surgeon, shall I live?
SURG. Alas, my lord, the wound is dangerous,
For you are stricken with a poison'd knife.
KING. A poison'd knife!—What, shall the French
king die,
Wounded and poison'd both at once 2
EPER. Oh that that damned villain were alive

again, That we might torture him with some new-found death ! BAR. He died a death too good; The devil of hell torture his wicked soul I

KING. Oh! curse him not, since he is dead. O, the fatal poison works within my breast. Tell me, surgeon, and flatter not—may I live!

SURG. Alas! my lord, your highness cannot live. NA v. Surgeon, why say'st thou so? The king may live. KING. O, no, Navarre, thou must be king of France. Nav. Long may you live, and still be king of France. EPER. Or else, die Epernoune. KING. Sweet Epernoune, thy king must die. My lords, Fight in the quarrel of this valiant prince, For he's your lawful king, and my next heir; Valois's line ends in my tragedy. Now let the House of Bourbon wear the crowu, And may’t ne'er end in blood, as mine hath done. Weep not, sweet Navarre, but revenge my death. Ah! Epernoune, is this thy love to me? Henry, thy king, wipes off these childish tears, And bids thee whet thy sword on Sextus' bones, That it may keenly slice the Catholics. He loves me not the best that sheds most tears, But he that makes most lavish of his blood. Fire Paris, where these treach'rous rebels lurk. I die, Navarre! come bear me to my sepulchre; Salute the Queen of England in my name, And tell her Henry dies her faithful friend. [Dies. Nav. Come, lords, take up the body of the king, That we may see it honourably interr'd : And then I vow so to revenge his death,

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