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And let her grieve her heart out if she will.
[Ereunt King and Epernoune. Q. Mo. Away! leave me alone to meditate!
[Ereunt Attendants. Sweet Guise, would he had died, so thou wert here! To whom shall I bewray my secrets now, Or who will help to build religion? The protestants will glory and insult; Wicked Navarre will get the crown of France; The Popedom cannot stand; all goes to wrack; And all for thee my Guise ; what may I do But sorrow seize upon my toiling soul? For since the Guise is dead, I will not live. [Erit.
SCENE III. Enter two MURDERERS, dragging in the CARDINAL
CARD. Murder me not, I am a Cardinal. 1 Murd. Wert thou the Pope, thou might'st not
'scape from us. CARD. What, will you 'file your hands with
church-men's blood ? 2 Murd. Shed your blood ? O Lord no; for we
intend to strangle you. Card. Then there's no remedy, but I must die. 1 MURD. No remedy; therefore prepare yourself. Card. Yet lives my brother duke Dumaine, and
many more, To 'venge our deaths upon that cursed king; Upon whose heart may all the furies gripe, And with their paws drench his black soul in hell.
1 MURD. Yours, my lord Cardinal, you should have said.
[They strangle him. So pluck amain; he is hard-hearted; therefore pull with violence ! Come, take him away.
[Exeunt. Enter DUMAINE, reading a letter ; with others.
Du. My noble brother murder'd by the king ! Oh! what may I do to revenge thy death? The king's alone it cannot satisfy. Sweet duke of Guise, our prop to lean upon, Now thou art dead, here is no stay for us. I am thy brother, and I'll revenge thy death, And root Valois's line from forth of France; And beat proud Bourbon to his native home, That basely seeks to join with such a king, Whose murd'rous thoughts will be his overthrow. He will'd the Governor of Orleans, in his name, That I with speed should have been put to death ; But that's prevented for to end his life, And all those traitors to the church of Rome, That durst attempt to murder noble Guise.
Enter a FRIAR. Fri. My lord, I come to bring you news that your brother the cardinal of Lorraine, by the king's consent, is lately strangled unto death.
Du. My brother Cardinal slain, and I alive!
Fri. My lord, hear me but speak.
I am a friar of the Order of the Jacobines,
Dum. But what doth move thee, above the rest, to do the deed.
Fri. O, my lord, I have been a great sinner in my days; and the deed is meritorious.
Dum. But how wilt thou get opportunity?
Dum. Friar, come with me;
Drums and Trumpets.
Nav. It is enough if that Navarre may be
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,
THE MASSACRE AT PARIS.
She cast her hateful stomach to the earth.
Enter a MESSENGER. 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. Fri. 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
thee. Fri. 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
King. No, let the villain die, and feel in hell
Nav. What is your highness hurt?
King. What irreligious Pagans' parts be these, Of such as hold them of the holy church! Take hence that damned villain from my sight.
Eper. 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. Nav. Pleaseth your grace to let the surgeon search
King. The wound, I warrant you, is deep, my
lord : Search, surgeon, and resolve me what thou see'st.
[The surgeon searches. Enter the ENGLISU AGENT. 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.