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These bloody hands shall tear his triple crown,
Nav. These words revive my thoughts, and com
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 ? 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 !
King. Oh! curse him not, since he is dead. 0, the fatal poison works within my breast. Tell me, surgeon, and flatter not-may I live!
SURG. Alas! my lord, your highness cannot live.
Nav. Surgeon, why say'st thou so? The king
King. O, no, Navarre, thou must be king of
France. Nav. Long may you live, and still be king of
Nav. Come, lords, take up the body of the
That we may see it honourably interr’d:
THE MASSACRE AT PARIS.
That Rome, and all those popish prelates there,
on four men's shoulders, with a dead march,