Massacre at Paris | Page 5

stately Catholic Sends Indian golde to coyne me
French ecues: For this have I a largesse from the Pope, A pension and a
dispensation too: And by that priviledge to worke upon, My policye
hath framde religion. Religion: O Diabole. Fye, I am ashamde, how
ever that I seeme, To think a word of such a simple sound, Of so great
matter should be made the ground. The gentle King whose pleasure
uncontrolde, Weakneth his body, and will waste his Realme, If I repaire
not what he ruinates: Him as a childe I dayly winne with words, So that
for proofe, he barely beares the name: I execute, and he sustaines the
blame. The Mother Queene workes wonders for my sake, And in my
love entombes the hope of Fraunce: Rifling the bowels of her treasurie,
To supply my wants and necessitie. Paris hath full five hundred
Colledges, As Monestaries, Priories, Abbyes and halles, Wherein are
thirtie thousand able men, Besides a thousand sturdy student Catholicks,
And more: of my knowledge in one cloyster keep, Five hundred fatte
Franciscan Fryers and priestes. All this and more, if more may be

comprisde, To bring the will of our desires to end. Then Guise, Since
thou hast all the Cardes within thy hands To shuffle or to cut, take this
as surest thing: That right or wrong, thou deal'st thy selfe a King. I but,
Navarre. Tis but a nook of France. Sufficient yet for such a pettie King:
That with a rablement of his hereticks, Blindes Europs eyes and
troubleth our estate: Him will we--
Pointing to his Sworde.
But first lets follow those in France. That hinder our possession to the
crowne: As Caesar to his souldiers, so say I: Those that hate me, will I
learn to loath. Give me a look, that when I bend the browes, Pale death
may walke in furrowes of my face: A hand, that with a graspe may
gripe the world, An eare, to heare what my detractors say, A royall
seate, a scepter and a crowne: That those which doe behold them may
become As men that stand and gase against the Sunne. The plot is laide,
and things shall come to passe, Where resolution strives for victory.
Exit.

[Scene iii]
Enter the King of Navar and Queen [Margaret], and his [olde] Mother
Queen [of Navarre], the Prince of Condy, the Admirall, and the
Pothecary with the gloves, and gives them to the olde Queene.
POTHECARIE. Maddame, I beseech your grace to except this simple
gift.
OLD QUEENE. Thanks my good freend, holde, take thou this reward.
POTHECARIE. I humbly thank your Majestie.
Exit Pothecary.
OLD QUEENE. Me thinkes the gloves have a very strong perfume,
The sent whereof doth make my head to ake.
NAVARRE. Doth not your grace know the man that gave them you?
OLD QUEENE. Not wel, but do remember such a man.
ADMIRALL. Your grace was ill advisde to take them then,
Considering of these dangerous times.
OLD QUEENE. Help sonne Navarre, I am poysoned.
QUEENE MARGARET. The heavens forbid your highnes such
mishap.
NAVARRE. The late suspition of the Duke of Guise, Might well have
moved your highnes to beware How you did meddle with such

dangerous giftes.
QUEENE MARGARET. Too late it is my Lord if that be true To blame
her highnes, but I hope it be Only some naturall passion makes her
sicke.
OLD QUEENE. O no, sweet Margaret, the fatall poyson Doth work
within my heart, my brain pan breakes, My heart doth faint, I dye.
She dyes.
NAVARRE. My Mother poysoned heere before my face: O gracious
God, what times are these? O graunt sweet God my daies may end with
hers, That I with her may dye and live againe.
QUEENE MARGARET. Let not this heavy chaunce my dearest Lord,
(For whose effects my soule is massacred) Infect thy gracious brest
with fresh supply, To agravate our sodaine miserie.
ADMIRALL. Come my Lords let us beare her body hence, And see it
honoured with just solemnitie.
As they are going, [enter] the Souldier [above, who] dischargeth his
musket at the Lord Admirall [and exit].
CONDY. What are you hurt my Lord high Admiral?
ADMIRALL. I my good Lord, shot through the arme.
NAVARRE. We are betraide, come my Lords, and let us goe tell the
King of this.
ADMIRALL. These are the cursed Guisians that doe seeke our death.
Oh fatall was this mariage to us all.
They beare away the [olde] Queene [of Navarre] and goe out.

[Scene iv]
Enter [Charles] the King, [Catherinethe] Queene Mother, Duke of
Guise, Duke Anjoy, Duke Demayne [and Cossin, Captain of the Kings
Guard].
QUEENE MOTHER. My noble sonne, and princely Duke of Guise,
Now have we got the fatall stragling deere, Within