Massacre at Paris | Page 9

fish our
selves when we eate them.
1. Then throw him into the ditch.
2. No, no, to decide all doubts, be rulde by me, lets hang him upon this
tree.
1. Agreede.
They hang him.
Enter the Duke of Guise, and Queene Mother, and the Cardinall [of
Loraine].
GUISE. Now Madame, how like you our lusty Admirall?
QUEENE MOTHER. Beleeve me Guise he becomes the place so well,
That I could long ere this have wisht him there. But come lets walke
aside, th'airs not very sweet.
GUISE. No by my faith Madam. Sirs, take him away and throw him in
some ditch.
Carry away the dead body.
And now Madam as I understand, There anre a hundred Hugonets and
more, Which in the woods doe horde their synagogue: And dayly meet
about this time of day, thither will I to put them to the sword.
QUEENE MOTHER. Doe so sweet Guise, let us delay no time, For if
these straglers gather head againe, And disperse themselves throughout
the Realme of France, It will be hard for us to worke their deaths.

GUISE. Madam, I goe as whirl-winces rage before a storme.
Exit Guise.
QUEENE MOTHER. My Lord of Loraine have you marks of late, How
Charles our sonne begins for to lament For the late nights worke which
my Lord of Guise Did make in Paris amongst the Hugonites?
CARDINALL. Madam, I have heard him solemnly vow, With the
rebellious King of Navarre, For to revenge their deaths upon us all.
QUEENE MOTHER. I, but my Lord, let me alone for that, For
Katherine must have her will in France: As I doe live, so surely shall he
dye, And Henry then shall weare the diadem. And if he grudge or
crosse his Mothers will, Ile disinherite him and all the rest: For Ile rule
France, but they shall weare the crowne: And if they storme, I then may
pull them downe. Come my Lord let's goe.
Exeunt.

[Scene x]
Enter five or sixe Protestants with bookes, and kneele together.
Enter also the Guise [and others].
GUISE. Downe with the Hugonites, murder them.
PROTESTANT. O Mounser de Guise, heare me but speake.
GUISE. No villain, no that toung of thine, That hath blasphemde the
holy Church of Rome, Shall drive no plaintes into the Guises eares, To
make the justice of my heart relent: Tue, tue, tue, let none escape:
Kill them.
So, dragge them away.
Exeunt.

[Scene xi]
Enter [Charles] the King of France, Navar and Epernoune staying him:
enter Queene Mother, and the Cardinall [of Loraine, and Pleshe].
CHARLES. O let me stay and rest me heer a while, A griping paine
hath ceasde upon my heart: A sodaine pang, the messenger of death.
QUEENE MOTHER. O say not so, thou kill'st thy mothers heart.
CHARLES. I must say so, paine forceth me to complain.
NAVARRE. Comfort your selfe my Lord I have no doubt, But God
will sure restore you to your health.

CHARLES. O no, my loving brother of Navarre. I have deserv'd a
scourge I must confesse, Yet is there pacience of another sort, Then to
misdoe the welfare of their King: God graunt my neerest freends may
prove no worse. O horde me up, my sight begins to faire, My sinnewes
shrinke, my brain turns upside downe, My heart doth break, I faint and
dye.
He dies.
QUEENE MOTHER. What art thou dead, sweet sonne? speak to thy
Mother. O no, his soule is fled from out his breast, And he nor heares,
nor sees us what we doe: My Lords, what resteth now for to be done?
But that we presently despatch Embassadours To Poland, to call Henry
back againe, To weare his brothers crowne and dignity. Epernoune, goe
see it presently be done, And bid him come without delay to us.
Epernoune Madam, I will.
Exit Epernoune.
QUEENE MOTHER. And now my Lords after these funerals be done,
We will with all the speed we can, provide For Henries coronation from
Polonia: Come let us take his body hence.
All goe out, but Navarre and Pleshe.
NAVARRE. And now Navarre whilste that these broiles doe last, My
opportunity may serve me fit, To steale from France, and hye me to my
home. For heers no saftie in the Realme for me, And now that Henry is
cal'd from Polland, It is my due by just succession: And therefore as
speedily as I can perfourme, Ile muster up an army secretdy, For feare
that Guise joyn'd with the King of Spaine, Might seek to crosse me in
mine enterprise. But God that alwaies doth defend the right, Will shew
his mercy and preserve us still.
PLESHE. The vertues of our poor Religion, Cannot but march with
many graces more: Whose army