TheStationersRegister

The Works of Christopher Marlowe

The Massacre at Paris

Act: 1 Scene: 1

Prince of Navarre my honourable brother,

Prince Condy, and my good Lord Admirall,

wishe this union and religious league,

Knit in these hands, thus joyn'd in nuptiall rites,

May not desolve, till death desolve our lives,

And that the native sparkes of princely love,

That kindled first this motion in our hearts,

May still be feweld in our progenye.

Well Madam, let that rest:

And now my Lords the mariage rites perfourm'd,

We think it good to goe and consumate

The rest, with hearing of an holy Masse:

Sister, I think your selfe will beare us company.

The rest that will not goe (my Lords) may stay:

Come Mother,

Let us goe to honor this solemnitie.

Act: 1 Scene: 4

Madam, it wilbe noted through the world,

An action bloudy and tirannicall:

Cheefely since under safetie of our word,

They justly challenge their protection:

Besides my heart relentes that noble men,

Onely corrupted in religion,

Ladies of honor, Knightes and Gentlemen,

Should for their conscience taste such rutheles ends.

Well Madam, I referre it to your Majestie,

And to my Nephew heere the Duke of Guise:

What you determine, I will ratifie.

How now fellow, what newes?

Messenger, tell him I will see him straite.

Exit Messenger.

What shall we doe now with the Admirall?

Content, I will goe visite the Admirall.

How fares it with my Lord high Admiral,

Hath he been hurt with villaines in the street?

I vow and sweare as I am King of France,

To finde and to repay the man with death:

With death delay'd and torments never usde,

That durst presume for hope of any gaine,

To hurt the noble man his sovereign loves.

Assure your selfe my good Lord Admirall,

I deepely sorrow for your trecherous wrong:

And that I am not more secure my selfe,

Then I am carefull you should be preserved.

Cossin, take twenty of our strongest guarde,

And under your direction see they keep

All trecherous violence from our noble freend,

Repaying all attempts with present death,

Upon the cursed breakers of our peace.

And so be pacient good Lord Admirall,

And every hower I will visite you.

Act: 1 Scene: 11

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.

I must say so, paine forceth me to complain.

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.