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The Works of Christopher Marlowe

The Massacre at Paris

Act: 1 Scene: 19

Holla varlet, hey: Epernoune, where is the King?

I prethee tell him that the Guise is heere.

Good morrow to your Majestie.

I heard your Majestie was scarcely pleasde,

That in the Court I bear so great a traine.

So,

Now sues the King for favour to the Guise,

And all his Minions stoup when I commaund:

Why this tis to have an army in the fielde.

Now by the holy sacrament I sweare,

As ancient Romanes over their Captive Lords,

So will I triumph over this wanton King,

And he shall follow my proud Chariots wheeles.

Now doe I but begin to look about,

And all my former time was spent in vaine:

Holde Sworde,

For in thee is the Guises hope.

Enter one of the Murtherers.

Villaine, why cost thou look so gastly? speake.

Pardon thee, why what hast thou done?

To murder me, villaine?

Yet Caesar shall goe forth.

Let mean consaits, and baser men feare death,

Tut they are pesants, I am Duke of Guise:

And princes with their lookes ingender feare.

As pale as ashes, nay then tis time to look about.

Downe with him, downe with him.

Oh I have my death wound, give me leave to speak.

Trouble me not, I neare offended him,

Nor will I aske forgivenes of the King.

Oh that I have not power to stay my life,

Nor immortalitie to be reveng'd:

To dye by Pesantes, what a greefe is this?

Ah Sextus, be reveng'd upon the King,

Philip and Parma, I am slaine for you:

Pope excommunicate, Philip depose,

The wicked branch of curst Valois's line.

Vive la messe, perish Hugonets,

Thus Caesar did goe foorth, and thus he dies.