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The Works of Christopher Marlowe

The Massacre at Paris

Act: 1 Scene: 12

KING.

Thanks to you al. The guider of all crownes,

Graunt that our deeds may wel deserve your loves:

And so they shall, if fortune speed my will,

And yeeld our thoughts to height of my desertes.

What say our Minions, think they Henries heart

Will not both harbour love and Majestie?

Put of that feare, they are already joynde,

No person, place, or time, or circumstance,

Shall slacke my loves affection from his bent.

As now you are, so shall you still persist,

Remooveles from the favours of your King.

KING.

I tell thee Mugeroun we will be freends,

And fellowes to, what ever stormes arise.

KING.

How meanst thou that?

KING.

Hands of good fellow, I will be his baile

For this offence: goe sirra, worke no more,

Till this our Coronation day be past:

And now,

Our rites of Coronation done,

What now remaines, but for a while to feast,

And spend some daies in barriers, tourny, tylte,

And like disportes, such as doe fit the Coutr?

Lets goe my Lords, our dinner staies for us.

Act: 1 Scene: 15

KING.

My sweet Joyeux, I make thee Generall,

Of all my army now in readines,

To march against the rebellious King Navarre:

At thy request I am content thou go'st,

Although my love to thee can hardly suffer't,

Regarding still the danger of thy life.

KING.

How kindely Cosin of Guise you and your wife

Doe both salute our lovely Minions.

KING.

Beleeve me, Epernoune this jest bites sore.

KING.

How now Mugeroun, metst thou not the Guise at the doore?

KING.

Marry if thou hadst, thou mightst have had the stab,

For he hath solemnely sworne thy death.

KING.

Because his wife beares thee such kindely love.

KING.

I like not this, come Epernoune

Lets goe seek the Duke and make them freends.

Act: 1 Scene: 17

KING.

My Lord of Guise, we understand that you

Have gathered a power of men.

What your intent is yet we cannot learn,

But we presume it is not for our good.

KING.

Be patient Guise and threat not Epernoune,

Least thou perceive the King of France be mov'd.

KING.

I, those are they that feed him with their golde,

To countermaund our will and check our freends.

KING.

Guise, weare our crowne, and be thou King of France,

And as Dictator make or warre or peace,

Whilste I cry placet like a Senator.

I cannot brook thy hauty insolence,

Dismisse thy campe or else by our Edict,

Be thou proclaimde a traitor throughout France.

KING.

Then farwell Guise, the King and thou art freends.

KING.

Did they of Paris entertaine him so?

Then meanes he present treason to our state.

Well, let me alone, whose within there?

Enter one with e pen and inke.

Make a discharge of all my counsell straite,

And Ile subscribe my name and seale it straight.

My head shall be my counsell, they are false:

And Epernoune I will be rulde by thee.

KING.

First let us set our hand and seale to this,

And then Ile tell thee what I meane to doe.

He writes.

So, convey this to the counsell presently.

Exit one.

And Epernoune though I seeme milde and calme,

Thinke not but I am tragicall within:

Ile secretly convey me unto Bloyse,

For now that Paris takes the Guises parse,

Heere is not staying for the King of France,

Unles he means to be betraide and dye:

But as I live, so sure the Guise shall dye.

Exeunt.

Act: 1 Scene: 19

KING.

Now Captain of my guarde, are these murtherers ready?

KING.

But are they resolute and armde to kill,

Hating the life and honour of the Guise?

KING.

Then come proud Guise and heere disgordge thy brest,

Surchargde with surfet of ambitious thoughts:

Breath out that life wherein my death was hid,

And end thy endles treasons with thy death.

KING.

Let him come in.

Come Guise and see thy traiterous guile outreacht,

And perish in the pit thou mad'st for me.

KING.

Good morrow to my loving Cousin of Guise.

How fares it this morning with your excellence?

KING.

They were to blame that said I was displeasde,

And you good Cosin to imagine it.

Twere hard with me if I should doubt my kinne,

Or be suspicious of my deerest freends:

Cousin, assure you I am resolute,

Whatever any whisper in mine eares,

Not to suspect disloyaltye in thee,

And so sweet Cuz farwell.

KING.

Oh this sweet sight is phisick to my soule,

Goe fetch his sonne for to beholde his death:

[Exit attendant.]

Surchargde with guilt of thousand massacres,

Mounser of Loraine sinke away to hell,

In just remembrance of those bloudy broyles,

To which thou didst alure me being alive:

And heere in presence of you all I sweare,

I nere was King of France untill this houre:

This is the traitor that hath spent my golde,

In making forraine warres and cruel broiles.

Did he not draw a sorte of English priestes

From Doway to the Seminary at Remes,

To hatch forth treason gainst their naturall Queene?

Did he not cause the King of Spaines huge fleete,

To threaten England and to menace me?

Did he not injure Mounser thats deceast?

Hath he not made me in the Popes defence,

To spend the treasure that should strength my land,

In civill broiles between Navarre and me?

Tush, to be short, he meant to make me Munke,

Or else to murder me, and so be King.

Let Christian princes that shall heare of this,

(As all the world shall know our Guise is dead)

Rest satisfed with this that heer I sweare,

Nere was there King of France so yoakt as I.

KING.

Boy, look where your father lyes.

KING.

Sirra twas I that slew him, and will slay

Thee too, and thou prove such a traitor.

KING.

Away to prison with him, Ile clippe his winges

Or ere he passe my handes, away with him.

Exit Boy.

But what availeth that this traitors dead,

When Duke Dumaine his brother is alive,

And that young Cardinall that is growne so proud?

Goe to the Governour of Orleance,

And will him in my name to kill the Duke.

[Exit Captaine of the Guarde.]

Get you away and strangle the Cardinall.

[Exit murtherers.]

These two will make one entire Duke of Guise,

Especially with our olde mothers helpe.

KING.

And let her croup, my heart is light enough.

Mother, how like you this device of mine?

I slew the Guise, because I would be King.

KING.

Nay he was King and countermanded me,

But now I will be King and rule my selfe,

And make the Guisians stoup that are alive.

KING.

Cry out, exclaime, houle till thy throat be hoarce,

The Guise is slaine, and I rejoyce therefore:

And now will I to armes, come Epernoune:

And let her greeve her heart out if she will.

Act: 1 Scene: 22

KING.

Brother of Navarre, I sorrow much,

That ever I was prov'd your enemy,

And that the sweet and princely minde you beare,

Was ever troubled with injurious warres:

I vow as I am lawfull King of France,

To recompence your reconciled love,

With all the honors and affections,

That ever I vouchsafte my dearest freends.

KING.

Thankes to my Kingly Brother of Navarre.

Then there wee'l lye before Lutetia's walles,

Girting this strumpet Cittie with our siege,

Till surfeiting with our afflicting armes,

She cast her hatefull stomack to the earth.

KING.

Let him come in.

KING.

Sweete Epernoune, our Friers are holy men,

And will not offer violence to their King,

For all the wealth and treasure of the world.

Frier, thou dost acknowledge me thy King?

KING.

Then come thou neer, and tell what newes thou bringst.

KING.

Ile read them Frier, and then Ile answere thee.

KING.

No, let the villaine dye, and feele in hell,

Just torments for his trechery.

KING.

Yes Navarre, but not to death I hope.

KING.

What irreligeous Pagans partes be these,

Of such as horde them of the holy church?

Take hence that damned villaine from my sight.

KING.

Sweet Epernoune all Rebels under heaven,

Shall take example by his punishment,

How they beare armes against their soveraigne.

Goe call the English Agent hether strait,

Ile send my sister England newes of this,

And give her warning of her trecherous foes.

KING.

The wound I warrant you is deepe my Lord,

Search Surgeon and resolve me what thou seest.

The Surgeon searcheth.Enter the English Agent.

Agent for England, send thy mistres word,

What this detested Jacobin hath done.

Tell her for all this that I hope to live,

Which if I doe, the Papall Monarck goes

To wrack, an antechristian kingdome falles.

These bloudy hands shall teare his triple Crowne,

And fire accursed Rome about his eares.

Ile fire his erased buildings and incense

The papall towers to kisse the holy earth.

Navarre, give me thy hand, I heere do sweare,

To ruinate this wicked Church of Rome,

That hatcheth up such bloudy practices.

And heere protest eternall love to thee,

And to the Queene of England especially,

Whom God hath blest for hating Popery.

KING.

Tell me Surgeon, shall I live?

KING.

A poysoned knife? what, shall the French king dye,

Wounded and poysoned, both at once?

KING.

Oh curse him not since he is dead.

O the fatall poyson workes within my brest,

Tell me Surgeon and flatter not, may I live?

KING.

Oh no Navarre, thou must be King of France.

KING.

Sweet Epernoune thy King must dye. My Lords,

Fight in the quarrell of this valiant Prince,

For he is your lawfull King and my next heire:

Valoyses lyne ends in my tragedie.

Now let the house of Bourbon weare the crowne,

And may it never end in bloud as mine hath done.

Weep not sweet Navarre, but revenge my death.

Ah Epernoune, is this thy love to me?

Henry thy King wipes of these childish teares,

And bids thee whet thy sword on Sextus bones,

That it may keenly slice the Catholicks.

He loves me not the best that sheds most teares,

But he that makes most lavish of his bloud.

Fire Paris where these trecherous rebels lurke.

I dye Navarre, come beare me to my Sepulchre.

Salute the Queene of England in my name,

And tell her Henry dyes her faithfull freend.