Massacre at Paris

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

CHARLES THE NINTH—King of France

Duke of Anjou—his brother, afterwards KNIG HENRY THE THIRD

King of Navarre

PRINCE OF CONDE—his brother

brothers

DUKE OF GUISE

CARDINAL OF LORRAINE

DUKE DUMAINE

SON TO THE DUKE OF GUISE—a boy

THE LORD HIGH ADMIRAL

DUKE OF JOYEUX

EPERNOUN

PLESHE

BARTUS

TWO LORDS OF POLAND

GONZAGO

RETES

MOUNTSORRELL

COSSINS,—Captain of the King's Guard

MUGEROUN

THE CUTPURSE

LOREINE,—a preacher

SEROUNE

RAMUS

TALEUS

FRIAR

SURGEONENGLISH AGENT

APOTHECARY

Captain of the Guard, Protestants, Schoolmasters, Soldiers,

Murderers, Attendants, &c.

CATHERINE,—the Queen Mother of France

MARGARET,—her daughter, wife to the KING OF NAVARRE

THE OLD QUEEN OF NAVARRE

DUCHESS OF GUISE

WIFE TO SEROUNE

Maid to the Duchess of Guise

THE MASSACRE AT PARIS

With the Death of the Duke of Guise.

[Scene i]

Enter Charles the French King, [Catherine] the Queene Mother, the King of Navarre, the Prince of Condye, the Lord high Admirall, and [Margaret] the Queene of Navarre, with others.

 
   CHARLES. 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.
 
 
   NAVAREE. The many favours which your grace has showne,
   From time to time, but specially in this,
   Shall binde me ever to your highnes will,
   In what Queen Mother or your grace commands.
 
 
   QUEENE MOTHER. Thanks sonne Navarre, you see we love you well,
   That linke you in mariage with our daughter heer:
   And as you know, our difference in Religion
   Might be a meanes to crosse you in your love.
 
 
   CHARLES. 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.
 
 
   QUEENE MARGARET. I will my good Lord.
 
 
   CHARLES. The rest that will not goe (my Lords) may stay:
   Come Mother,
   Let us goe to honor this solemnitie.
 
 
   QUEENE MOTHER. Which Ile desolve with bloud and crueltie.
       [Aside.]
 

Exit [Charles] the King, Queene Mother, and [Margaret] the Queene of Navar [with others], and manet Navar, the Prince of Condy, and the Lord high Admirall.

 
   NAVARRE. Prince Condy and my good Lord Admiral,
   Now Guise may storme but does us little hurt:
   Having the King, Queene Mother on our side,
   To stop the mallice of his envious heart,
   That seekes to murder all the Protestants:
   Have you not heard of late how he decreed,
   If that the King had given consent thereto,
   That all the protestants that are in Paris,
   Should have been murdered the other night?
 
 
   ADMIRALL. My Lord I mervaile that th'aspiring Guise
   Dares once adventure without the Kings assent,
   To meddle or attempt such dangerous things.
 
 
   CONDY. My Lord you need not mervaile at the Guise,
   For what he doth the Pope will ratifie:
   In murder, mischeefe, or in tiranny.
 
 
   NAVARRE. But he that sits and rules above the clowdes,
   Doth heare and see the praiers of the just:
   And will revenge the bloud of innocents,
   That Guise hath slaine by treason of his heart,
   And brought by murder to their timeles ends.
 
 
   ADMIRALL. My Lord, but did you mark the Cardinall
   The Guises brother, and the Duke Dumain:
   How they did storme at these your nuptiall rites,
   Because the house of Burbon now comes in,
   And joynes your lineage to the crowne of France?
 
 
   NAVARRE. And thats the cause that Guise so frowns at us,
   And beates his braines to catch us in his trap,
   Which he hath pitcht within his deadly toyle.
   Come my Lords lets go to the Church and pray,
   That God may still defend the right of France:
   And make his Gospel flourish in this land.
 

Exeunt

[Scene ii]

Enter the Duke of Guise.

 
   GUISE. If ever Hymen lowr'd at marriage rites,
   And had his alters decks with duskie lightes:
   If ever sunne stainde heaven with bloudy clowdes,
   And made it look with terrour on the worlde:
   If ever day were turnde to ugly night,
   And night made semblance of the hue of hell,
   This day, this houre, this fatall night,
   Shall fully shew the fury of them all.
   Apothecarie.—
 

Enter the Pothecarie.

 
   POTHECARIE. My Lord.
 
 
   GUISE. Now shall I prove and guerdon to the ful,
   The love thou bear'st unto the house of Guise:
   Where are those perfumed gloves which late I sent
   To be poysoned, hast thou done them? speake,
   Will every savour breed a pangue of death?
 
 
   POTHECARIE. See where they be my Lord, and he that smelles
   but to them, dyes.
 
 
   GUISE. Then thou remainest resolute.
 
 
   POTHECARIE. I am my Lord, in what your grace commaundes till death.
 
 
   GUISE. Thankes my good freend, I wil requite thy love.
   Goe then, present them to the Queene Navarre:
   For she is that huge blemish in our eye,
   That makes these upstart heresies in Fraunce:
   Be gone my freend, present them to her straite.
   Souldyer.—
 

Exit Pothecaier.

Enter a Souldier.

 
   SOULDIER. My Lord.
 
 
   GUISE. Now come thou forth and play thy tragick part,
   Stand in some window opening neere the street,
   And when thou seest the Admirall ride by,
   Discharge thy musket and perfourme his death:
   And then Ile guerdon thee with store of crownes.
 
 
   SOULDIER. I will my Lord.
 

Exit Souldier.

 
   GUISE. Now Guise, begin those deepe ingendred thoughts
   To burst abroad, those never dying flames,
   Which cannot be extinguisht but by bloud.
   Oft have I leveld, and at last have learnd,
   That perill is the cheefest way to happines,
   And resolution honors fairest aime.
   What glory is there in a common good,
   That hanges for every peasant to atchive?
   That like I best that flyes beyond my reach.
   Set me to scale the high Peramides,
   And thereon set the Diadem of Fraunce,
   Ile either rend it with my nayles to naught,
   Or mount the top with my aspiring winges,
   Although my downfall be the deepest hell.
   For this, I wake, when others think I sleepe,
   For this, I waite, that scorn attendance else:
   For this, my quenchles thirst whereon I builde,
   Hath often pleaded kindred to the King.
   For this, this head, this heart, this hand and sworde,
   Contrive, imagine and fully execute
   Matters of importe, aimed at by many,
   Yet understoode by none.
   For this, hath heaven engendred me of earth,
   For this, the earth sustaines my bodies weight,
   And with this wait Ile counterpoise a Crowne,
   Or with seditions weary all the worlde:
   For this, from Spaine the 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