CATHERINE

Your Majesty were best go visit him, And make a show as if all were well. Do so sweet Guise, let us delay no time, For if these stragglers gather head again, And disperse themselves throughout the Realm of France, It will be hard for us to work their death's. Be gone, delay no time sweet Guise. My Lord of Lorraine have you marked of late, How Charles our son begins for to lament: For the late nights work which my Lord of Guise Did make in Paris amongst the Hugonites? I, but my Lord let me alone for that, For Katherine must have her will in France: As I do live, so surely shall he die. And Henry then shall wear the diadem. And if he grudge or cross his Mother's will, I'll disinherit him and all the rest: For I'll rule France, but they shall wear the crown: And if they storm, I then may pull them down. Come my Lord lets us go. Oh say not so, thou killest thy mother's heart. Welcome from Poland Henry once again, Welcome to France thy father's royal seat, Here hast thou a country void of fears, A warlike people to maintain thy right, A watchful Senate for ordaining laws, A loving mother to preserve thy state, And all things that a King may wish beside: All this and more hath Henry with his crown. Tush man, let me alone with him, To work the way to bring this thing to pass: And if he do deny what I do say, I'll dispatch him with his brother presently. And then shall Mounser wear the diadem: Tush, all shall die unless I have my will. For while she lives Katherine will be Queen. Come my Lords, let us go seek the Guise, And then determine of this enterprise. I hope these reasons may serve my princely Son, To have some care for fear of enemies: Thanks to my princely son, then tell me Guise, What order will you set down for the Massacre? Believe me Guise he becomes the place so well, As I could long ere this have wished him there. But come lets walk aside, thair's not very sweet. And now my Lords after these funerals be done, We will with all the speed we can provide, For Henries coronation from Polony: Come let us take his body hence. My Lord Cardinal of Lorraine, tell me, How likes your grace my sons pleasantness? His mind you see runs on his minions, And all his heaven is to delight himself: And whilst he sleeps securely thus in ease, Thy brother Guise and we may now provide, To plant our selves with such authority, as not a man may live without our leaves. Then shall the Catholic faith of Room, Flourish in France, and none deny the same, King, why so thou Wertenberg before. Pray God thou be a King now this is done. I cannot speak for grief, when thou wast born, I would that I had murdered thee my son. My son: thou art a changeling, not my son. I curse thee and exclaim thee miscreant, Traitor to God, and to the realm of France. A way, leave me alone to meditate, Sweet Guise, would he had died so thou Wertenberg here: To whom shall I bewray my secrets now, Or who will help to build Religion? The Protestants will glory and insult, Wicked Navarre will get the crown of France, The Popedom cannot stand, all goes to wrack. And all for thee my Guise, what may I do? But sorrow seize upon my toiling soul, For since the Guise is dead, I will not live. What art thou dead, sweet son speak to thy Mother, Oh no, his soul is fled from out his breast, And he nor hears, nor sees us what we do: My Lords, what rests there now for to be done? But that we presently dispatch Ambassadors To Poland, to call Henry back again, To wear his brother's crown and dignity. Epernoune, go see it presently be done, And bid him come without delay to us. Thanks son Navarre, you see we love you well, That link you in marriage with our daughter her: And as you know our difference in Religion, Might be a means to cross you in your love. Thanks my good friend, hold take thou this reward. Me thinks the gloves have a very strong perfume, The sent whereof does make my head to ache. My noble son, and princely Duke of Guise, Now have we God the fatal straggling deer: Within the compass of a deadly toil, And as we late decreed we may perform. Which I'll dissolve with blood and cruelty. Oh no, sweet Margret, the fatal poison Works within my head, my brain pan breaks, My heart does faint, I die. Not well, but do remember such a man. Help son Navarre I am poisoned.