GUISE

If ever Hymen lower at marriage rites, And had his alters decked with dusky lights: If ever sun stained heaven with bloody clouds, And made look with terror on the world: If ever day were turned to ugly night. And night made semblance of the hue of hell, This day, this hour, this fatal night, Shall fully show the fury of them all, Apothecary. Then thou remainest resolute. Thanks my good friend, I will requite thy love, Go then present them to the Queen Navarre: For she is that huge blemish in our eye, That makes these upstarted heresies in France : Be gone my friend present them to her strait. Soldier. Now come thou forth and play thy tragic partly. Stand in some window opening near the street, And when thou seest the Admiral ride by, Discharge thy musket and perform his death: And then I'll guerdon thee with store of crowns. Now Guise begins those deep engendered thoughts, To burst abroad those never dying flames, Which cannot be extinguished but by blood. Oft have I leveled , and at last have learned, That peril is the chiefest way to happiness, And resolution honours fairest aim. What glory is there in a common good, That hangs for every peasant to achieve? That Like I best that flies beyond my reach, Set me to scale the high Peramides, And thereon set the Dradem of France, I'll either rend it with my nails to nought, Or mount the top with my aspiring wings, Although my downfall be the deepest hell. For this, I wake, when others think I sleep, For this, I wait, that scorns attendance else: For this, my quenchless thirst whereon I build, Hath often pleaded kindred to the King. For this, this head, this heart, this hand and sword, Contrives, imagines and fully executes, Matters of import, aimde at by many, Yet understood by none. For this, hath heaven engendered me of earth, For this, this earth sustains my bodies weight, And with this wiat I'll counterpoise a Crown, Or with seditions weary all the world: For this, from Spain the stately Catholics, Sends Indian gold to coin me French ecues: For this have I a largess from the Pope, A pension and a dispensation too: And by that privilege to work upon, My policy hath framed religion, Religion: Oh Diabole. Fie, I am ashamed how ever that I seem, To think a word of such a simple found, Of so great matter should be made the ground. The gentle King whose pleasure vncontrolde, Weakeneth his body, and will waste his Realm, If I repair not what he ruinates: Him as a child I daily win with words, So that for proof, he barely bears the name: I execute, and he sustains the blame. The Mother Queen works wonders for my sake, And in my love entombs the hope of France: Rifling the bowels of her treasury, To supply my wants and necessity. Paris hath full five hundred Colleges, As Monestaries, Priories, Abbeys and halls, Wherein are thirty thousand able men, Beside a thousand sturdy student Catholics, And more of my knowledge in one cloister keeps, Five hundred fat Franciscan Friars and priests. All this and more, if more may be comprised, To bring the will of our desires to end. Then Guise since thou hast all the Cards, Within thy hands to shuffle or cut, take this as surest thing: That right or wrong, thou deal thy self a King. I but, Navarre, Navarre, 'tis but a nook of France, Sufficient yet for such a petty King: That with a rabblement of his heretics, Blinds Europes eyes and troubles our estate: Him will we But first lets follow those in France, That hinder our possession to the crown: As Caesar to his soldiers, so say I: Those that hate me, will I learn to loath. Give me a look, that when I bend the brows, Pale death may walk in furrows of my face: A hand, that with a grasp may gripe the world, And ear, to hear what my detractors say, A royal seat, a sceptre and a crown: That those which do behold, they may become As men that stand and gaze against the Sun. The plot is laid, and things shall come to pass: Where resolution strives for victory. Me thinks my Lord, Anioy hath well advised, Your highness to consider of the thing, And rather choose to seck your countries good, Then pity or relieve these up start heretics. Thus Madame. They that shall be actors in this Massacre, Shall wear white crosses on their Burgonets: And tie white linen scarves about their arms. He that wants these, and is suspected of heresy, Shall die, be he King or Emperor. Then I'll have a peal of ordinance shot from the tower, At which they all shall issue out and set the streets. And then the watchword being given, a bell shall ring, Which when they hear, they shall begin to kill: And never cease until that bell shall cease, Then breath a while. And I will go take order for his death. Anioy, Dumaine, Gonzago, Retes, Swear by the argent crosses in your burgoners, To kill all that you suspect of heresy. Away then, break into the Admirals house, The Admiral chief standard bearer to the Lutherans, Shall in the entrance of this Massacre, Be murdered in his bed. Gonzago conduct them thither, And then beset his house that not a man may live. Then throw him down. Cousin 'tis he, I know him by his look. See where my Soldier shot him through the arm. He missed him near, but we have strook him now. Ah base Shatillian and degenerate, chief standard bearer to the Lutherans, Thus in despite of thy Religion, The Duke of Guise stamps on thy lifeless bulk. Anioy, Gonzago, Retes, if that you three, Will be as resolute as I and Dumaine: There shall not a Hugonet breath in France. Mountsorrell, go shoot the ordinance of, That they which have already set the street May know their watchword, then tole the bell, And so lets forward to the Massacre. And now my Lords let us closely to our business. Come then, lets away. Tue tue, tue, let none escape, murder the Hugonets. Loreine, Loreine, follow Loreine, Sirrah, Are you a preacher of these heresies? Dearly beloved brother, thus 'tis written. Come drag him away and throw him in a ditch. Marry sir, in having a smack in all, And yet didst never found any thing to the depth. Was it not thou that scoftes the Organon, And said it was a heap of vanities? He that will be a flat decotamest, And seen in nothing but Epetomies: Is in your judgement thought a learned man. And he forsooth must go and preach in Germany: Excepting against Doctors actions, And ipsi dixi with this quiddity, Argumentum testimonies est in art fetialis. To contradict which, I say Ramus shall die: How answer you that? your nego argumentum cannot serve, sirrah, kill him. Why suffer you that peasant to declaim? Stab him I say and send him to his Friends in hell. My Lord of Anioy, there are a hundred Protestants. Which we have chaste into the river Rene, That swim about and so preserve their lives: How may we do? I fear me they will live. 'Tis well advised Dumain, go see it strait be done. And in the mean time my Lord, could we devise, To get those pedantes from the King Navarre, that are tutors to him and the prince of Condy. Murder the Hugonets, take those pedantes hence. Come sirs, I'll whip you to death with my punniards point. And now sirs for this night let our fury stay. Yet will we not that the Massacre shall end, Gonzago post you to Orleans, Retes to Deep, Mountsorrell unto Roan, And spare not one that you suspect of heresy. and now stay that bel that to y e devils matins rings Now every man put of his burgonet, And so convey him closely to his bed. Now Madame, how Like you our lusty Admiral? No by my faith Madam. Sirs, take him away and throw him in some ditch. And now Madam as I understand, There are a hundred Hugonets and more, Which in the woods do hold their synagogue: And daily meet about this time of day, And thither will I to put them to the sword. Madam, I go as whirlwinds rage before a storm, Down with the Hugonites, murder them. No villain, that tongue of thine, That hath blasphemde the holy Church of Room, Shall driven no plaints into the Guises ears, To make the justice of my heart relent: Tue, tue, tue, let none escape: So, drag them away. Sirrah, take him away. What, all alone my love, and writing too: Iprethee say to whom thou writes? I pray thee let me see. But Madam I must see. Are these your secrets that no man must know? Thou trothles and unjust, what lines are these? Am I grown old, or is thy lust grown young, Or hath my love been so obscured in thee, That others needs to comment on my text? Isall my love forgotten which held thee deer? I, dearer then the apple of mine eye? Is Guises glory but a cloudy missed, In sighed and judgement of thy lustful eye? Mor du , Wertenberg not the fruit within thy womb, Of whose increase I set some longing hope: This wrathful hand should strike thee to the heart. Hence strumpet, hide thy head for shame, And fly my presence if thou look to live. Oh wicked sex, perjured and unjust, Now do I see that from the very first, Her eyes and looks sowed seeds of perjury, But villain he to whom these lines should go, Shall buy her love even with his dearest blood. Health and hearty farewell to my Lord Joyeux. How now my Lord, faith this is more then needs, Am I thus to be jested at and scornde? 'Tis more then kingly or Emperious. And sure if all the proudest Kings in Christendom, should bear me such derision: They should know how I scornde them and their mocks. I love your Minions, dote on them your self, I know none else but holds them in disgrace: And her by all the Saints in heaven I swear, That villain for whom I bear this deep disgrace: Even for your words that have incensed me so, Shall buy that strumpets favour with his blood. Whither he have dishonoured me or no. Par la mor du, Ill meram. Hold thee tall Soldier, take thee this and fly. Lie there the Kings delight, and Guises scorn. Revenge it Henry as thou list or dare, I did it only in despite of thee. Why I am no traitor to the crown of France. What I have done 'tis for the Gospel sake. Ah base Epernoune, were not his highness here, Thou shouldst perceive the Worser. of Guise is moved. Why? I am a Prince of the Valoyses line, Therefore and enemy to the Burbonites. I am a juror in the holy league, And therefore hated of the Protestants. What should I do but stand upon my Guard? And being able, I'll keep and host in pay. My Lord, to speak more plainly, thus it is Being animated by Religious zeal, I mean to muster all the power I can, To overthrow those sexious Puritan And know my Lord, the Pope will fell his triple crown, I, and the catholic Philip King of Spain, Ere I shall want, will cause his Indians, To rip the golden bowels of America. Navarre that cloaks them underneath his wings Shall feel the house of Lorraine is his foe: Your highness needs not fear mine armies force, 'Tis for your safety and your enemies wrack. The choice is hard, I must dissemble. My Lord, in token of my true humility, And simple meaning to your Majesty: I kiss your graces hand, and take my leave, Intending to dislodge my camp with speed. Halla verlete heigh: Epernoune, where is the King? I prithee tell him that the Guise is here. Good morrow to your Majesty. I herd your Majesty was scarcely pleased, That in the Court I bore so great a train. So, now sues the King for favour to the Guise, And all his Minions stoup when I command: Why this 'tis to have and army in the field, Now by the holy sacrament I swear, As ancient Romans over their Captive Lords, So will I triumph over this wanton King, And he shall follow my proud Chariots wheels. Now do I but begin to look about, And all my former time was spent in vain: Hold Sword, for in thee is the Duke of Guises hope. Villain, why dost thou look so ghastly? speak. Pardon thee, why what hast thou done? To murder me villain. Yet Caesar shall go forth, let mean consaits, and baser men fear death: tut they are peasants, I am Duke of Guise: and princes with their looks, engender fear. As pale as ashes, nay then 'tis time to look about. O I have my death's wound, give me leave to speak. Trouble me not, I near offended him. Nor will I ask forgiveness of the King. O that I have not power to stay my life, Nor immortality to be revenged: To die by Pesantes, what a grief is this? Ah Sextus, be revenged upon the King, Philip and Parma, I am slain for you: Pope excommunicate, Philip depose, The wicked branch of cursed Valois his line. Vive la messa, perish Hugonets, Thus Coesar did go forth, and thus he died. Now shall I prove and guerdon to the full, The love thou bearest unto the house of Guise: Where are those perfumed gloves which I sent To be poisoned, hast thou done them? speak, Will every savour breed a pang of death? Gonzago, what, is he dead? Stab him.