# The Massacre at Paris/Scene 19

Enter the Captaine of the guarde, and three murtherers.
Captaine.
Hating the life and honour of the Guise? What, will you not feare when you see him come?
1. Feare him said you? tush, were he heere, we would kill him presently.
2. O that his heart were leaping in my hand.
3. But when will he come that we may murther him?
Cap. Well, then I see you are resolute.
1. Let us alone, I warrant you.
Cap. Then sirs take your standings within this Chamber, For anon the Guise will come.
All. You will give us our money.
Cap. I, I, feare not, stand close, so be resolute: Now fals the star whose influence governes France, Whose light was deadly to the Protestants: Now must he fall and perish in his height.
Enter the King and Epernoune.
King.
Cap. They be my good Lord.
King. But are they resolute and armde to kill, Hating the life and honour of the Guise?
Cap. I warrant ye my Lord.
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.
Enter the Guise and knocketh.
Guise.
Eper. Mounted his royall Cabonet.
Guise. I prethee tell him that the Guise is heere.
Eper. And please your grace the Duke of Guise,
doth crave accesse unto your highnes.
King. Let him come in. Come Guise and see thy traiterous guile outreacht, And perish in the pit thou mad'st for me. The Guise comes to the King.
Guise. Good morrow to your Majestie.
King. Good morrow to my loving Cousin of Guise. How fares it this morning with your excellence?
Guise. I heard your Majestie was scarcely pleasde, That in the Court I bare so great a traine.
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, Whatsoever any whisper in mine eares, Not to suspect disloyaltye in thee, And so sweet Cuz farwell.Exit King.
Guise. 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 Duke of Guises hope.
Enter one of the Murtherers.
Villaine, why dost thou look so gastly? speake.
Mur. O pardon me my Lord of Guise.
Guise. Pardon thee, why what hast thou done?
Mur. O my Lord, I am one of them that is set to murder you.
Guise. To murder me villaine.
Mur. I my Lord, the rest have taine their standings in the next roome, therefore good my Lord goe not foorth.
Guise. Yet Cæsar 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.
1. Stand close, he is comming, I know him by his voice.
Guise. As pale as ashes, nay then tis time to look about.
All. Downe with him, downe with him. They stabbe him.
Guise. Oh I have my deaths wound, give me leave to speak.
2. Then pray to God, and aske forgivenes of the King.
Guise. 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 Sixtus, be reveng'd upon the King, Philip and Parma, I am slaine for you: Pope excommunicate, Philip depose, The wicked branch of curst Valois his line. Vive la messa, perish Hugonets, Thus Cæsar did goe foorth, and thus he dyed. He dyes.
Enter Captaine of the Guarde.
Captaine.
My Lord, see where the Guise is slaine.
King. Ah this sweet sight is phisick to my soule, Goe fetch his sonne for to beholde his death: Surchargde with guilt of thousand massacres: Mounser of Loraine sinke away to hell, And in 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 civile 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 diceast? 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.
Eper. My Lord heer is his sonne.
Enter the Guises sonne.
King.
Yong Guise. My father slaine, who hath done this deed?
King. Sirra twas I that slew him, and will slay thee too, and thou prove such a traitor.
Yong Guise. Art thou King, and hast done this bloudy deed? Ile be revengde.
He offereth to throwe his dagger.
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. Get you away and strangle the Cardinall, These two will make one entire Duke of Guise, Especially with our olde mothers helpe.
Eper. My Lord, see where she comes, as if she droupt to heare these newes.
Enter Queene Mother.
King. And let her droup, my heart is light enough. Mother, how like you this device of mine? I slew the Guise, because I would be King.
Queene. King, why so thou wert before. Pray God thou be a King now this is done.
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.
Queene. I cannot speak for greefe, when thou wast borne, I would that I had murdered thee my sonne. My sonne: thou art a changeling, not my sonne. I curse thee and exclaime thee miscreant, Traitor to God, and to the realme of France.
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. Exit the King and Epernoune.
Queene. Away, leave me alone to meditate, Sweet Guise, would he had died so thou wert heere: To whom shall I bewray my secrets now, Or who will helpe to builde Religion? The Protestants will glory and insulte, Wicked Navarre will get the crowne of France, The Popedome cannot stand, all goes to wrack, And all for thee my Guise, what may I doe? But sorrow seaze upon my toyling soule, For since the Guise is dead, I will not live.Exit.
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