 | The Massacre of Paris |  |
SCENE II.
Palace.Duke of Guise, and Cardinal of Lorrain.
Gui.
But are you sure he'll come?
Car.
Most certain, Sir.
Gui.
Why then, I will not eat till I behold him.
O, I could pine my self into a Ghost,
So I at last might thrust my hungry Sword
In the curs'd Carcass of this Admiral,
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Car.
The Queen too of Navarre, the Heretick Princess,
Gentlemen and Commanders, Knights, Barons, Counts,
With all the Combination of the Rebels,
Come to the Wedding of the young Bearnois.
Gui.
Why, what an Oglio will the Devil have?
A Feast for Hell, to cram it to the mouth,
A Massacre of Souls: methinks I see
The glutton Death gorg'd with devouting Lives,
And stretching o're the City his swoln bulk,
As he would vomit up the Dead.
Car.
My Lord,
How brooks your Heart the Marriage of Navarre?
Gui.
Why, faith, Sir, as we must necessity:
The King resolves it; urging to my face,
The Man that dar'd to contradict his pleasure
Should make that opposition with his ruine:
On this I turn'd my Court to Porcien's Widow.
But O, Lorrain, Love mourn'd at the mistake,
As conscious of the cruel change he made.
Take then the prospect of a Summers Morn,
The gaudy Heav'n all streak'd with dappled Fires,
And fleck'd with Blushes like a rising Bride,
With sweets so pour'd from such a lavish Spring,
That it must begger all the years to come:
From this bright view, from Marguerite's form,
Now turn thy Eye upon the yellow Autumn,
On Porcien's Wife, the Widow of the Seasons.
Car.
You speak, methinks, as if you lov'd the Princess.
Gui.
How e're I bragg'd before, I do confess it;
Spite of my Glory, spite of my Ambition,
And all the vow'd resolves of my Revenge,
Had she not poorly yielded to the Marriage,
I would have turn'd my Widow to the Common:
But I am satisfy'd; 'tis now the talk
Of the whole Court, how she in secret likes it;
Hears too, no doubt, of my design on Cleve,
Yet (Curses on that changeable Staff her Soul)
Regards it not. But see, she comes: a Tempest
Enter Marguerite.
Ruffles her Face! the Mother taught this cunning;
And she has catch'd the Plague of that Dissembler
So right, methinks I see the tokens on her.
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Look in my Face.
Gui.
I do.
Mar.
Nay, in my Eyes.
Gui.
I view 'em as I would the setting Sun,
Were I to dye at Midnight.
Mar.
Come, you dare not.
Gui.
What, dare not dye?
Mar.
Thou dar'st not one, nor t'other:
At least thou shouldst not, for thou art so wicked,
So gone in Sin, Damnation must attend thee.
Gui.
Why, then the Devil is sure of one great Man.
Mar.
Of one! of all; at Court he's no Retailer,
But deals in Gross, and takes you by the Lump.
In Country-Fields he's forc'd to sit all day,
With patience, angling down the guiltless Stream,
Yet rarely catches one for all his labour;
But when he comes to Court, the Sea of Pleasures,
He throws his Drag-Net in from side to side,
Where none of all the Fry escape Perdition:
There may you see Whales plunging in the Meash,
Disgorging streams, like Drunkards on the ground;
The Sword-Fish, like the Souldier, fast in hold;
The floundring Priests, like Sharks, that gape for prey;
Fat Porcpise Bauds, the Mermaids too of Honour,
The Minim Pages, all the twinkling Host
So fill'd, the Snare of Hell must crack to hold you.
Gui.
No, there's another Cause for this fine Satyr,
Too well digested for a sudden thought,
An Argument at home, there in your heart,
Tho' you have learnt discretion thus to turn it.
Mar.
O Heav'ns! what means he?
Gui.
D'ye seem amaz'd?
I say again, however you upbraid me,
You bear the Guilt, who bring the Accusation:
Yes, Marguerite, thou hast plaid me foul.
Nay, do not start, nor gaze, nor make false steps:
Come, Princess, these are tricks too stale for Guise,
Shew 'em your little Creatures; bid your Mother
Fetch something quainter from the Schools of Florence,
Where she has learnt the Art of Honest-dealing.
Mar.
O, all ye Pow'rs of Heav'n, of Earth, and Hell,
Where would he, whither, and when will he end?
Gui.
Madam, I've done already; but lest you should
Forget coherence, through your world of Passion,
I tell you, you are false; your Vows, your Tears,
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Your grasping Joys are false; for even then
When you cry out, There can be nothing farther,
By all your perjuries, you wish 'em more.
Mar.
Furies and Devils! shall he bear it thus!
What with his Lip! his Eye! his every Scorn,
Walk thus before me, and defy me thus!
Ah Guise! disloyal, faithless, perjur'd wretch!
Thou art more damn'd, than any Fiend in Hell.
Imposture!
Gui.
Woman.
Mar.
Traytor.
Gui.
Woman.
Mar.
Villain.
Gui.
Woman still.
Mar.
Hark Guise, hear Monster, hear and mark me:
While to thy Conscious Soul I sound the Name
Of Porcien.
Gui.
Of Navarre.
Mar.
Porcien I swear.
Gui.
Navarre, Navarre.
Mar.
Thou ly'st, thou ly'st: Porcien, the Widow—
Porcien.
O, I could cut my face! what, for a Widow!
Leave me for Porcien! O thou dull, dull Guise!
Wilt thou sit down to the refuse of Meals!
A Widow! what, the Monument of Man;
The Tomb Grave-Vault, the very Damp of Nature!
For this, I hate thee more than e're I lov'd thee;
And from my presence banish thee for ever.
Gui.
No; I will banish this detested Guise
My self; you shall not buy him to your presence:
For, know, I hate more perfectly than you;
Yours is a gust, a puff of Woman's Fury;
But mine a manly, constant, setled hate,
Which, ever since you made your better choice,
Of young Navarre, took root within my heart.
Mar.
'Tis false, 'tis false, a Treason fetch'd from Hell,
But where! speak out; where was this Lye invented?
Gui.
Thus then in short, and so farewell for ever:
The King and Queen, with all particulars
Avow'd it to me; and in general
The Court. You may perceive the Choice,
I made of Cleve, was more to be reveng'd
Than want of Constancy: but your's was weigh'd;
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Tickling Variety for Love and Glory,
For the false appetite of Luxurious Woman,
Woman, damn'd Woman; but I waste breath to name her.
My Lord Lorrain, I charge you by your Friendship
Give me the Contract.
Mar.
Hold, my Lord.—For what?
Gui.
That I may tear it to as many pieces
As she has done her Vows. What, faith in Women!
The very fragments of the whole Creation,
Whose sever'd Souls, like many parted Mirrors,
Reflect the face of all Mankind at once,
Who with their weeping Smiles, and laughing Tears,
Were they allow'd a Heav'n, as sure they are not,
Would tempt the Angels to a second Fall.
But I grow wild; give me the Contract, Sir:
Nay, Madam, off; I swear you must unhand me.
Mar.
I will not. O my heart! Ah Guise, Guise, Guise!
You have got the Conquest, and you shall maintain it,
Tho' at th'expence of Marguerite's death.
'Tis true, my Mother mention'd such a Marriage;
But If I did not loath it, scorn, detest it,
O, If this be not true as thou art false,
(Forgive me, for I meant to say unkind)
Banish poor Marguerite from those Eyes
That feed her life, let me no more approach you;
But take, O take this Ponyard from my hand,
And stick it in my heart, that heart that loves you,
That when 'tis injur'd dares not stand before you,
But owns you for the Tyrant of my days.
Gui.
No, Marguerite, no;
You've found the way to temper me indeed,
Nay, turn it upon me, who am a Traytor,
Because I dar'd to counterfeit a Falshood
Against such perfect Love, to seem t'affect
The hated Porcien.
Mar.
Did you then dissemble?
Did you not love her in your Heart, indeed?
Gui.
I swear by Heav'n.
Mar.
O let me then embrace you.
Yet closer. O that I could get within you!
Gui.
My Life!
Mar.
My Soul!
Gui.
My Heart!
Car.
My Lord, the Duke of Anjou moves this way.
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Farewel. And till I hear that thou art Marry'd,
The Heart of Guise is riveted to thine:
Which all the Hammers in thy Mother's Brain
Shall never loose.
Mar.
They may compel my Body;
But till I hear thee say thy self, Thou'rt false,
Death shall not force my Soul to wed Navarre.
[Exit Marguerite.
Enter Anjou, and Ligneroles.
Guise.
I'll stand the shock of this Imperious Duke,
This Anjou, that has got a Name in War,
I know not how, because his Horse was shot
At Moncontour: you see by what ensu'd,
Nature design'd him for a Reveller.
Anj.
O Ligneroles, thou Partner of my Soul,
Be secret; for if once the King should know
What I have told thee through excess of Love,
The World could not redeem thee from the Grave.
Ha! Guise! But soft, my Soul. My Lord Lorrain,
'Tis said, the Admiral, and Hugonot Princes
Are scarce a League from Paris.
Car.
Yes, My Lord,
I hear so too: the Duke of Guise was going.
Anj.
I hope he will not move for fear of me.
Guise.
You're right, my Lord; nor will not stay for love.
Anj.
What, not a Woman's Love! Love of a Princess?
Guise.
No, nor a Boy's; your Sister may do much.
Anj.
Haste Ligneroles, go bear the King this Packet.
My Lord of Guise, 'tis not impossible
[Exit Ligneroles.
But Anjou one day may be King of France;
Mark me, if then I find Valois dishonour'd,
I will not leave a Guise to gape at pow'r.
[Exit.
Guise.
'Tis so: by all the Mysteries of Empire,
By the Eternal Fates, his Mother's Poison
Boils in the Brains of the young drooping King,
And speeds him to make way for curs'd Anjou.
Charles his Religion, which she wonders at,
And scarce believes him hers; laughs at his pity,
Calls his Remorse the Colick of the Mind;
His starts, and fears, the gripes and checks of Conscience.
Enter King, Queen Mother, Ligneroles.
But see, the King? mark, mark, my dear Lorrain,
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He has it in his Veins, the lingring draught
That moulders him away. Let's tell him of it:
By my Ambition, and my vow'd Revenge,
I'll do't.
Car.
Away; you shall not: are you mad?
Where is your temper? Walk a little off,
And lay these Fumes.
Gui.
Lead then the blind away;
Yet, if I meet him in the dark, I'le crush him.
[Ex. Lor. and Gui.
King.
Was ever such an Insolence? Read there.
My Brother has Intelligence from Rochel
The Admiral has order'd his Adherents
To seize on Mons, as he arrives at Paris,
So to assure the kindling of a War.
O, Mother, now I feel thy flames inspire me;
Yes, by the injur'd Majesty of Kings,
I'le fetch this soaring Rebel from his height:
Traytor, Imperious, Saucy, Arrogant Slave!
Lig.
Why should your Majesty thus shock your Peace
With needless Fury, since the time draws on
When He, and all those Rebel Hugonots,
Shall never grieve you more?
King.
Your meaning, Sir.
Lig.
When, as your Royal Justice has decreed,
They shall be Massacred.
King.
A vain Surmise.
Go, Sir, and bid the Count of Rhets attend me.
[Ex. Lig.
Q. M.
Well, Sir, what think you now?
King.
Death, and Destruction,
We're all undone; the Secret of the World,
Th'eternal Care of my contriving Soul,
Which has so many Moons, with constant watching,
Reduc'd me to this state, is blab'd by you,
Divulg'd, and made the Prattle of a Boy.
Q. M.
No, no, my Lord; I am not to be taught
By you, to keep a Secret: Look at home,
Collect, if in your late tempestuous Passion
You did not give suspicion of the truth.
King.
Suspicion! no, 'tis more; we are betray'd:
He told me to my face he knew the matter,
How that the Admiral, and the Hugonots
Should streight be Massacred. O, I could rave!
Our hearts are Rebels to our Bosom-Councils.
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But see, perhaps this Villain gave it Air.
Ah, Traitor! Ah perfidious false Alberto!
Have I not rais'd thee from the dregs of baseness,
And lodg'd thee in the bosom of thy Master?
Nay, rise, and speak: where didst thou get the daring
T'unravel the close web of my sworn Councils,
And trust 'em to the giddy Ligneroles?
Confess; nay, hide not what thou hast reveal'd,
Or Racks, Blood, Blood and Fire, and lasting Torments
Shall force thee, speak.
Alb.
Then let the Rack be brought:
Methinks I long to give a noble proof
How much I can endure in such a Cause.
King.
I know not what to say, whom to accuse,
Or where to turn my self. Call hither Guise,
And Cardinal of Lorrain. But see, my Brother.
Enter Anjou.
It must be so: 'tis he, 'tis he, false man!
I had forgot! this Boy's his only Minion,
The very turn-key of his Cabinet-thoughts.
But speak, Anjou; how didst thou dare to trust
So strong a Secret, such important Counsels,
That from the Book of Fate must wipe for ever
A hundred thousand Lives, or quash the Throne?
O, I'm not able to contain the Transport!
Why did'st thou trust a business of such weight
To Ligneroles?
Enter Cardinal and Guise.
Anj.
'Tis true, my Lord, I did;
But I'le ingage my life he'll ne're divulge it.
King.
No, Sir; I pass my word he never shall.
Anj.
My Lord, I beg—
King.
Speak not, stir not hence.
My Lord of Guise, I must engage your Service.
Q. M.
Think no more of him, lest the violent King,
Whom yet I never saw so strangely mov'd,
Should turn his rage on you.
Gui.
My Lord, 'tis done.
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King.
When he's dispatch'd, let your Friends go to Prison,
To put a little varnish on his blood;
Then you, or some that have the seeming Power,
Beg for their Pardon, and it shall be sign'd.
Enter Alberto.
Alb.
My Lord, the Admiral's arriv'd.
King.
O, Madam,
Give me your hand, and yours and yours
To prop me;
Now we must shew a Master-piece indeed,
To meet the Man whom we would make an end of,
Ev'n at that time when mortal Wars within,
When the blood boils and flushes to be at him,
Yet then to shew the signs of heartiest Love,
To cringe, to fawn, to smile, to weep, and swear,
Are Masks for women, not for men to wear.
[Exeunt.
| The Massacre of Paris | |