 | The Massacre of Paris |  |
SCENE I.
The Scene draws; the King, the Queen Mother, the Duke of Anjou, Duke of Guise, Cardinal of Lorrain: The Body of Ligneroles held up all bloody.Anj.
Ah Traytor Guise! but I will have thy life—
Gui.
Let go your hand; or by the Majesty
That Governs here, I'll send you to your Boy.
King.
Tear 'em asunder.
Anj.
I'le have Satisfaction.
King.
Remove the Body. You my Lord of Guise,
Say how this murder hapned.
Gui.
Thus, my Lord.
Charles Count of Mansfield, and the Count of Guerchy,
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The Skies and Fountains seem'd one mutual cry,
Riding in company, with this bold Spirit,
On fiery Coursers, chanc'd to discompose him:
He frown'd, they laugh'd, and so the beaten road
Of Quarrels, hot words rose, then Blows and Thrusts,
The Youth betwixt 'em fell, I know not how;
And there's an end of him.
Anj.
Traytor, thou ly'st: thou know'st the cause.
King.
No, Sir, it was my Order.
Now, as you have respect to your own Safety,
No more of this. Had you not blush'd in Blood,
In the Heart-blood of him you dearest lov'd;
By my dead Father's Soul, by my Revenge,
You should your self have mourn'd so gross a failing.
Q. M.
Sir, he repents.
King.
He does but what he ought.
Now to the Business.
Since then the Cloud that holds our horrid Vengeance
Comes nearer racking o're the Hugonots heads;
Let's help the fall, and stir not from this place
Till we have fixt the Plat-form of their Ruine:
First, for the Queen, Jane Albert of Navarre,
Because a Woman, and of Royal Blood,
My Mother judg'd that she should dye by Poison.
Q. M.
Dispatch'd with Sweets. Pass to the rest; she's dead.
King.
Yet not without suspicion of the Princes,
Who therefore, by my Order, were desir'd
To see her Body open'd; which was done
Before the chief of all the Hugonots;
Only her Head was spar'd, as I appointed,
Out of a seeming Reverence; but indeed,
Lest that the Poison, tho' it pass'd unseen,
Like a close Murderer, through the Lanes of Life,
Might yet at last be taken where it lodg'd.
With this, in part, I satisfy'd their Murmurs.
Qu. M.
Therefore you must confer more favours still
Upon the Admiral, lull him with Honours;
Strike him but in the throat of his Ambition,
You have him sure: yet let him play a while,
And roll at random down the stream of Glory.
My Lord of Guise you have not yet convers'd him;
Therefore, while this suspicion on the death
Of the late Queen flies warm about his ears,
Visit him, as commanded by the King;
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Proceed to half a Quarrel, that the King,
Being made the Judge, as coming there by chance,
May give it quite against you in appearance,
And force you to submit your self for Pardon.
Gui.
It shall be so: And fear not, I'le provoke him;
'Twill ease my Heart a little, with keen words,
To right my Father's wrongs, and shed the Venom
That swells me all within.
King.
On this proceed
To the intended Marriage of Navarre;
Which once perform'd, as if that were the Lightning
To the sure Peal of Horrour that must follow,
Begin our Vengeance with the Admiral's Death.
Anj.
First, Sir, it would be known how Guise approves
The Marriage of Navarre with Marguerite.
King.
I know the Duke approves what I resolve;
And on so great a push, would forfeit both
A Ligneroles and Marguerite too.
Qu. M.
Come, come, it's monstrous but to make a Scruple,
To stand on Pets, Intrigues, and foolish Passions,
When such a Fate is now upon the Bolt,
As ne're perhaps yet Thunder'd with Success,
Since first the World began.
Gui.
My Lord, I yield;
And take Prince Porcien's Widow for my Wife.
King.
I sent the Count of Rhets to bring her hither.
My Lord Lorrain, pray let me view the Contract.
This, by the hand of Guise, must first be torn,
And then presented her.
Gui.
Excuse me, Sir.
King.
If Prayers or threats can bend her, Sir, you shall not;
But, if those fail, my Lord, without more words,
I charge you for your Honour, and my own,
To act as I command: or, by my blood,
Nor you, nor I shall ever see her more.
Gui.
That's a home thrust indeed: Sir, I obey,
And wait your farther order.
King.
My Lord Lorrain,
Attend the Duke while I examine Marguerite,
Wait till I stamp, and when thy trouble's over
Make to the Admiral; and I will follow.
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How, Marguerite, weeping? all in tears!
Sure then the Count of Rhets mistook the
Message.
I sent to give thee Joy, to tell my Sister
She must be marry'd.
Mar.
And I come, my Lord,
To shew my heart before your Majesty,
To beg your favour, mercy, and your pardon;
For O, my Lord, I cannot, if I would,
Be marry'd to Navarre.
King.
You cannot? Rise,
And tell me why: I'le hear you out with patience.
Mar.
Ah, Sir, how shall I speak your Sister's Frailty?
How shall I, but thus drown'd with tears and blushes,
Confess the fault of Duty? I am marry'd,
Betroth'd, my Lord.
King.
To whom?
Mar.
Alas, you're angry;
But I must own the truth, tho' on your brow
A thousand deaths sat menacing my Soul:
Yes, Sir, I'm marry'd to the Duke of Guise.
King.
Not marry'd, Marguerite; but contracted:
And so far I'le forgive thy heedless Youth;
But on condition that, without more noise,
Thou raze the haughty Guise from thy remembrance;
Or, by the violation of our Name,
I will not spare to drain thy tainted blood,
Till I have mounted thee by death a Victim
To the great memory of the wrong'd Valois.
Mar.
Call then, my Lord, call forth your fierce Tormentors,
Propose to Marguerite flames and wounds,
And all the cruel Arts of thoughtful Fury,
See your poor Sister's Spirit parch'd away
By lingring fires, to make my death more dreadful;
Yet, Sir, with my last breath I must avow
My Love to Guise, and hatred to Navarre.
King.
No; I have thought on't better; I'll proclaim thee,
A Prostitute; thou shalt no more be Royal:
Poor, and abandon'd, with thy shame upon thee,
I'll turn thee forth a Beggar to the World.
Mar.
Do, do, my Lord, rather than wed Navarre,
And make it death for any to relieve me,
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To tear, to worry me like common flesh,
To drag me to a Ditch, and leave me gasping;
Yet with my last sighs I will groan to Heav'n,
'Tis easier this, than to be false to Guise.
King.
But, Marguerite, was there ever Love
Without brave Revenge on Provocation?
Yet, Wretch, thou lov'st without being lov'd again:
Since in my presence Guise now past his word
To leave thee, and to wed the Widow Porcien.
Mar.
No, no, my Lord; that Art was us'd before;
Yet, Sir, you make me tremble; for methinks
There's something more resolv'd, more stern in you,
Than in my Mother: yet my heart's confirm'd
Not to believe ev'n you; O therefore cease,
Or rather execute your former rage,
And give me up to those Tormentors hands
That wait your Call.
King.
But if I bring the Duke
Before thy face, that Contract in his hand,
Which past betwixt you, and he tears it here
Openly, in the presence of us all;
Wilt thou then quit him, with resolv'd revenge,
And wed Navarre?
Mar.
Why should you ask me, Sir?
Prove me but half as much, but half that falshood,
That Impudence, that Treason to the Throne
Of our crown'd Loves, and I will wed a Slave:
There's not a thing so loath'd upon the Earth,
But you shall bind me to it for my life,
To Age, Deformity, to all that's hateful,
Blasting, and deadly.—Ha! what's this he tears?
The Contract? O, it is the cursed Contract!
Then I'll tear too. Death, Furies, Hell, and Devils!
But call him, Sir, call back the perjur'd Traytor;
Let your Guards hold him; you shall see, my Lord,
How well I hate him: Give me but a Dagger,
And I will gore his heart with thousand wounds;
Nay, if 'twere possible, I'de stab his Soul,
Fill it so full, brimful of Womans Gall,
That, tho' he were an Angel, it should damn him;
But he's a Devil, Devil, Devil, Devil.
King.
Give me your hand; you shall along with me
To a young King, that will be proud to serve you.
Mar.
O, Sir, I know not what to say, or do,
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You have my promise; but with all my blood
I would retrieve it; for since Guise is false,
Whom I believ'd the worthiest of the World,
Since he has prov'd himself so damn'd a Villain,
O, give me leave, Sir, give me leave to shun,
To hate, to loath, to curse all Humane Kind.
King.
I'le have no more delay; I claim your Promise:
Come then; or, by my Crown, I'le have thee drag'd:
What hoa? without there.
Enter Attendants.
Mar.
Mother, pity me.
Have patience, Sir, a little time, my Lord,
To vent these bursting sighs, and I will go;
Let me but dry my Eyes, and I will go:
This remnant of a wretched Royal woman,
This stain to all your Blood, O cruel Heav'n!
This curs'd, forlorn, unhappy Bride shall go
Thus to the Altar where my Fate's decreed;
But like a Victim that is doom to bleed.
[Exeunt.
| The Massacre of Paris | |