 | The Massacre of Paris |  |
SCENE. The City.
Lights in the Windows. The President Marches his Men over the Stage: the Bell of the Palace rings out.
Enter Admiral in his Night-Gown.
Adm.
The Palace Bell rings out, loud Cries of Murder,
Guns fir'd, and groans of dying men below;
The King has giv'n his Warrant for my last;
His Vows, his Oaths, and Altar-Obligations
Are lost: the Wax of all those Sacred Bonds
Runs at the Queens Revenge, the Fire that melts 'em
They are no more: the Admiral's no more.
Enter Cavagnes bleeding.
Cav.
My Lord, God calls us; Death is in the Court:
Fate, in the shape of Guise, all over Blood.
I saw your Son in Law Teligny dye;
Roura, the Son of Baron des Atrets,
With Colonel Montaumar, Gallant Guerchy,
Wrapping his Cloak about his Arm, fought on
Till he was all one wound, and so Expir'd:
But hark, they come!
Adm.
Why, let 'em, let 'em come;
We shall e're long, my Friend, be worth their Envy:
To dye thus for Religion, O, Cavagnes,
It puts the Soul in everlasting Tune,
And sounds already in the Ears of Angels!
And, O, what cause had ever such Foundation!
I tell thee that the Root shall reach the Center,
Spread to the Poles, and with her top touch Heav'n.
But see, they come: stand fixt, and look on Death
With such Contempt, so Masterly an Eye,
As if he were thy Slave.
Enter Besnie, Sartabons, 4 Souldiers.
Besn.
See where he stands! ha, Slaves, what makes you pause.
1 Sould.
Kill him your self, for my part I'le not touch him.
2 Sould.
Nor I: for my part I am sorry for what is done already.
Adm.
Cowards indeed! thus to be terrified
Ev'n with the shadow of th'Admiral.
Besn.
It goes against me; yet I must obey:
Sheath all your Daggers in the Traytor's Breast.
Adm.
Young Man, thou oughtest to reverence these gray hairs;
But I command thee, do as thou art order'd,
Thou'lt cut but little from the Line of Life.
Besn.
Dye then, dye both: now for his Wife and Children.
[Stabs both, and Exeunt.
Adm.
Heard'st thou, Cavagnes? said they not my Children.
Cavag.
I know not what you say; the stroak of Death
Has stun'd my sense of Hearing.
Adm.
Yet let's crawl
With all our Wounds into each others Arms,
And hand in hand go Martyr'd thus to Heaven.
Cavag.
I am gone, farewel.
[Dyes.
Adm.
Why dost thou shudder thus,
And gasp upon my Bosom? 'Twas his last;
My Soul so likes her house, she's loth to part;
But, O what Builder can repair the ruines?
The Lights are choak'd, the Windows are damn'd up,
The main Beams crack, and the Foundation sinks;
Besides, the Lordly Owner warns me forth:
I come, great Master of the World and me,
And, O revenge, revenge thy Peoples blood.
A hundred thousand Souls for Justice call;
Let not the guiltless without Vengeance fall.
[Dyes.
Enter the Duke of Guise and Souldiers.
Gui.
So fling him down, down with him to the Court,
Expose his Carcass to the Peoples mercy,
Drag him away, and hurl him from the Window:
See all his Bastards strangled on the spot;
There's Orders for't. The Hostel de Chastillon
Be raz'd for ever: his Posterity
Be made incapable of bearing Office,
Or being Noble; burn his Statue, haste:
There's a Commission granted for the deed;
Nay, kill, as if 'twere Sport to see 'em bleed.
[Exeunt.
Lights in the Windows. The President Marches his Men over the Stage: the Bell of the Palace rings out.
Enter Admiral in his Night-Gown.
Adm.
The Palace Bell rings out, loud Cries of Murder,
Guns fir'd, and groans of dying men below;
The King has giv'n his Warrant for my last;
His Vows, his Oaths, and Altar-Obligations
Are lost: the Wax of all those Sacred Bonds
Runs at the Queens Revenge, the Fire that melts 'em
They are no more: the Admiral's no more.
Enter Cavagnes bleeding.
Cav.
My Lord, God calls us; Death is in the Court:
Fate, in the shape of Guise, all over Blood.
I saw your Son in Law Teligny dye;
Roura, the Son of Baron des Atrets,
With Colonel Montaumar, Gallant Guerchy,
Wrapping his Cloak about his Arm, fought on
Till he was all one wound, and so Expir'd:
But hark, they come!
Adm.
Why, let 'em, let 'em come;
We shall e're long, my Friend, be worth their Envy:
To dye thus for Religion, O, Cavagnes,
It puts the Soul in everlasting Tune,
And sounds already in the Ears of Angels!
And, O, what cause had ever such Foundation!
I tell thee that the Root shall reach the Center,
Spread to the Poles, and with her top touch Heav'n.
50
With such Contempt, so Masterly an Eye,
As if he were thy Slave.
Enter Besnie, Sartabons, 4 Souldiers.
Besn.
See where he stands! ha, Slaves, what makes you pause.
1 Sould.
Kill him your self, for my part I'le not touch him.
2 Sould.
Nor I: for my part I am sorry for what is done already.
Adm.
Cowards indeed! thus to be terrified
Ev'n with the shadow of th'Admiral.
Besn.
It goes against me; yet I must obey:
Sheath all your Daggers in the Traytor's Breast.
Adm.
Young Man, thou oughtest to reverence these gray hairs;
But I command thee, do as thou art order'd,
Thou'lt cut but little from the Line of Life.
Besn.
Dye then, dye both: now for his Wife and Children.
[Stabs both, and Exeunt.
Adm.
Heard'st thou, Cavagnes? said they not my Children.
Cavag.
I know not what you say; the stroak of Death
Has stun'd my sense of Hearing.
Adm.
Yet let's crawl
With all our Wounds into each others Arms,
And hand in hand go Martyr'd thus to Heaven.
Cavag.
I am gone, farewel.
[Dyes.
Adm.
Why dost thou shudder thus,
And gasp upon my Bosom? 'Twas his last;
My Soul so likes her house, she's loth to part;
But, O what Builder can repair the ruines?
The Lights are choak'd, the Windows are damn'd up,
The main Beams crack, and the Foundation sinks;
Besides, the Lordly Owner warns me forth:
I come, great Master of the World and me,
And, O revenge, revenge thy Peoples blood.
A hundred thousand Souls for Justice call;
Let not the guiltless without Vengeance fall.
[Dyes.
Enter the Duke of Guise and Souldiers.
Gui.
So fling him down, down with him to the Court,
Expose his Carcass to the Peoples mercy,
Drag him away, and hurl him from the Window:
See all his Bastards strangled on the spot;
There's Orders for't. The Hostel de Chastillon
Be raz'd for ever: his Posterity
51
Or being Noble; burn his Statue, haste:
There's a Commission granted for the deed;
Nay, kill, as if 'twere Sport to see 'em bleed.
[Exeunt.
| The Massacre of Paris | |