University of Virginia Library

SCENE. IV.

The Presence Chamber.
Enter King, Revol, Grillon, Larchant, Guards.
Gril.
What makes you sad, Sir?

King.
O! A dream last night;
Methought the Room was silver'd o'r with Light.
But such a light as darted gentle beams;
As clear and cool as those that glide o'r streams.
The Roof seem'd open and so seem'd the sky;
From whence a shining light did more than fly.
It hover'd o'r my Head; when soon there came
This Apparition through a door of flame.
The Chariot was less bright than his Attire;
His Lips were bloody, and his Eyes like fire.
He in his right hand held a flaming Blade;
Threatning me thus, he thundred out and said
My name is Vengeance, and I must be paid.

Rev.
To look for truth from Dreams is full as vain,
As to hope counsel from a crazy brain.
Sleep is the Stage, and Fancy makes the Play;
The thoughts at night; act what they conn'd by day.
A Dream's a Play, Sir, and a Play's a dream;
Both aëry Descants of an idle Theme.

King.
What e're this Vision may to thee appear,
I'm sure it makes a Deep impression here.
The threats of Vengeance most to those belong,
Who use that pow'r Heav'n gave 'em to do wrong.
One I committed, which wounds deeply here;
[Points to's breast.
I mean the bus'ness of the Massacre.
'Twas in this Room, where we did it conclude,
I well remember in this place I stood;
I hate it since; methinks it smells of blood.

[Enter Guessle.
Gues.
A youth, Sir, seiz'd by th'Guards, I now have brought,
But his chief bus'ness, I have vainly sought.
I took him for a spy; and all means try'd
To trap him, but he all things well apply'd.
He has Instructions, which he'l tell to none,
Unless unto your Majesty alone.

King.
Bring him in, Larchant.

[Exit. Larchant.
Gues.
Sir, he says, he's sent
By divers Friends, and the first President.
Who, if your Majesty appoint a day,
Thorough a Port your Forces will convey.

Enter Larchant, Clement pressing to the King.
Larch.
Stay, Fellow, where you are, why do you thrust?

Gues.
Speak out; here's none, but whom the King will trust.

Clem.
Pardon me, Sir, my bus'ness is more great,
Than either he, or you imagine yet.

King.
Let him come near.

[He comes to th' King.
Gril.
I know not what, I doubt.

King.
Now thy chief bus'ness speak; but speak more out.

Clem.
This is my bus'ness, Sir.

As the King leans to him, he stabs him.
King.
O! I am slain!
Take thy Knife, Villain, thus and thus again.

Takes the Knife out of his wound, and stabs him.
Rev.
Run for the Surgeons soon.

Gril.
Damn'd Rogue! Take that.

[Runs him through, he falls.
Gues.
How, kill'd?

Rev.
O! You have done you know not what.
We ne'r shall know th' Abettors of the Plot.

Clem.
Your hands have seal'd the bargain now; and given
Me just possession of my purchast Heaven.

[Dies.
Gril.
How feel you, Sir, yourself. Is the danger past?

Gues.
Where are these Surgeons? They make little hast.

King.
I feel no pain, but hold it least it bleed.

Rev.
O more than hellish, execrable deed!

[Exeunt.
Confus'd running over the Stage, by Chirurgions, &c. and Guards marching after Grillon.
Enter Guessle, Plessis.
Gues.
All will be well, I hope, if he get rest;
The Surgeons say all danger then is past.
They have great hopes it is a slanting stroak
—Then his small pain
Makes 'em to hope, his Bowels are not broke.

Ples.
May Heav'n confirm it. Whilst we here attend,
Methinks the time we cannot better spend,
Than to observe what I did lately hear.

Gues.
What was't about?

Ples.
About the Massacre. Viz.
King Charls and's Mother (for 'twas in their Reign)
The Cardinal of Guise and of Lorrain,
The Duke of Anjou (who is now our King)
Whom Guise into the horrid Plot did bring;
Those six consulted and pronounc'd the doom;
And, pray observe it, in this very Room.
Vengeance is terrible; but 'tis divine:
You know by whom 'tis said, Vengeance is mine.
First, Charls began, cut off in's very prime,
And by a judgement suited to the crime:
He dy'd in blood, who living shed such store;
And then was plung'd, nay drown'd in his own Gore.
The fire of Vengeance (which none can restrain)
Did melt the Glue that cimented each vain;
Those little Channels quickly made their way
To th' Brooks, those to the River, those to th' Sea;
Which overflow'd like an impetuous Tide,
And did thro' th' sluices of his Body glide.

Gues.
Then follow'd next the old Priest of Lorrain,
Who Christians had for Sacrifices slain.

Ples.
His punishment was also in his blood;
Not by an overflowing of the flood;
But heated by some mistick fire within,
It boil'd away i'th' Caldron of his skin.
Pale Ghosts before his dying Eyes did swim,
They first accus'd and then distracted him.
He raging dy'd!—
His last breath like a storm fro's breast did fly,
And met a greater tempest in the sky.

Gues.
Then for the Duke and Cardinal of Guise
We lately saw their bloody Tragedies.

Ples.
The old Queen's soul most servilly did wait,
First on the Guise's crime, then on their fate.
And tho one punishment they could not have,
They had one guilt, and might have had one Grave.
Her shrivel'd veins, for such crimes could not quit,
But in her childrens blood she paid for it.

Gues.
Ther's none alive now, but our wounded Prince,
Whom doubtless Heav'n has pardon'd long time since,
And who, I hope, has many years to live.

Ples.
Yet future Ages will this judgement give—
'Twas just, that in the place, where once he stood
Condemning Innocents, he lost his blood.

Gues.
Great were the Judgements!

Ples.
But more great the crime!
I think, he was in Poland at that time.

Gues.
True, Plessis, and I waited on him there.

Ples.
Strange, that no Ghosts o'th' murder'd did appear,
And with loud shriekings strike his tingling Ear!
O! 'Twas a dismal night!

Gues.
Which to declare
Will shorten th' time of our attendance here.

Ples.
I need not aggravate the crime, nor tell
The murd'rous design, 'tis known too well.
Marg'ret of Valois marri'd to Navar;
That sacred tye of Love they made their snare.
Thus Marriage is their Sacrament! they Sign
Their horrid Plot; and then (instead of Wine)
They quench their thirst's with blood, like Catiline.
No State, no Sex, 'scap'd their unmanly rage;
They neither pitty'd Youth, nor rev'renc'd Age.
The Cross, which Heav'n gave as a glorious sign
Of Victory, to the great Constantine;
This Ensign first display'd i'th' Starry-Field,
—To which—
The Persian Sun and Turkish Moon did yield.
—Nay which—
The Blood of God himself did more than guild.
This sacred Badge's function they invade,
The Cross they upon ev'ry hat displaid,
Ten thousand Souls were forc't that fatal night
From Bodies pale to take an untim'd flight.
Lovers in midst of soft imbraces die;
Their Souls t'each other in their last breaths fly,
Then joyn i'th' vapours of a dying sigh.
Babes nuzling on stab'd Mothers breasts awake,
And gushing blood, alas, for milk they take.
Thin Ghosts (those airy Chariot of our Souls)
Hover'd all o'r the Town in num'rous Shoals,
Attending Guides, that might their wayes prepare
Thorough the pathless Regions of the Air.
Now cryes of dying Persons 'wake the Sun:
As Indians with loud clamours call the Moon.
Now horrid Scenes were offer'd to our Eyes;
The ground was pav'd with Carkasses; the Skies
Were hid with Clouds, which from spilt blood did rise.

Gues.
Loud is the cry of blood! 'tis louder far
Than peals of Thunder when they rend the Air.
Their dying groans eccho'd to Poland soon,
Where we with scorn and hate were look'd upon.
The very Tartars, who their Children fill
With blood of slaves, whom purposely they kill;
Whose Bodies are first kneaded up with blood,
Which is as much their substance as their food:
They ev'n did those Murd'rers condemn
Of such a crime, as ne'r was known to them.

Enter a Chyrurgion.
Chyr.
The King inquires for you.

Gues.
Are all things well?

Chyr.
'Till th'wound is open'd, Sir, we cannot tell.