Meet us on:
Entire Site
    Try our fun game

    Dueling book covers…may the best design win!

    Random Quote
    "There is no feeling, except the extremes of fear and grief, that does not find relief in music."

    Subscribe to Our Newsletter

    Follow us on Twitter

    Never miss a good book again! Follow Read Print on Twitter

    Scene VII

    • Rate it:
    Launch Reading Mode Next Chapter
    Chapter 8
    Previous Chapter
    Enter Ramus in his studie.

    What fearfull cries come from the river Sene,
    That fright poore Ramus sitting at his book?
    I feare the Guisians have past the bridge,
    And meane once more to menace me.

    Enter Taleus.

    Flye Ramus flye, if thou wilt save thy life.

    Tell me Taleus, wherfore should I flye?

    The Guisians are hard at thy doore,
    And meane to murder us:
    Harke, harke they come, Ile leap out at the window.

    [Runs out from studie.]

    Sweet Taleus stay.

    Enter Gonzago and Retes.

    Who goes there?

    Tis Taleus, Ramus bedfellow.

    What art thou?

    I am as Ramus is, a Christian.

    O let him goe, he is a catholick.

    Exit Taleus.

    Enter Ramus [out of his studie].

    Come Ramus, more golde, or thou shalt have the stabbe.

    Alas I am a scholler, how should I have golde?
    All that I have is but my stipend from the King,
    Which is no sooner receiv'd but it is spent.

    Enter the Guise and Anjoy [, Dumaine, Mountsorrell,
    with soldiers].

    Whom have you there?

    Tis Ramus, the Kings professor of Logick.

    Stab him.

    O good my Lord,
    Wherein hath Ramus been so offencious?

    Marry sir, in having a smack in all,
    And yet didst never sound any thing to the depth.
    Was it not thou that scoff'dst the Organon,
    And said it was a heape of vanities?
    He that will be a flat decotamest,
    And seen in nothing but Epitomies:
    Is in your judgment thought a learned man.
    And he forsooth must goe and preach in Germany:
    Excepting against Doctors actions,
    And ipse dixi with this quidditie,
    Argumentum testimonis est in arte partialis.
    To contradict which, I say Ramus shall dye:
    How answere you that? your nego argumentum
    Cannot serve, Sirrah, kill him.

    O good my Lord, let me but speak a word.

    Well, say on.

    Not for my life doe I desire this pause,
    But in my latter houre to purge my selfe,
    In that I know the things that I have wrote,
    Which as I heare one Shekins takes it ill,
    Because my places being but three, contain all his:
    I knew the Organon to be confusde,
    And I reduc'd it into better forme.
    And this for Aristotle will I say,
    That he that despiseth him, can nere
    Be good in Logick or Philosophie.
    And thats because the blockish Sorbonests
    Attribute as much unto their workes,
    As to the service of the eternall God.

    Why suffer you that peasant to declaime?
    Stab him I say and send him to his freends in hell.

    Nere was there Colliars sonne so full of pride.

    Kill him. [Close the studie.]

    My Lord Anjoy, there are a hundred Protestants,
    Which we have chaste into the river Sene,
    That swim about and so preserve their lives:
    How may we doe? I feare me they will live.

    Goe place some men upon the bridge,
    With bowes and cartes to shoot at them they see,
    And sinke them in the river as they swim.

    Tis well advisde Dumain, goe see it done.

    Exit Dumaine.

    And in the mean time my Lord, could we devise,
    To get those pedantes from the King Navarre,
    That are tutors to him and the prince of Condy--

    For that let me alone, Cousin stay heer,
    And when you see me in, then follow hard.

    He knocketh, and enter the King of Navarre and Prince
    of Condy, with their scholmaisters.

    How now my Lords, how fare you?

    My Lord, they say
    That all the protestants are massacred.

    I, so they are, but yet what remedy:
    I have done all I could to stay this broile.

    But yet my Lord the report doth run,
    That you were one that made this Massacre.

    Who I? you are deceived, I rose but now

    Enter [to them] Guise.

    Murder the Hugonets, take those pedantes hence.

    Thou traitor Guise, lay of thy bloudy hands.

    Come let us goe tell the King.

    Exeunt [Condy and Navarre].

    Come sirs, Ile whip you to death with my punniards point.

    He kils them.

    Away with them both.

    Exit Anjoy [and soldiers with bodies].

    And now sirs for this night let our fury stay.
    Yet will we not the Massacre shall end:
    Gonzago posse you to Orleance, Retes to Deep,
    Mountsorrell unto Roan, and spare not one
    That you suspect of heresy. And now stay
    That bel that to the devils mattins rings.
    Now every man put of his burgonet,
    And so convey him closely to his bed.

    Next Chapter
    Chapter 8
    Previous Chapter
    If you're writing a Christopher Marlowe essay and need some advice, post your Christopher Marlowe essay question on our Facebook page where fellow bookworms are always glad to help!

    Top 5 Authors

    Top 5 Books

    Book Status
    Want to read

    Are you sure you want to leave this group?