Scene XIX - Page 2

their Captive Lords,
So will I triumph over this wanton King,
And he shall follow my proud Chariots wheeles.
Now doe I but begin to look about,
And all my former time was spent in vaine:
Holde Sworde,
For in thee is the Guises hope.

Enter one of the Murtherers.

Villaine, why cost thou look so gastly? speake.

3
O pardon me my Lord of Guise.

GUISE
Pardon thee, why what hast thou done?

3
O my Lord, I am one of them that is set to murder you.

GUISE
To murder me, villaine?

3
I my Lord, the rest have taine their standings in the next
roome, therefore good my Lord goe not foorth.

GUISE
Yet Caesar shall goe forth.
Let mean consaits, and baser men feare death,
Tut they are pesants, I am Duke of Guise:
And princes with their lookes ingender feare.

2 MURD
Stand close, he is comming, I know him by his voice.

GUISE
As pale as ashes, nay then tis time to look about.

ALL
Downe with him, downe with him.

They stabbe him.

GUISE
Oh I have my death wound, give me leave to speak.

2
Then pray to God, and aske forgivenes of the King.

GUISE
Trouble me not, I neare offended him,
Nor will I aske forgivenes of the King.
Oh that I have not power to stay my life,
Nor immortalitie to be reveng'd:
To dye by Pesantes, what a greefe is this?
Ah Sextus, be reveng'd upon the King,
Philip and Parma, I am slaine for you:
Pope excommunicate, Philip depose,
The wicked branch of curst Valois's line.
Vive la messe, perish Hugonets,
Thus Caesar did goe foorth, and thus he dies.

He dyes.

Enter Captaine of the Guarde.

CAPTAINE
What, have you done?
Then stay a while and Ile goe call the King,

[Enter King and Epernoune attended.]

But see where he comes.
My Lord, see where the Guise is slaine.

KING
Oh this sweet sight is phisick to my soule,
Goe fetch his sonne for to beholde his death:

[Exit attendant.]

Surchargde with guilt of thousand massacres,
Mounser of Loraine sinke away to hell,
In just remembrance of those bloudy broyles,
To which thou didst alure me being alive:
And heere in presence of you all I sweare,
I nere was King of France untill this houre:
This is the traitor that hath spent my golde,
In making forraine warres and cruel broiles.
Did he not draw a sorte of English priestes
From Doway to the Seminary at Remes,
To hatch forth treason gainst their naturall Queene?
Did he not cause the King of Spaines huge fleete,
To threaten England and to menace me?
Did he not injure Mounser thats deceast?
Hath he not made me in the Popes defence,
To spend the treasure that