_Enter_ GUISE.[350]

_Guise._ If ever Hymen lour'd at marriage rites, And had his altars decked with dusky lights; If ever sun stained heaven with b.l.o.o.d.y clouds, And made it look with terror on the world; If ever day were turned to ugly night, And night made semblance of the hue of h.e.l.l; This day, this hour, this fatal night, Shall fully show the fury of them all.-- Apothecary!

_Enter_ Apothecary.

_Apoth._ My lord? 10

_Guise._ Now shall I prove, and guerdon to the full, The love thou bear'st unto the house of Guise.

Where are those perfumed gloves which [late] I sent To be poisoned? hast thou done them? speak; Will every savour breed a pang of death?

_Apoth._ See where they be, my good lord; and he that smells But to them, dies.

_Guise._ Then thou remainest resolute?

_Apoth._ I am, my lord, in what your grace commands, Till death.

_Guise._ Thanks, my good friend: I will requite thy love.

Go, then, present them to the Queen Navarre; 20 For she is that huge blemish in our eye, That makes these upstart heresies in France: Be gone, my friend, present them to her straight.

[_Exit_ Apothecary.

Soldier!

_Enter a_ Soldier.

_Sold._ My lord?

_Guise._ Now come thou forth and play thy tragic part: Stand in some window,[351] opening near the street, And when thou see'st the Admiral ride by, Discharge thy musket, and perform his death; And then I'll guerdon thee with store of crowns. 30

_Sold._ I will, my lord. [_Exit._

_Guise._ Now, Guise, begin those deep-engendered thoughts To burst abroad those never-dying flames Which cannot be extinguished but by blood.

Oft have I levelled, and at last have learn'd That peril is the cheapest way to happiness, And resolution honour's fairest aim.

What glory is there in a common good, That hangs for every peasant to achieve?

That like I best that flies beyond my reach. 40 Set me to scale the high Pyramides, And thereon set the diadem of France; I'll either rend it with my nails to naught, Or mount the top with my aspiring wings, Although my downfall be the deepest h.e.l.l.

For this I wake, when others think I sleep; For this I wait, that scorn attendance else; For this, my quenchless thirst, whereon I build, Hath often pleaded kindred to the king; For this, this head, this heart, this hand, and sword, 50 Contrives, imagines, and fully executes, Matters of import aimed at by many, Yet understood by none; For this, hath heaven engendered me of earth; For this, this earth sustains my body's weight, And with this weight I'll counterpoise a crown, Or with seditions weary all the world; For this, from Spain the stately Catholics Send Indian gold to coin me French ecues;[352]

For this, have I a largess from the Pope, 60 A pension, and a dispensation too; And by that privilege to work upon, My policy hath fram'd religion.

Religion! _O Diabole!_ Fie, I am asham'd, however that I seem, To think a word of such a simple sound, Of so great matter should be made the ground!

The gentle king, whose pleasure uncontroll'd Weakeneth his body, and will waste his realm, If I repair not what he ruinates,[353]-- 70 Him, as a child, I daily win with words, So that for proof he barely bears the name; I execute, and he sustains the blame.

The Mother-Queen works wonders for my sake, And in my love entombs the hope of France, Rifling the bowels of her treasury, To supply my wants and necessity.

Paris hath full five hundred colleges, As monasteries, priories, abbeys, and halls, Wherein are thirty thousand able men, 80 Besides a thousand st.u.r.dy student Catholics: And more,--of my knowledge, in one cloister keep[354]

Five hundred fat Franciscan friars and priests: All this, and more, if more may be comprised, To bring the will of our desires to end.

Then, Guise, Since thou hast all the cards within thy hands, To shuffle or cut, take this as surest thing, That, right or wrong, thou deal thyself a king.-- I, but, Navarre,[355]--'tis but a nook of France, 90 Sufficient yet for such a petty king, That, with a rabblement of his heretics, Blinds Europe's eyes, and troubleth our estate.

Him will we--[_Pointing to his sword_] but first let's follow those in France That hinder our possession to the crown.

As Caesar to his soldiers, so say I,-- Those that hate me will I learn to loathe.

Give me a look, that, when I bend the brows, Pale death may walk in furrows of my face; A hand, that with a grasp may gripe the world; 100 An ear to hear what my detractors say; A royal seat, a sceptre, and a crown; That those which do behold, they[356] may become As men that stand and gaze against the sun.

The plot is laid, and things shall come to pa.s.s Where resolution strives for victory.

[_Exit._

SCENE III.

_Enter the_ KING OF NAVARRE,[357] QUEEN MARGARET, _the_ OLD QUEEN OF NAVARRE, _the_ PRINCE OF CONDe, _and the_ ADMIRAL; _they are met by the_ Apothecary _with the gloves, which he gives to the_ OLD QUEEN.

_Apoth._ Madam, I beseech your grace to accept this simple gift.

_Old Q. of Nav._ Thanks, my good friend. Hold, take thou this reward. [_Gives a purse._

_Apoth._ I humbly thank your majesty. [_Exit._

_Old Q. of Nav._ Methinks the gloves have a very strong perfume, The scent whereof doth make my head to ache.

_Nav._ Doth not your grace know the man that gave them you?

_Old Q. of Nav._ Not well; but do remember such a man.

_Adm._ Your grace was ill-advised to take them, then, Considering of these dangerous times. 10

_Old Q. of Nav._ Help, son Navarre! I am poisoned!

_Mar._ The heavens forbid your highness such mishap!

_Nav._ The late suspicion of the Duke of Guise Might well have moved your highness to beware How you did meddle with such dangerous gifts.

_Mar._ Too late it is, my lord, if that be true, To blame her highness; but I hope it be Only some natural pa.s.sion makes her sick.

_Old Q. of Nav._ O no, sweet Margaret! the fatal poison Works within my head; my brain-pan breaks; 20 My heart doth faint; I die! [_Dies._

_Nav._ My mother poisoned here before my face!

O gracious G.o.d, what times are these!

O grant, sweet G.o.d, my days may end with hers, That I with her may die and live again!

_Mar._ Let not this heavy chance, my dearest lord (For whose effects my soul is ma.s.sacred), Infect thy gracious breast with fresh supply To aggravate our sudden misery.

_Adm._ Come, my lords, let us bear her body hence, 30 And see it honoured with just solemnity.

[_As they are going out, the_ Soldier _dischargeth his musket at the_ ADMIRAL.

_Con._ What, are you hurt, my Lord High Admiral?

_Adm._ I, my good lord, shot through the arm.

_Nav._ We[358] are betrayed! Come, my lords, And let us go tell the king of this.

_Adm._ These are The cursed Guisians, that do seek our death.

O fatal was this marriage to us all!

[_Exeunt, bearing out the body of the_ OLD QUEEN OF NAVARRE.

SCENE IV.

_Enter_[359] KING CHARLES, CATHERINE _the Queen-Mother_, GUISE, ANJOU, _and_ DUMAINE.