This is the traitor that hath spent my gold 100 In making foreign wars and civil broils.

Did he not draw a sort[421] of English priests From Douay to the seminary at Rheims, To hatch forth treason 'gainst their natural queen?

Did he not cause the king of Spain's huge fleet To threaten England, and to menace me?

Did he not injure Monsieur that's deceas'd?

Hath he not made me, in the Pope's defence, To spend the treasure, that should strength my land, In civil broils between Navarre and me? 110 Tush, to be short, he meant to make me monk, Or else to murder me, and so be king.

Let Christian princes, that shall hear of this (As all the world shall know our Guise is dead), Rest satisfied with this, that here I swear, Ne'er was there king of France so yoked as I.

_Eper._ My lord, here is his son.

_Enter_ GUISE'S Son.

_Henry._ Boy, look where your father lies.

_G.'s Son._ My father slain! who hath done this deed?

_Henry._ Sirrah, 'twas I that slew him; and will slay 120 Thee too, an thou prove such a traitor.

_G.'s Son._ Art thou king, and hast done this b.l.o.o.d.y deed?

I'll be reveng'd. [_Offers to throw his dagger._

_Henry._ Away to prison with him! I'll clip his wings Or e'er he pa.s.s my hands. Away with him!

[_Some of the_ Attendants _bear off_ GUISE'S Son.

But what availeth that this traitor's dead, When Duke Dumaine, his brother, is alive, And that young cardinal that is grown so proud?

Go to the governor of Orleans, And will[422] him, in my name, to kill the duke. 130 [_To the_ Captain of the Guard.

Get you away, and strangle the cardinal.

[_To the_ Murderers.

[_Exeunt_ Captain of the Guard _and_ Murderers.

These two will make one entire Duke of Guise, Especially with our old mother's help.

_Eper._ My lord, see, where she comes, as if she droop'd To hear these news.

_Henry._ And let her droop; my heart is light enough.

_Enter_ CATHERINE _the Queen Mother._

Mother, how like you this device of mine?

I slew the Guise, because I would be king.

_Cath._ King! why, so thou wert before: Pray G.o.d thou be a king now this is done! 140

_Henry._ Nay, he was king, and countermanded me: But now I will be king, and rule myself, And make the Guisians stoop that are alive.

_Cath._ I cannot speak for grief.--When thou wast born, I would that I had murdered thee, my son!

My son? thou art a changeling, not my son: I curse thee, and exclaim thee miscreant, Traitor to G.o.d and to the realm of France!

_Henry._ Cry out, exclaim, howl till thy throat be hoa.r.s.e!

The Guise is slain, and I rejoice therefore: 150 And now will I to arms.--Come, Epernoun, And let her grieve her heart out, if she will.

[_Exit with_ EPERNOUN.

_Cath._. Away! leave me alone to meditate.

[_Exeunt_ Attendants.

Sweet Guise, would he had died, so thou wert here!

To whom shall I bewray my secrets now, Or who will help to build religion?

The Protestants will glory and insult; Wicked Navarre will get the crown of France; The Popedom cannot stand; all goes to wreck; And all for thee, my Guise! What may I do? 160 But sorrow seize upon my toiling soul!

For, since the Guise is dead, I will not live. [_Exit._

SCENE XXII.

_Enter_[423] _two_ Murderers, _dragging in the_ CARDINAL.

_Card._ Murder me not; I am a cardinal.

_First Murd._ Wert thou the Pope thou might'st not scape from us.

_Card._ What, will you file your hands with churchmen's blood?

_Sec. Murd._ Shed your blood! O Lord, no! for we intend to strangle you.

_Card._ Then there is no remedy, but I must die?

_First Murd._ No remedy; therefore prepare yourself.

_Card._ Yet lives my brother Duke Dumaine, and many mo, To revenge our deaths upon that cursed king; Upon whose heart may all the Furies gripe, 10 And with their paws drench his black soul in h.e.l.l!

_First Murd._ Yours, my Lord Cardinal, you should have said.-- [_They strangle him._ So, pluck amain: He is hard-hearted; therefore pull with violence.

Come, take him away.

[_Exeunt with the body._

SCENE XXIII.

_Enter_[424] DUMAINE, _reading a letter; with others._

_Dum._ My n.o.ble brother murder'd by the king!

O, what may I do for to revenge thy death?

The king's alone, it cannot satisfy.

Sweet Duke of Guise, our prop to lean upon, Now thou art dead, here is no stay for us.

I am thy brother, and I'll revenge thy death, And root Valois his line from forth of France; And beat proud Bourbon to his native home, That basely seeks to join with such a king, Whose murderous thoughts will be his overthrow. 10 He will'd the governor of Orleans, in his name, That I with speed should have been put to death; But that's prevented, for to end his life, And[425] all those traitors to the Church of Rome That durst attempt to murder n.o.ble Guise.

_Enter_ Friar.

_Fri._ My lord, I come to bring you news that your brother the Cardinal of Lorraine, by the king's consent, is lately strangled unto death.

_Dum._ My brother Cardinal slain, and I alive!

O words of power to kill a thousand men!-- 20 Come, let us away, and levy men; 'Tis war that must a.s.suage this tyrant's pride.

_Fri._ My lord, hear me but speak.

I am a friar of the order of the Jacobins, That for my conscience' sake will kill the king.