The massacre of Paris a tragedy : as it is acted at the Theatre Royal by their majesties servants / written by Nat. Lee ...

THE MASSACRE OF PARIS.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

The Duke of Guise, Cardinal of Lorraine, Marguerite.

Gui.

JUST from your Arms, by this great Guardian rais'd, Call'd to the Council of a wary King, On whom depends the Fortune of Lorraine, O, Marguerite, yet to drag at this, After such full possession thus to languish: If this be not to love thee, say what is! Cease then the rolling Torrent of thy Tears, Which when I strive to climb the Hill of Honour, Washes my hold away, and drives me down Beneath Man's Scorn, into the vale of Ruine.

Mar.

Hear, hear him, O you Powers, because I love him Above my Life, beyond all joys on Earth, He says I am his Ruine; to my Face, With a Court Metaphor, he Vows he loaths me. For all Men hate their Ruine; nay, 'tis true, I find your Falshood; 'tis the trick of great ones, Like Beasts of Strength, to prey upon the Weakest.

Gui.

I swear—

Mar.

O, do not, dear, Ambitious Guise; For Perjury so necessary seems To great Men's Oaths, thou must of course be damn'd:

Yet as I am, thus plung'd in this dishonour, Like a fall'n Angel roll'd through all my Hells, I cannot hate thee, Guise, but sighing far, Far from the shining Clime where I was born, I beg those cruel Fates that hurl'd me down To pity thee, and keep thee from my ruine: For I'm so curs'd, that I do not wish my Foe, Much less the Man I love above the World.

Gui.

As I love thee, and O be Witnesses My Brain and Soul, there's not an Artery That runs through all the Body of thy Guise, But beats where e're it pass Marguerite; Yet this is nothing: haste away, my Lord; Go tell the King and Council I am sick; For I'le to Bed again, or on a Couch Sit gazing in her beauteous Eyes all day, And let the business of a grave World pass.

Mar.

No more, my Lord; you shall, you shall to Council: I see 'tis necessary; but I find My Soul presages Mischief, if not Murder; For if you should prove false, Crowns, Kingdoms, Empires, Worlds should not save poor Marguerite from the Grave. Ah, Guise, ah venerable Lorrain, view me, Behold me on the Earth, I swear I love As never Woman lov'd; I'm all a Brand, With, or without you, I am ne're at rest: Farewel; this Fever of my furious passion Burns me to Madness, yet I say, farewel.

Gui.

Farewel. Yet why farewel, when e're the Evening I shall again rush to eternal Sweets, This bosom of the Spring!

[Marguerite going out.]

[Mar.

returning.]

What, no endearments at so sad a parting! Alas, perhaps I ne're shall see you more. You bow'd, you kiss'd, but did not press my hand; You shou'd, like me, have stagger'd when you left me, And eat your Marguerite with your hungry Eyes; But you are cold and pall'd, a lukewarm Lover, Must to the business of the cursed State, Which will not let you think of dying Marguerite, Who to her last gasp will remember you. But see, I rave again, my Fits return: Yet pity me, for oh, I burn, I burn.

[Exit.

Car.

I think I never heard so fierce a Passion: She's all Convulsion, and she gazes on you,

As you would do on him that kill'd your Father. What have you done, my Lord, to make her thus?

Gui.

Causes are endless for a Woman's loving. Perhaps she has seen me break a Lance on Horse-back, Or, as my Custom is, all over Arm'd, Plunge in the Seine or Loire; and where 'tis swiftest Plow too my point against the headlong Stream. Tis certain, were my Soul of that soft make Which some believe, she has Charms, my Heav'nly Uncle, Beyond the Art and Wit of Cleopatra: Such was not she stretch'd in her Golden Barge, As Marguerite was last Night in Bed, Who, as she mourn'd at my unkind delay, Hung all the Chambers round with Black; her Bed, Her Coverings, nay, her Sarsnet Sheets were Black—

Car.

Fy, fy, my Lord.

Gui.

And for the Weathers heat Were roll'd beneath the beauties of her Breasts, Which with a White, more pure than new-fall'n Snow, Would sure have tempted Hermits from their Orgies, To nod and smile a little at the wonder.

Car.

Come, come, my Lord, you anger me indeed, Not for the Sin, that's as the Conscience makes it; I had rather you should Whore a thousand Women, Than love but one, thô in a lawful way: Shew me through all Memorials of Great Men, Except the Partner of the Roman Empire, Drooping Antonius, and the fam'd Decemvir, One that e're bow'd before this little Idol!

Gui.

First know your Man, before your Application: I love, 'tis true; but most for my Ambition; Therefore I thought to marry Marguerite; But, oh, that Cassiopeia in the Chair, The Regent Mother, and that Dog Anjou; Cross Constellations blast my Plots e're born: The King too frowns upon me; for last night, Hearing a Ball was promis'd by the Queen, I came to help the Show; when at the Door The King, who stood himself the Centry, stopt me, And ask'd me what I came for? I reply'd, To serve his Majesty: He, sharp and short, Retorted thus; He did not need my Service.

Car.

'Tis plain, you must resolve, my Lord, to quit her; For I am charg'd to tell you, she's design'd To be the Wife of Henry OF Navarre.

'Tis the main Beam in all that Mighty Engin Which now begins to move so dreadfully Against the Heads of the Rebellious Faction.

Gui.

I have it, and methinks it looks like D'Alva, I see the very motion of his Beard, His opening Nostrils, and his dropping Lids; I hear him Croak too, to the King and Queen, In Biscays Bay, at Bayonne, Fish for the Great fish; take no care for Frogs: Cut off the Poppy-heads: lay the Winds fast, And streight the Waves (the People) will be still.

Car.

Then you will leave her!

Gui.

Hurl her to the Sea! The Air, the Earth, or Elemental fire, So I may see Chastilion in the Net. Oh that Whale-Admiral: might I but view him, After his thousand Fetches, Plots, and Plunges, Struck on those Scouring Shallows which await him, Furies and Hell, and I, stand by to gall him; Were Marguerite all one World of Pleasure, I'de sell her, and my Soul, for such Revenge.

Car.

Speak lower.

Gui.

What, upon my Father's Death! O glorious Guise, be calm upon thy Murder! No; I will hollow my Revenge so loud, That his great Ghost shall hear me up to Heav'n. In height of Honours, oh, to fall so basely, When Orleance was blockt up, and Conquest Crown'd thee, By damn'd Poltrot so villainously slain, Poltrot, by Beza, and this curs'd Admiral, Set on with hopes of Infinite Rewards Here and hereafter, so to blast thy Glory! O, I could pull my bursting Eye-balls forth, But that they may one day prove Basilisks To that detested Head of all these Brolls, Then Tortures, Racks and Death shall close thy wound, Kill him in Riots, Pride, and Lust of Pleasures, That I may add Damnation to the rest, And foil his Soul and Body both together.

Car.

Behold your Brother, and the Duke Delbeuf Mercour too comes; this outrage will undo us.

Gui.

No, not at all; for 'tis in general terms. O my good Lords, what if the Admiral Stood here before you; should he scope our Justice? I see by each man's laying of his hand.

Upon his Sword, you vow the like Revenge: For me, I wish that both mine may rot off.—

Car.

No more; away, my Lords: the King calls for you.

Gui.

I go. That Vermin may devour my limbs, That I may dy like the late puling King Under the Barber's hands, Imposthumes choak me, If while alive I cease to chew his ruin, To hang him in Effigie, nay to tread, Drag, stamp, and grind him, after he is dead.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE II.

The Cabinet Council.

Table with Lights on it. [A Chamber beyond it.]

Queen Mother, Anjou asleep.

Q. M.

O my Anjou, the Wheels of this New Ruin Go wrong, for want of one that knows to drive; He sits too light upon the whirling Throne, And totters, with the dismal prospect, down: Young Charles, a smart suspicious doubtful Boy, But, Charles, you must be rul'd in this dark Road, Or with the Lightning of my Fatal Power, Which never cracks nor claps, I'le melt thee down, For ever lost amongst the Mass of Things, That thou, the Darling of my doating Soul, The Price of my Eternal thought, may'st mount Like Nero, tho' at Agrippina's Ruin. But see the King with the new Count of Rhetz Let us withdraw; it may be worth our hearing.

Enter King with Alberto Gondi,

King.

Alberto Gondi.

Alb.

Sir!

King.

I think thou lov'st me.

Alb.

More than my life.

King.

That's much; yet I believe thee. My Mother has the Judgment of the World, And all things move by that; but my Alberto, She has cruel Wit, and, let me tell thee,

Thus to destroy the Souldiers of the Kingdom; Famous as ever fought for Rome or Greece, Under a shadow of a thousand Oaths; 'Tis Barbarous, Alberto, is it not? And seems to me unworthy of a King.

Alb.

The Provocation, Sir.

King.

I know it well. But it thoud'st have my heart within thy hand, I swear, Conspiracies of that foul Nature For ever blot the Memory of Kings. What Honours, Interest, with the World to buy him, Shall make a brave Man smile and do a Murder? Therefore I hate the Treachery of Brutus, I mean the latter so cry'd up in Story: Whom none but Cowards and White-Liver'd-Knaves Would dare commend, lagging behind his Fellows, His Dagger in his—Stab'd his Father. This is a Blot, the Ciceronian Stile Could ne're wipe off, tho' the Man (Mistaken in his Love, for Brutus scorn'd him) Makes bold to call those Traytors Men Divine.

Alb.

Tully was Wise, but wanted Constancy.

King.

He did, Alberto. Heark, but one thing more, For much I love thee, and would fain unburden My Soul of half her Cares on such a Man, So good.

Alb.

My ever Dear and Honour'd Master.

King.

No more of that. I'le tell thee then: last night, As I lay tossing in a Feverish Dream, I call'd for Drink; when streight my Mother brought it; But as she reach'd it to my trembling Lips, Methought her Eyes roll'd gastly upon me, A Palsey shook her hand; yet I resolv'd, Took off the Draught, when streight a fainting seiz'd me, My Eyes wept Blood, my Ears, my Nose and Mouth Pour'd forth whole Streams, and all my Sweat was Blood, My Hair and Nails dropt off as Autumn Leaves, When Tempests rise, fall from the wither'd Trees: But, oh, the Fancy seems so much unnatural, I'll think no more on't; yet I thought to tell thee, Because she is a Woman whom no Art Nor Wisdom of the World can ever fathom:

Alb.

O my Gracious Lord, Judge not the Queen by Dreams, and vain Chimaera's; Remember, Sir, how often in your Nonage

She manag'd with her Wit the weight of Empire, Contending with th' Effects of blind Religion, The Contumacy of Rebellious Subjects, The deep dissimulation of the Court, The want of Treasure, bassling with her Prudence The utmost strength Ambition rais'd to gain her.

King.

O Count of Rhetz, thou lead'st me through the Garden Of every Grace, but darest not point her Weeds: Is she not of a most deceitful Soul; Perfidious even to violating Vows? Is she not greedy too of Human Blood? A Wit wasteful in destroying Lives, That she will turn a City to a Wild?

Qu. M.

Good Morrow, Sir! 'Tis just the time you order'd, I think the second Watch; and we are met To wait on your Decrees.

King.

O Mother, Mother, You have imbark'd me in a Sea of Blood; And sure so damnable an Enterprise Was never form'd by Man.

Qu. M.

If, Sir, you fear it, Why give it o're, and let the Admiral Reign, Call in the Hugonots, and drive your Friends, Banish your Blood, and the Establish'd Peers, Forget the long Succession of your Fathers, The Throne of Kings, forget the Laws, Religion, Cut off the Noble Spirits from your Council; And from the Dregs of this Heretical Faction Compose a Bastard Cabinet-Election, Let Knaves in Shops prescribe you how to Sway, They read your Acts, with hardned thumbs 'Em out, or with their stinking Breath Proclaim aloud they like not this or that; Then in a drove come lowing to the Louvre, And say, they'l have it mended, that they will, Or you shall be no King.

King.

'Tis true the People Ne're know a Mean when once they get the Power.

Qu. M.

Did you not late dispatch by Lodowick Thus to the Admiral, with Vows of Honour, That young Navarre should streight Espouse your Sister, So to root up all Seeds of least Suspicion; And that those Nuptials should be solemniz'd At Paris, to be bound with deepest Oaths?

King.

Yet, Madam, I must fear; for, should it fail,

We should be less than our worst Foes could wish us. The Poultron Court, the Scorn, the laughing Stock Of all the Christian and the Barbarous World.

Qu. M.

No, Sir, you cannot fear the sure Design, But you're in fear of those that are about you: You fear ev'n Me; but I have liv'd too long, Since my own Bowels, nay, my very Heart-Strings, (For so I alwaies lov'd and priz'd my Children) Dare not confide in her that gave 'em Being.

King.

Stay, Madam, stay, come back, forgive my fears, Forgive my sifting Soul her narrow Searches, Where all our Thoughts should creep like deepest Streams; For know, I hate the Haughty Admiral, And all his curst Accomplices to Death.

Qu. M.

What brings the Cardinal of Lorrain from Rome?

King.

That the new Pope is fully satisfy'd; I sent the Legate too that Diamond Ring, With this close Motto writ within the Gold: By this, my solid Zeal I own; And Blood can never melt it down.

Anj.

A murd'ring Sentence for the Hugonots.

King.

And which so clear'd the matter, that the Pope Order'd a Dispensation for the Marriage.

Qu. M.

Behold the Duke of Guise, and Cardinal: 'Twere sit you send his Eminence to Rochel, T'acquaint the Admiral of a War with Spain, And that the Plot we form'd for the Low-Countries Against the Catholick King, should streight be acted.

King.

O Mother, oh, what's this that rends my heart, That rides my Nights, and clouds my Days with horror? Is it not Conscience? which sometimes appears Like a She Wolf, in Iane of Albert's Shape, And drags me on the Floor; now in the form Of that old Lyon Admiral, it comes, And grins, and roars, just gaping to devour me.

Qu M.

Why, let him: when his Throat is cut we'll trust him; Clear up this furrow'd Brow. Believe me, Sir, You'l see him shortly where you need not fear him; For, should he stay behind the Queen and Princess, Doubting the Marriage, fill'd with boding fears, The War with Spain will so be witch his Glory, And lull his proud Ambition, that should Fate, Which awes him now, leap up more terrible, He'll follow with a speed shall make him foremost, And scorn a Grave.

King.

O, tis a dreadful Image; Yet when his brains are pash'd I shall be still, The Morning rises, yet I cannot rest; Like those eternal Lamps that wink above; Methinks, O Mother, I could watch for ever. Once more let me conjure you, all be hush'd, Be secret on this horrid Consultation, As Urns and Monuments, that never blab.

Gui.

Therefore let's lye like Furies on the watch, As if it were an ambush for the World.

King.

With Claws lock'd in, like Lions, couch to tear 'em, Our Mother, thou so fierce upon the slaughter, Direct thy Brood; we will not stir nor breath: But when thou giv'st the Word, then start away, Rush from the Shade, and make 'em all our prey.

[Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Admiral, Cavagnes, Langoiran.

Adm.

YOur Reasons are to all appearance fair; Like Eden's Fruit, the Tempter hangs 'em forth, But there's a canker-Queen within the Core, That eats Colignie's firmest hopes away: Like Paradise, she paves my spacious walk; But oh, Cavagnes and Langoiran, look, Do you not find her lurking in the Flowers? With soft indented glides behold she comes; I see the forked Tongue betwixt her Teeth, Hissing us from the Stage of Life and Honour: O, she's a Serpent equal to the first, And has the will to damn another World; Therefore I'm positive, till I'm convinc'd The King foregoes her Counsel, I'le not stir: I'le not to Court.

Cav.

Thus far I can make good, She is believ'd, through all the Courts of Europe, A most transcendent Wit, and absolute Woman.

Adm.

That is an absolute Murderer and Dissembler; Who that proceeds on such black principles, That thinks there is no God above Ambition, But may accomplish all that he intends:

Where's then the Art, the Reach, the Policy Of this transcendent and most absolute Woman! Is it not easie to Assassinate, To Lie, and Swear you love the Man you hate, Train him into the dark, and murder him? I urge again, unless the King resolve To rule alone, I will not come to Court.

Lang.

Cavagnes is a Master in Court Secrets; For me, I ruin'd the bus'ness of the War.

Ad.

Perswade me while the Queen is at his Ear, That if he were made up of Worlds of Mercy, He ever would forgive me! pray look back Into the former times, and see who sow'd Those glowing grains which shot up to a War, Who blew the coals of Calvin's kindled Doctrine, And earth'd the little Sect at Hugo's Gate; Was it not I that form'd 'em to a Body?

Lang.

Stick to your self, Sir; follow your own methods.

Ad.

Who therefore, while the pangs of Rage were on her, Proclaim'd me in all Languages a Traytor, Drag'd my Effigies through the streets of Paris, Hung up my Statue on the common Gallows, Set, by Court Officers, my Goods to sale, My Houses raz'd, or burnt 'em to the ground.

Cav.

I must confess that start of open vengeance, Not common to the Nature of the Queen.

Ad.

And why all this, not for a private grudge? I judg'd 'twas time to view the ghastly slaws Of that Religion that would rend the World; That sticks not at the slaughter of whole States, Blowing up Senates, nor at murdering Kings: Driv'n with this thought, I push'd the War yet farther; And, though we lost the Fight at Moncontour, Yet speak, Cavagnes, did I fail in ought?

Q. of Navarre, P. of Navarre, P. of Conde.

Cav.

I was not there.

Ad.

Then give me leave to say, I sought my self the Protestant Cause alone, When in the head of our remaining Horse, I met the Elder Rhinegrave hand to hand, Shot him i'th' Face, and left him on the ground; Then seeing all our Army quite defeated, My Jaw-bone shatter'd, and my Voice quite spent, I fled, with hopes to rise more terrible; As it succeeded, to the astonishment Of all the Christian World.

Enter Colombier with a paper in his hand.

Col.

My Lord the Cardinal of Lorrain's arriv'd, To swear and sign the Articles of Peace; The Queen at present holds him in discourse; Mean time Commends this Paper to your view Sent to her Majesty from the King of France.

Adm. reads.

MAdam, as you demanded, you have power o're all the Coun∣ty suddenly of Armagnac; Tell the great Admiral I seek his Friendship. Ask of Lorrain the rest, who knows my heart.

Perhaps, my Friends, it may be thus indeed, That, quite tir'd out with infinite Distractions, He may at last resolve to Rule alone, Come from his Page-ship, and put off the Mother; Not lose his Youth, the pleasure of his Bloom Among grey Senators, and withering Councils: If it were so; but hold, there's something here Forbids that thought; it rises like a Vapor, A strange misgiving, such as Women swoon at, And Men themselves may fear. But see, the Queen.

Enter the Queen of Navarre, Prince of Navarre, and Prince of Conde.

Q. Navarr.

I come, Sir, to forestall the Cardinal, Who from the King offers these terms of Peace: He adds to what Count Lodowick brought before, His Mothers Policy shall sway no longer; That He'll submit his Genius to your conduct, Confirms your being Captain General In that most glorius Enterprize on Spain, Allows you fifty for your Person's Guard; Therefore, for sealing this Eternal Bond, And for the former weighty Consultations, He begs you instantly to come to Court.

Adm.

What has your Majesty resolv'd to do?

Q. M.

To go with both the Princes streight to Paris, And see the Nuptials of my young Navarre. I know not what your Lordship does intend; But I have sent already to the King My Answer by Byron, and will attend him.

Adm.

Then 'tis too late to think of going back; You have lanch'd me now indeed, and I must plunge

In this Abiss, tho' it be deep as Hell. No, Madam, spite of all the Augurs here, Since you are thus resolv'd, I'le go to the foremost. 'Twas for your sake, and in the Prince's cause, For Liberty of Conscience and Religion, That I thus long did propagate the War; And shall I now not follow where you lead me?

Lan.

Why should you, if it goes against your mind?

Adm.

Peace, peace, Langoiran; since the Main's produc'd, I mean, the Resolution of the Queen, My Fate cries out, we must, we must away: Therefore, my Friend, go gather my Dependants, Bid 'em prepare for Paris. Tell my Wife, My dearest Martia, we must bid farewell; Tell her, I'm forc'd to swim against the Stream; Say, that her Cato's bound for Vtica, From whence perhaps he never shall return.

Enter Cardinal of Lorrain.

Car.

Conquest, prosperity, and smooth success Be ever strow'd before our General's feet. Thus, Sir, the King salutes you, with Commission To turn the Torrent of your Arms on Spain.

Adm.

My Lord, I glory in the great Employ. I hear beside, the King will rule alone; For, Sir, what e're the Wit of Women be, From War and Councils let 'em be remov'd, I say again, with my old bluntness, Sir, To have a Female finger in the State, Is blasting to the Prince's Memory. Let him but be sincere, and leave the Mother, Old as I am, I will put on my Arms, And with this hand, not wither'd yet in War, Bear to th' Escurial his Imperial Standard.

Car.

My Lord, for the sincerity of the King, That he intends his Dear and Great Chastillon, The very words that did express his love, All Honours, Titles, Greatness, all Advancement, Nay, to the curbing of his Mother's Will, For the performance of each Article, Without a pious catch, or trick of State; Without the smallest Mental Reservation, Equivocation, or the least Reserve; In the King's Name, as I am Priest profess'd,

As I am sent from Heav'n, to teach Salvation, I pawn the truth of my immortal Soul.

Adm.

He then, to whom our hearts are free and open, Be judge betwixt his Majesty and me.

Car.

O Sir, O Madam, oh, you make me weep, Viewing by this the frailty of the World; For if the Mind of Man be so suspicious On such clear Demonstration of Affection, How can you e're believe the Love Divine?

Q. M.

My Lord, you may return with our obedience, And tell the King, the Admiral, the Princes, My self, and all his humble faithful Subjects, Will haste to throw our Bodies at his feet.

Adm.

My Lord, farewell; I must not doubt your Oaths, But with implicite Faith believe the King, At whose Tribunal I must shortly kneel, For Pardon and Forgiveness.

Admiral returns with Cavagnes.

Adm.

Hark, my Cavagnes, write to count Lodowic, The Seirs de Genlis, and La-Nove, to haste, And suddenly to make surprise of Mons.

Cav.

My Lord—

Adm.

Nay, write I say; I'le have it done, On my Parisian entrance. I'm resolv'd To see into the heart of this young Charles, And force him thus upon a War with Spain; For tho' this Cardinal Swear, and damn his Soul As deep as Heaven's high, yet if his bowels Be like the rest of that Blood-colour'd Robe, And laughs at Ghosts, where's then the Admiral? Caught by this perjur'd jugling man of God! What, for the Cabinet Murderers to play with, To toss Chastillon's Fate from one to t'other, And grin my Life and Honour from the World? But now for Paris. Call Colombier, The Count la Rochfoucalt, Marquis de Renel, Piles, Pluviah, Pardillan, and Lavardine, Bandine, and all my Gallants of the War: For Paris bid 'em haste.

Enter Antramont, with Langoiran.

Ant.

Stay, stay, My Lord;

I charge you stay, for Martia does Arrest you. And saies, you shall not go to Vtica: Martia resolves to hinder this Self-Murder.

Adm.

Self-Murder, Martia!

Ant.

Yes; you turn the Sword Upon your self, which Charles and that false Queen Brandish against you, going thus to Court Against your will; for so you sent me word. Is not this running it in your own Bowels? Is it not, Cato? but you shall not leave me: You're now Betroth'd; and in this sad Condition, Thus fraught with your clear Image, like a Bark Too Richly laden, with an over Ballast, Leave me not Gaspar, to a stood of Tears, A Sea of Passion, and a Storm of Sorrow.

Adm.

Beg me not, Martia; 'tis impossible To stay me now, my Honour is engag'd, My Word is past.

Ant.

Yet stay, Sir, stay so long So long at least, as may preserve your Likeness; For if I yield you now to those Court-Murderers, My boding Fears will blast it e're 'tis Born; For sure as Caesar's Butchery was perform'd At Rome, your Murder is contriv'd at Paris: Calphurnia's bloody Dream, and Scent of Slaughter, Are nothing, Sir, to my Prophetick Spirit; Which not by Visions, Fantoms of the Night, But by day Arguments, and certain Reason, Will give such Evidence for your undoing, As you, your self being Judge, shall say are true.

Adm.

O, Antramont, away; why dost thou thus Unman me with thy Tears? Tho' certain Death, With all the Dagger'd Council stood to wait me, Ev'n in my view, I swear I would among 'em.

Ant.

Then you are caught indeed; they hate you, Sir: Your Wife, with this poor Innocent unborn, With all your other Orphans, are undone: The Glory of the Earth is laid along. I see the Vine that spreads his Arms to Heav'n, With all his Clusters rotting on the ground, Blasted with Lightning from a clouded Council, By her that is the Iuno of your Fate, That Murd'ring Sorceress, that dry Hag of Florence, That Midnight Hecate of ten thousand forms, That varies with all Shapes, that tryes all Spirits,

Selling her Soul to each, and all together, To make your Fate inevitable sure.

Adm.

Give me your hand, and take this farewel Kiss: If thou would'st have me think thou lov'st old Gaspar, Reply no more, but leave me, and be dumb.

Ant.

I'm all Obedience; let me speak but once, And whisper't in your Ear: By all my hopes Of Earth and Heav'n, you shall not dye alone; I'll gather all the Branches of your Body, The little Arms, the Sprouts of him that was: Yes, with that precious Fardel, bound together By Cords of Hair, Cemented with my Tears, And wreath'd about till Death with my Embraces, I'll follow you to Court: I will, my Lord; And since you'l have it so, we'll burn together

[Exit.

Enter Commander.

Adm.

O, my brave Friends? my dear la Rochfaucalt, Your hand; and yours, my rough Colombiere; My Gallant Piles; and thine, my plain Langoiran: But say, how stand you to this Expedition, This new Exploit, this dangerous Court Adventure?

Lang.

My Lord, I'll answer for 'em; there's not one But has resolv'd to follow; tho' they had rather Run the most violent Shock of Glorious War, Than stand one Complemental Death at Court.

Adm.

Then our Opinions jump. But to the purpose; Since 'tis resolv'd that we must go to Paris, Because you're Strangers to the King and Queen, I would instruct you in the Royal Tempers, Draw the Queen Mother's Face in Minature, For there the watch and ward of all our Caution Must lye, if possible to wave the Ruin.

Lang.

Fore-warn'd, fore-arm'd; fear not, we shall remember.

Adm.

Imagin then the King, like Adam laid Among the Sweets of Paradise to rest, While to his listning Soul this Second Eve, Full of the Devil, and design'd to damn us, Thus breathes her Counsels fatal to the World: What ever Paths you trod before your Reign, 'Tis Blood and Terror must your Throne maintain: Scorn then thy Slaves; nor to thy Vassals bow; Fix the Gold Circle to thy bended Brow, By Murders, Massacres; no matter how.

For Conscience, and Heav'ns Fear, Religion's Rules, They're all State-Bells, to toll in pious Fools.

[Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE. I

Enter Queen Mother, and Marguerite.

Mar.

IS Guise then false! or do you try me, Madam, And search my Heart, to know how much I love him? If it be so, I will resolve you quickly; I'll swear to you by Heav'n, by all things Sacred, By all that's great and lovely upon Earth, By him, by Guise, by all the blessed Moments Of that dear Life, which single I prefer To Millions of my own, I love him more Than you love Glory, Vengeance, and Ambition.

Qu. M.

Then thou art lost, a Wretch, an out-cast Fool, Not worthy of my Care, nor worth my seeking; For, by my best Desires, I know he scorns thee, And to my certain Knowledge, is betroth'd To Catharine Cleve, the Prince of Porcien's Widow.

Mar.

'Tis false; he's not, he shall not, nor he cannot: You hate me, Madam, and you forge this Matter, To make me dye, to kill your Marguerite; For, if you did respect me as your Blood, Why should you tear my Heart in thousand pieces? Why should you make me rave with Jealousie? For, oh, I love beyond all former Passion: Dye for him! that's too little; I could burn Piece Meal away, or bleed to Death by drops, Be stead alive, then broke upon the Wheel, Yet with a Smile endure it all for Guise: And when let loose from Torments, all one wound, Run with my mangled Arms, and crush him dead.

Qu. M.

Farewel; thou'rt mad indeed: I'le find the King, And send him to convince you of the Truth.

Mar.

The Truth! O Heav'n! nay, stay, and I'le believe you. But is he false? is't possible in Nature? Is Guise then, like his Kindred Savages, True Man, an Upright, Bold, and Hearty Villain?

Q. M.

I tell thee, as I love thy Life and Honour, Tho' much I fear, the latter is past hope,

Their Marriage will be solemniz'd to morrow; The Cardinal of Lorrain must joyn their hands.

Mar.

What, he that keeps the Tye, the sacred Contract, I'le warrant too he'll be a Witness for him. Why then, for ever throw off Modesty, If thus Religion cheats us: let us haste, With Messalina, to the common Stews, Where Bauds are honester than Roman Church-men.

Q. M.

Think no more on't, but with a generous Fury Resolve to cast him from your Soul for ever. Prepare your self for what the King commands, Without delay, to wed the young Navarre.

Mar.

To wed my Tomb, to dwell in dust below, Where we shall see no more deceitful Men, Hear no more flattery, nor no damning Vows; Where I shall never start from my cold Bed, Nor walk with folded Arms about the Room, With Eyes, like Rivers, ever running down; While with my over-watching, I mistake The rustling Wind, and every little noise For Guise's coming; which not finding true, I weep again, till all my face is drown'd, And groan, as if there were no end of sorrow.

Q. M.

Then I must find some other Instruments, That have the power to rule you: So farewel.

[Exit.

Mar.

Stay, Madam, stay. She's gone, and leaves me here, To do a mischief on my Life. False Guise! Pefsideous Guise! but I will find thee out, And wreck the Miseries of my Soul upon thee; Nay, I'le alarm that Priest that makes thee wicked: Priests, that like Devils, laugh at humane pains, And Souls ne're reckon, so they count their gains.

[Exit.

SCENE II.

Palace.

Duke of Gulse, and Cardinal of Lorrain.

Gui.

But are you sure he'll come?

Car.

Most certain, Sir.

Gui.

Why then, I will not eat till I behold him. O, I could pine my self into a Ghost, So I at last might thrust my hungry Sword In the curs'd Carcass of this Admiral,

And glut my greedy Vengeance with his Heart.

Car.

The Queen too of Navarre, the Heretick Princess, Gentlemen and Commanders, Knights, Barons, Counts, With all the Combination of the Rebels, Come to the Wedding of the young Bearnois.

Gui.

Why, what an Oglio will the Devil have? A Feast for Hell, to cram it to the mouth, A Massacre to Souls: methinks I see The glutton Death gorg'd with devouring Lives, And stretching o're the City his swoln bulk, As he would vomit up the Dead.

Car.

My Lord, How brooks your Heart the Marriage of Navarre?

Gui.

Why, faith, Sir, as we must necessity: The King resolves it; urging to my face, The Man that dar'd to contradict his pleasure Should make that opposition with his ruine: On this I turn'd my Court to Porcien's Widow. But O, Lorrain, Love mourn'd at the mistake, As conscious of the cruel change he made. Take then the prospect of a Summers Morn, The gaudy Heav'n all streak'd with dappled Fires, And sleck'd with Blushes like a rising Bride, With sweets so pour'd from such a lavish Spring, That it must, begger all the years to come: From this bright view, from Marguerite's form, Now turn thy Eye upon the yellow Autumn, On Porcien's Wife, the Widow of the Seasons.

Car.

You speak, methinks, as if you lov'd the Princess.

Gui.

How e're I bragg'd before, I do confess it; Spite of my Glory, spite of my Ambition, And all the vow'd resolves of my Revenge, Had she not poorly yielded to the Marriage, I would have turn'd my Widow to the Common: But I am satisfy'd; 'tis now the talk Of the whole Court, how she in secret likes it; Hears too, no doubt, of my design on Cleve, Yet (Curses on that changeable Staff her Soul) Regards it not. But see, she comes: a Tempest

Enter Marguerite.

Ruffles her Face! the Mother taught this cunning; And she has catch'd the Plague of that Dissembler So right, methinks I see the tokens on her.

Mar.

Look in my Face.

Gui.

I do.

Mar.

Nay, in my Eyes.

Gui.

I view 'em as I would the setting Sun, Were I to dye at Midnight.

Mar.

Come, you dare not.

Gui.

What, dare not dye?

Mar.

Thou dar'st not one, nor t'other: At least thou shouldst not, for thou art so wicked, So gone in Sin, Damnation must attend thee.

Gui.

Why, then the Devil is sure of one great Man.

Mar.

Of one! of all; at Court he's no Retailer, But deals in Gross, and takes you by the Lump. In Country-Fields he's forc'd to sit all day, With patience, angling down the guiltless Stream, Yet rarely catches one for all his labour; But when he comes to Court, the Sea of Pleasures, He throws his Drag-Net in from side to side, Where none of all the Fry escape Perdition: There may you see Whales plunging in the Meash, Disgorging streams, like Drunkards on the ground; The Sword-Fish, like the Souldier, fast in hold; The floundring Priests, like Sharks, that gape for prey; Fat Porcpise Bauds, the Mermaids too of Honour, The Minim Pages, all the twinkling Host So fill'd, the Snare of Hell must crack to hold you.

Gui.

No, there's another Cause for this fine Satyr, Too well digested for a sudden thought, An Argument at home, there in your heart, Tho' you have learnt discretion thus to turn it.

Mar.

O Heav'ns! what means he?

Gui.

D'ye seem amaz'd? I say again, however you upbraid me, You bear the Guilt, who bring the Accusation: Yes, Marguerite, thou hast plaid me foul. Nay, do not start, nor gaze, nor make false steps: Come, Princess, these are tricks too stale for Guise, Shew 'em your little Creatures; bid your Mother Fetch something quainter from the Schools of Florence, Where she has learnt the Art of Honest-dealing.

Mar.

O, all ye Pow'rs of Heav'n, of Earth, and Hell, Where would he, whither, and when will he end?

Gui.

Madam, I've done already; but left you should Forget coherence, through your world of Passion, I tell you, you are false; your Vows, your Tears,

Your Languishings, your very height of Pleasures, Your grasping Joys are false; for even then When you cry out, There can be nothing farther, By all your perjuries, you wish 'em more.

Mar.

Furies and Devils! shall he bear it thus! What with his Lip! his Eye! his every Scorn, Walk thus before me, and defy me thus! Ah Guise! disloyal, faithless, perjur'd wretch! Thou art more damn'd, than any Fiend in Hell. Imposture!

Gui.

Woman.

Mar.

Traytor.

Gui.

Woman.

Mar.

Villain.

Gui.

Woman still.

Mar.

Hark Guise, hear Monster, hear and mark me: While to thy Conscious Soul I sound the Name Of Porcien.

Gui.

Of Navarre.

Mar.

Porcien I swear.

Gui.

Navarre, Navarre.

Mar.

Thou ly'st, thou ly'st: Porcien, the Widow— Porcien. O, I could cut my face! what, for a Widow! Leave me for Porcien! O thou dull, dull Guise! Wilt thou sit down to the refuse of Meals! A Widow! what, the Monument of Man; The Tomb Grave-Vault, the very Damp of Nature! For this, I hate thee more than e're I lov'd thee; And from my presence banish thee for ever.

Gui.

No; I will banish this detested Guise My self; you shall not buy him to your presence: For, know, I hate more perfectly than you; Yours is a gust, a puff of Woman's Fury; But mine a manly, constant, setled hate, Which, ever since you made your better choice, Of young Navarre, took root within my heart.

Mar.

'Tis false, 'tis false, a Treason fetch'd from Hell, But where! speak out; where was this Lye invented?

Gui.

Thus then in short, and so farewell for ever: The King and Queen, with all particulars Avow'd it to me; and in general The Court. You may perceive the Choice, I made of Cleve, was more to be reveng'd Than want of Constancy: but your's was weigh'd;

Navarre has youth, and may be King of France, Tickling Variety for Love and Glory, For the false appetite of Luxurious Woman, Woman, damn'd Woman; but I waste breath to name her. My Lord Lorrain, I charge you by your Friendship Give me the Contract.

Mar.

Hold, my Lord.—For what?

Gui.

That I may tear it to as many pieces As she has done her Vows. What, faith in Women! The very fragments of the whole Creation, Whose sever'd Souls, like many parted Mirrors, Reflect the face of all Mankind at once, Who with their weeping Smiles, and laughing Tears, Were they allow'd a Heav'n, as sure they are not, Would tempt the Angels to a second Fall. But I grow wild; give me the Contract, Sir: Nay, Madam, off; I swear you must unhand me.

Mar.

I will not. O my heart! Ah Guise, Guise, Guise! You have got the Conquest, and you shall maintain it, Tho' at th' expence of Marguerite's death. 'Tis true, my Mother mention'd such a Marriage; But If I did not loath it, scorn, detest it, O, if this be not true as thou art false, (Forgive me, for I meant to say unkind) Banish poor Marguerite from those Eyes That feed her life, let me no more approach you; But take, O take this Ponyard from my hand, And stick it in my heart, that heart that loves you, That when 'tis injur'd dares not stand before you, But owns you for the Tyrant of my days.

Gui.

No, Marguerite, no; You've found the way to temper me indeed, Nay, turn it upon me, who am a Traytor, Because I dar'd to counterfeit a Falshood Against such perfect Love, to seem t'affect The hated Porcien.

Mar.

Did you then dissemble? Did you not love her in your Heart, indeed?

Gui.

I swear by Heav'n.

Mar.

O let me then embrace you. Yet closer. O that I could get within you!

Gui.

My Life!

Mar.

My Soul!

Gui.

My Heart!

Car.

My Lord, the Duke of Anjou moves this way.

Guise.

Farewel. And till I hear that thou art Marry'd, The Heart of Guise is riveted to thine: Which all the Hammers in thy Mother's Brain Shall never loose.

Mar.

They may compel my Body; But till I hear thee say thy self, Thou'rt false, Death shall not force my Soul to wed Navarre.

[Exit Marguerite.

Enter Anjou, and Ligneroles.

Guise.

I'll stand the shock of this Imperious Duke, This Anjou, that has got a Name in War, I know not how, because his Horse was shot At Moncontour: you see by what ensu'd, Nature design'd him for a Reveller.

Anj.

O. Ligneroles, thou Partner of my Soul, Be secret; for if once the King should know What I have told thee through excess of Love, The World could not redeem thee from the Grave. Ha! Guise! But soft, my Soul. My Lord Lorrain, 'Tis said, the Admiral, and Hugenot Princes Are scarce a League from Paris.

Car.

Yes, My Lord, I hear so too: the Duke of Guise was going.

Anj.

I hope he will not move for fear of me.

Guise.

You're right, my Lord; nor will not stay for love.

Anj.

What, not a Woman's Love! Love of a Princess?

Guise.

No, nor a Boy's; your Sister may do much.

Anj.

Haste Ligneroles, go bear the King this Packet. My Lord of Guise, 'tis not impossible

[Exit Ligneroles.

But Anjou one day may be King of France; Mark me, if then I find Valois dishonour'd, I will not leave a Guise to gape at pow'r.

[Exit.

Guise.

'Tis so: by all the Mysteries of Empire, By the Eternal Fates, his Mother's Poison Boils in the Brains of the young drooping King, And speeds him to make way for curs'd Anjou. Charles his Religion, which she wonders at, And scarce believes him hers; laughs at his pity, Calls his Remorse the Colick of the Mind; His starts, and fears, the gripes and checks of Conscience.

Enter King, Queen Mother, Ligneroles.

But see, the King? mark, mark, my dear Lorrain,

Mark how she tempers him betwixt her hands: He has it in his Veins, the lingring draught That moulders him away. Let's tell him of it: By my Ambition, and my vow'd Revenge, I'll do't.

Car.

Away; you shall not: are you mad? Where is your temper? Walk a little off, And lay these Fumes.

Gui.

Lead then the blind away; Yet, if I meet him in the dark, I'le crush him.

[Ex. Lor. and Gul.

King.

Was ever such an Insolence? Read there. My Brother has Intelligence from Rochel The Admiral has order'd his Adherents To seize on Mons, as he arrives at Paris, So to assure the kindling of a War. O, Mother, now I feel thy flames inspire me; Yes, by the injur'd Majesty of Kings, I'le fetch this soaring Rebel from his height: Traytor, Imperious, Saucy, Arrogant Slave!

Lig.

Why should your Majesty thus shock your Peace With needless Fury, since the time draws on When He, and all those Rebel Hugonots, Shall never grieve you more?

King.

Your meaning, Sir.

Lig.

When, as your Royal Justice has decreed, They shall be Massacred.

King.

A vain Surmise. Go, Sir, and bid the Count of Rhets attend me.

[Ex. Lig.

Q. M.

Well, Sir, what think you now?

King.

Death, and Destruction, We're all undone; the Secret of the World, Th'eternal Care of my contriving Soul, Which has so many Moons, with constant watching, Reduc'd me to this state, is blab'd by you, Divulg'd, and made the Prattle of a Boy.

Q. M.

No, no, my Lord; I am not to be taught By you, to keep a Secret: Look at home, Collect, if in your late tempestuous Passion You did not give suspicion of the truth.

King.

Suspicion! no, 'tis more; we are betray'd: He told me to my face he knew the matter, How that the Admiral, and the Hugonots Should streight be Massacred. O, I could rave! Our hearts are Rebels to our Bosom-Councils.

Enter Alberto Gondi.

But see, perhaps this Villain gave it Air. Ah, Traitor! Ah perfidious false Alberto! Have I not rais'd thee from the dregs of baseness, And lodg'd thee in the bosom of thy Master? Nay, rise, and speak: where didst thou get the daring T'unravel the close web of my sworn Councils, And trust 'em to the giddy Ligneroles? Confess; nay, hide not what thou hast reveal'd, Or Racks, Blood, Blood and Fire, and lasting Torments Shall force thee, speak.

Alb.

Then let the Rack be brought: Methinks I long to give a noble proof How much I can endure in such a Cause.

King.

I know not what to say, whom to accuse, Or where to turn my self. Call hither Guise, And Cardinal of Lorrain. But see, my Brother.

Enter Anjou.

It must be so: 'tis he, 'tis he, false man! I had forgot! this Boy's his only Minion, The very turn-key of his Cabinet-thoughts. But speak, Anjou; how didst thou dare to trust So strong a Secret, such important Counsels, That from the Book of Fate must wipe for ever A hundred thousand Lives, or quash the Throne? O, I'm not able to contain the Transport! Why did'st thou trust a business of such weight To Ligneroles?

Enter Cardinal and Guise.

Anj.

'Tis true, my Lord, I did; But I'le ingage my life he'll ne're divulge it.

King.

No, Sir; I pass my word he never shall.

Anj.

My Lord, I beg—

King.

Speak not, stir not hence. My Lord of Guise, I must engage your Service.

Q. M.

Think no more of him, lest the violent King, Whom yet I never saw so strangely mov'd, Should turn his rage on you.

Gui.

My Lord, 'tis done.

Two of my Train there are that bear him grudge.

King.

When he's dispatch'd, let your Friends go to Prison, To put a little varnish on his blood; Then you, or some that have the seeming Power, Beg for their Pardon, and it shall be sign'd.

Enter Alberto.

Alb.

My Lord, the Admiral's arriv'd.

King.

O, Madam, Give me your hand, and yours and yours To prop me; Now we must shew a Master-piece indeed, To meet the Man whom we would make an end of, Ev'n at that time when mortal Wars within, When the blood boils and flushes to be at him, Yet then to shew the signs of heartiest Love, To cringe, to fawn, to smile, to weep, and swear, Are Masks for women, not for men to wear.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Enter Admiral, Queen of Navarre, the Princes, Commanders, Gentlemen, &c.

Adm.

Cavagnes, would'st thou think it possible, I scarce have breath to tell thee I'm not well?

Cav.

Why should you fear?

Adam.

Because it goes against me. Upon the way, my sad presaging heart At the first view of Paris sunk within me, I stopt, and start, and answer'd without thought, Like one that breaks his sleep with his own brawl, As if my Genius shock'd me with a question, And ask'd me, whither I was bound for Death? But it must be, Cavagnes: nay, what's more Than Death it self, confess my self a Traytor, Ev'n in the Theatre of all the Kingdom Do Penance for the glorious Wars I made, In view of those that have so bravely back'd me.

Enter the King, Queen Mother, Anjou, Alberto Gondi, Cardinal of Lorrain. All the Hugonots kneel.

King.

Madam, you're welcome; this the Prince your Son

Most welcome; this the Prince of Conde, welcome; VVelcome to Paris, welcome to the Court: The heart of Charles bids welcome to you all. VVho's that upon the Earth! the great Chastillon, The glorious Admiral, the fam'd Coligni, The scourge of Kingdoms! O, my Father, rise; Or, by the Majesty of Age, the Reverence Due to these hairs, the King himself shall kneel.

Adam.

O Sir, is't possible! can this be real! Can you forgive this Out-law; this Offender; VVho has so often turn'd your Subjects Arms Against their Lawful Soveraign; made whole wilds Of populous Towns, and brav'd the Lions fury! Now you have drawn me quite unarm'd to Court, Can you so far be Master of your temper As not to hew me in a thousand pieces?

King.

Can you, who had the power to make me tremble, Can you, my awful Subject, be so good To kneel before my feet, and ask my Pardon, And shall I be so barbarous to refuse it! No, mighty VVarrior, in the heat of Broils, VVhen thou so terribly becam'st the Field Had'st thou thus sought me, by those Saints we worship, I had receiv'd thee with a breast of Mercy.

Adm

Forgive me, Sir; my heart so rises in me, I cannot speak.

King.

Let then the VVorld be witness, All that is Honest, Sacred, Good, and Just, Be witnesses the powers of Heav'n and Earth, VVith this embrace I pardon thee thy Er I bid thee welcome, as my better Angel, Thou shalt direct in all my bosom Councils; My Genius; O! and while I hold thee thus, Methinks I press my Father in my Arms.

Adm.

O! Sir, what have you done you've burst the heart Of your old Gasper, with this Flood of Goodness: And see, it gushes from my Aged Eyes.

King.

No more.

Adm.

I must, I must make way, my Lord, For this dear Load that makes me fore within: But haste, employ my Arm; Let Fortune raise Some Fo that's worthy of Chastillon's Sword: Nay, I shall quarrel with the Fates themselves Unless they rouze me up some brave occasion, To signalize my Loyalty, my Conduct

And constant Zeal for your Immortal Glory.

King.

Your Friendship to the Queen, who courts it too, VVill more oblige me than your VVars abroad.

Adm.

For all past Faults thus low I ask her Pardon.

Q. M.

Rise, rise, my Lord: let us forgive each other. May I, when dying, miss the Throne of Mercy, If, when I saw the King and you embrace, My wounded heart did not weep blood for joy.

King.

Come, come, my Lord, since you're so fierce to Serve me, I'll find your Sword Employment. Rest a while, And then for Flanders, where the Duke of Alva Will hold you to't.

Adm.

I long, my Lord, to try him: He who so curses the Reform'd Religion. I wish that, with some thousands I could raise Of those poor Protestants whom he disdains, I could but face him on the dusty Plain, Tho' to his Aid he call'd his Catholick Master, With thousand Arms held up to thousand Saints; Ev'n with this handful of my old Commanders Heading the well truss'd Body of our Men, We'd on, to make the Mytred Armies yield, And drive the trembling Crosiers from the Field.

[Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE. I.

The Scene draws; the King, the Queen Mother, the Duke of Anjou, Duke of Guise, Cardinal of Lorrain: The Body of Ligneroles held up all bloody.

Anj.

AH Traytor Guise! but I will have thy life—

Gui.

Let go your hand; or by the Majesty That Governs here, I'll send you to your Boy.

King.

Tear 'em asunder.

Anj.

I'le have Satisfaction.

King.

Remove the Body. You my Lord of Guise, Say how this murder hapned.

Gui.

Thus, my Lord. Charles Count of Mansfeild, and the Count of Guerchy,

When with this Mornings hunt, the Hills, and Groves, The Skies and Fountains seem'd one mutual cry, Riding in company, with this bold Spirit, On siery Coursers, chanc'd to discompose him: He frown'd, they laugh'd, and so the beaten road Of Quarrels, hot words rose, then Blows and Thrusts, The Youth betwixt 'em fell, I know not how; And there's an end of him.

Anj.

Traytor, thou ly'st: thou know'st the cause.

King.

No, Sir, it was my Order. Now, as you have respect to your own Safety, No more of this. Had you not blush'd in Blood, In the Heart-blood of him you dearest lov'd; By my dead Father's Soul, by my Revenge, You should your self have mourn'd so gross a failing.

Q. M.

Sir, he repents.

King.

He does but what he ought. Now to the Business. Since then the Cloud that holds our horrid Vengeance Comes nearer racking o're the Hugonots heads; Let's help the fall, and stir not from this place Till we have fixt the Plat-form of their Ruine: First, for the Queen, Iane Albert of Navarre, Because a Woman, and of Royal Blood, My Mother judg'd that she should dye by Poison.

Q. M.

Dispatch'd with Sweets. Pass to the rest; she's dead.

King.

Yet not without suspicion of the Princes, Who therefore, by my Order, were desir'd To see her Body open'd; which was done Before the chief of all the Hugonots; Only her Head was spar'd, as I appointed, Out of a seeming Reverence; but indeed, Left that the Poison, tho' it pass'd unseen, Like a close Murderer, through the Lanes of Life, Might yet at last be taken where it lodg'd. With this, in part, I satisfy'd their Murmurs.

Qu. M.

Therefore you must confer more favours still Upon the Admiral, lull him with Honours; Strike him but in the throat of his Ambition, You have him sure: yet let him play a while, And roll at random down the stream of Glory. My Lord of Guise you have not yet convers'd him; Therefore, while this suspicion on the death Of the late Queen flies warm about his ears, Visit him, as commanded by the King;

But so as if enforc'd: and by degrees, Proceed to half a Quarrel, that the King, Being made the Judge, as coming there by chance, May give it quite against you in appearance, And force you to submit your self for Pardon.

Gui.

It shall be so: And fear not, I'le provoke him; 'Twill ease my Heart a little, with keen words, To right my Father's wrongs, and shed the Venom That swells me all within.

King.

On this proceed To the intended Marriage of Navarre; Which once perform'd, as if that were the Lightning To the sure Peal of Horrour that must follow, Begin our Vengeance with the Admiral's Death.

Anj.

First, Sir, it would be known how Guise approves The Marriage of Navarre with Marguerite.

King.

I know the Duke approves what I resolve; And on so great a push, would forfeit both A Ligneroles and Marguerite too.

Qu. M.

Come, come, it's monstrous but to make a Scruple, To stand on Pets, Intrigues, and foolish Passions, When such a Fate is now upon the Bolt, As ne're perhaps yet Thunder'd with Success, Since first the World began.

Gui.

My Lord, I yield; And take Prince Porcien's Widow for my Wife.

King.

I sent the Count of Rhets to bring her hither. My Lord Lorrain, pray let me view the Contract. This, by the hand of Guise, must first be torn, And then presented her.

Gui.

Excuse me, Sir.

King.

If Prayers or threats can bend her, Sir, you shall not; But, if those fail, my Lord, without more words, I charge you for your Honour, and my own, To act as I command: or, by my blood, Nor you, nor I shall ever see her more.

Gui.

That's a home thrust indeed: Sir, I obey, And wait your farther order.

King.

My Lord Lorrain, Attend the Duke while I examine Marguerite, Wait till I stamp, and when thy trouble's over Make to the Admiral; and I will follow.

Enter Alberto with Marguerite.

How, Marguerite, weeping? all in tears! Sure then the Count of Rhets mistook the Message. I sent to give thee Joy, to tell my Sister She must be marry'd.

Mar.

And I come, my Lord, To shew my heart before your Majesty, To beg your favour, mercy, and your pardon; For O, my Lord, I cannot, if I would, Be marry'd to Navarre.

King.

You cannot? Rise, And tell me why: I'le hear you out with patience.

Mar.

Ah, Sir, how shall I speak your Sister's Frailty? How shall I, but thus drown'd with tears and blushes, Confess the fault of Duty? I am marry'd, Betroth'd, my Lord.

King.

To whom?

Mar.

Alas, you're angry; But I must own the truth, tho' on your brow A thousand deaths sat menacing my Soul: Yes, Sir, I'm marry'd to the Duke of Guise.

King.

Not marry'd, Marguerite; but contracted: And so far I'le forgive thy heedless Youth; But on condition that, without more noise, Thou raze the haughty Guise from thy remembrance; Or, by the violation of our Name, I will not spare to drain thy tainted blood, Till I have mounted thee by death a Victim To the great memory of the wrong'd Valois.

Mar.

Call then, my Lord, call forth your fierce Tormentors, Propose to Marguerite flames and wounds, And all the cruel Arts of thoughtful Fury, See your poor Sister's Spirit parch'd away By lingring fires, to make my death more dreadful; Yet, Sir, with my last breath I must avow My Love to Guise, and hatred to Navarre.

King.

No; I have thought on't better; I'll proclaim thee, A Prostitute; thou shalt no more be Royal: Poor, and abandon'd, with thy shame upon thee, I'll turn thee forth a Beggar to the World.

Mar.

Do, do, my Lord, rather than wed Navarre, And make it death for any to relieve me,

Set the mad multitude like Dogs upon me, To tear, to worry me like common flesh, To drag me to a Ditch, and leave me gasping; Yet with my last sighs I will groan to Heav'n, 'Tis easier this, than to be false to Guise.

King.

But, Marguerite, was there ever Love Without brave Revenge on Provocation? Yet, Wretch, thou lov'st without being lov'd again: Since in my presence Guise now past his word To leave thee, and to wed the Widow Porcien.

Mar.

No, no, my Lord; that Art was us'd before; Yet, Sir, you make me tremble; for methinks There's something more resolv'd, more stern in you, Than in my Mother: yet my heart's confirm'd Not to believe ev'n you; O therefore cease, Or rather execute your former rage, And give me up to those Tormentors hands That wait your Call.

King.

But if I bring the Duke Before thy face, that Contract in his hand, Which past betwixt you, and he tears it here Openly, in the presence of us all; Wilt thou then quit him, with resolv'd revenge, And wed Navarre?

Mar.

Why should you ask me, Sir? Prove me but half as much, but half that falshood, That Impudence, that Treason to the Throne Of our crown'd Loves, and I will wed a Slave: There's not a thing so loath'd upon the Earth, But you shall bind me to it for my life, To Age, Deformity, to all that's hateful, Blasting, and deadly.—Ha! what's this he tears? The Contract? O, it is the cursed Contract! Then I'll tear too. Death, Furies, Hell, and Devils! But call him, Sir, call back the perjur'd Traytor; Let your Guards hold him; you shall see, my Lord, How well I hate him: Give me but a Dagger, And I will gore his heart with thousand wounds; Nay, if 'twere possible, I'de stab his Soul, Fill it so full, brimful of Womans Gall, That, tho' he were an Angel, it should damn him; But he's a Devil, Devil, Devil, Devil.

King.

Give me your hand; you shall along with me To a young King, that will be proud to serve you.

Mar.

O, Sir, I know not what to say, or do,

But fling this load of misery at your feet: You have my promise; but with all my blood I would retrieve it; for since Guise is false, Whom I believ'd the worthiest of the World, Since he has prov'd himself so damn'd a Villain, O, give me leave, Sir, give me leave to shun, To hate, to loath, to curse all Humane Kind.

King.

I'le have no more delay; I claim your Promise: Come then; or, by my Crown, I'le have thee drag'd: What hoa? without there.

Enter Attendants.

Mar.

Mother, pity me. Have patience, Sir, a little time, my Lord, To vent these bursting sighs, and I will go; Let me but dry my Eyes, and I will go: This remnant of a wretched Royal woman, This stain to all your Blood, O cruel Heav'n! This curs'd, forlorn, unhappy Bride shall go Thus to the Altar where my Fate's decreed; But like a Victim that is doom to bleed.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Admiral, Antramont, Cavagnes, Langoiran.

Ant.

Poison'd; the Royal dead Navarre was poison'd? 'Tis the first Thunder-clap of that vast Storm That seems already breaking o're your head: Why are you senseless then, and deaf to warning; When, wherefoe're you cast your Eyes, the storm Looks blacker yet? Why stays the Duke of Guise? Why does he summon all his Blood to Court, With Barons, Knights, that hold the Catholick Party, With Foreign Gentry living on his Pensions, And therefore ready upon all occasion, With hazard of their lives to act his pleasure.

Adm.

Peace, Antramont.

Ant.

Alas, my Lord, I cannot. Why should the Visdam Chartres, Count Mongomery, Resolve to lodge themselves beyond the Sein, Unless their minds presage some dreadful mischief!

'Tis coming; O, with deeper Policies The King and Queen delude your easie Soul With fatal Praises, and undoing Honours: O, they have caught you! my Prophetick Soul Sees the red Tempest thunder down in blood, In blood of you, of me, of all about you.

Adm.

O, Antramont, you foil me now indeed; Yet I shall answer, if your Passion please: First, for the Queen, I saw her Body open'd, The parts whereof were sound, untouch'd by Poison, And by our own Physicians 'twas concluded She dy'd a natural Death. Then for the Guises, Some little satisfaction must be given, As to permit their Presence at the Marriage; But, for the management of State-affairs, Or Favour from the King, they're lost for ever: Nor shall it keep my dauntless Powers awake, Tho' Chartres and Mongomery will not come. But, to forbear the Subject, leave me here With my Cavagnes.

Ant.

I am commanded, Sir; Yet, for the safety of your innocent Babes, Beware, my Lord, be cautious, O prevent.

Exit Antramont.

Adm.

Fear not; Farewel; be gone; I will beware, Why should I fear, Cavagnes, when the King Inclines his heart to the Reform'd Religion; When the whole management of Home-affairs, With all Confederacies made abroad, Are left to me, as Judge and Arbitrator, The Genius and the Oracle of France? But, if the Will of Heav'n has set it down, That all this trust is deep dissimulation, That there's no Faith nor Credit to be given To the inviolable Royal Word; O, my Cavagnes, if 'tis possible, If this be so, I yield, I yield to die: I am contented for the Protestant Faith Here to be hewn into a thousand pieces, And made the Martyr of so good a Cause.

Lang.

My Lord, I take my leave; and am resolv'd To leave the Court.

Adm.

Cavagnes, prethee speak, It is not worth our smile: But why, Langoiran, Why dost thou leave the Maker of thy Fortune? Is it not worth the hazard?

Lang.

No, my Lord. I'm sorry, Sir, to see you made so much of: And so Farewel. For my part, I'm content To save my self with Fools; rather than perish With those that are too wise.

[Exit.

Enter a Servant.

Serv.

My Lord the Duke of Guise.

Enter Guise.

Exeunt Cavag. Serv. and all.

Gui.

The King, my Lord, commanded me to wait you, And bid you welcome to the Court.

Adm.

The King Still loads me with new Honours; but none greater Than this, the last.

Gui.

There is one greater yet, Your high Commission for the War with Spain: I, and my Family, are charg'd to serve you; And 'twill be glorious work.

Adm.

If you are there, There must be Action.

Gui.

O, your pardon, Sir; I'm but a Stripling in the Trade of War: But you, whose life is one continu'd Battel, What will not your Triumphant Arms accomplish? Who, as your self confess'd, or Fame is false, Have quite out-gone the memory of the Ancients, Of Alexander, and of Iulius Caesar, For they in all their Actions had success; But you, in spite of your malicious Fortune, After the loss of four most signal Battels, Still rose more fierce and dreadful to your Foes: And last, when all men thought you had no way To save your life, but wander through the World; You forc'd the King to grant your own Conditions, More proper for a Conquerour than one That was o'recome.

Adm.

No more of that, my Lord.

Gui.

But, Sir, since I must make a little one In this great Business, let me understand What 'tis you mean; and why you put the King Upon so dangerous an Expedition.

Adm.

Know, I intend the Greatness of the King,

The Greatness of all France, whom it imports To make their Arms their Aim and Occupation: Since then the Genius of the Kingdom's rouz'd, I'll turn the Fever of those Civil Broils To wholesom Exercise, to war with Strangers.

Gui.

Stor'd Arsenals, and Armories, and Fields of Horse, Ordnance, Ammunition, and the Nerve of War, Sound Infantry; not harrass'd and diseas'd, To meet a Veteran Army, should be thought of; Nor ought you to rely on Protestants, Those Mercenaries that must come: for he Who, thus resolv'd, depends on such, shall spread His Feathers now; but mew 'em all to morrow.

Adm.

I find; my Lord, the Argument grows warm. Therefore thus much, and I have done. The King Intends to send an Army into Flanders, A powerful one, and under my Command: First then, altho' the Wars of later Ages Are, in respect of former, made i'th' dark, Chastillon will not steal a Victory.

Gui.

The Phrase of Alexander at Arbela!

Adm.

No place of Honour, Office, or Command Through the whole Series of this glorious War, For Profit, Favour, or for Interest, Not of the greatest shall be bought or sold: Whereas too, for th' incouragement of Fighters, There are degrees promiscuously conferr'd On Souldiers, and no Souldiers, this man Knighted, Because he charg'd a Troop before his dinner, And sculk'd behind a hedge in th' afternoon; I will have strict Examination made Betwixt the meritorious and the base; And, since I am entrusted as I wish, I'll spoil the Traffick of this Brandy Court, And vye Rewards for Merit with old Rome.

Gui.

You will, my good Lord Admiral?

Adm.

Sir I will. Upon the very Spot of Victory For Gallant Men— Erect their Tropies, Funeral Laudatives, And Monuments for those that dy'd in War, Crowns of distinction, Garland Personal, All but the Stile of Emperour, which the King Of the whole Universe did after borrow; That for my Master: and perhaps for me

The Triumph of their Generals on return.

Gui.

You have mouth'd it bravely; and there is no doubt Your deeds would answer well such haughty words: Yet, let me tell you, Sir, there was a man (Curse on the hand that sped him) that would better, Better than you, or all the bragging Generals, That when he shone in Arms and sun'd the Field, That better would become the great Battallion, Mov'd, spoke, and fought, and was himself a War.

Adm.

The Noble Guise, your Father, Sir, you mean; But yet, my Lord—

Gui.

No yet, my Lord; no yet: By Arms, I bar you that; For never was his like, nor shall again, Till murder'd by Poltrot; curs'd, damn'd Poltrot, Whose Soul now gluts the Maw of Lucifer.

Adm.

Speak with more Charity.

Gui.

Ha! Charity! Damnation on the Soul that harbours it. Were I in Heav'n, and saw him scorch'd in Flames, I would not spit my Indignation down, Lest I should cool his Tongue. For Beza too, That set him on, with the Rewards of Heav'n, To act so black, so deep, so damn'd a Murder. O why will Charles thus sheath the Sword of Justice Till he has rooted up this Sect of Villains, And collar'd to the Stake that canting Slave That preach'd my God-like Father from the World?

Adm.

Come, come, my Lord, hear with a little patience, And you shall find 'tis not the Protestant way To stab, and beat the Brains out in the dark: Look home, my Lord, go to the Vatican; See, if in all those Politick Discourses, There be not one Red-letter'd Page for killing.

Gui.

Ha, Admiral! then dur'st thou justify The Villain, whom my Vengeance marks for death?

Adm.

My Lord, I will not justify a Villain More than your self: But if you thus proceed, If that a great Man's breath can puff away On every Pet the Lives of Free-born People; What need that awful General Convocation, Th' Assembly of the States? nay, let me urge, If thus you threat the Venerable Beza, What may the rest expect?

Gui.

What if I could,

They should be certain of; whole Piles of Fire.

Adm.

'Tis very well, my Lord, I know your mind Which, without fear or flatt'ry to your Person, I'll tell the King; and then, with his Permission, Proclaim it for a Warning to our People.

Gui.

Come, you're a Murd'rer, your self.

Adm.

Away.

Gui.

You were Complotter with that Villian Beza, The black Abetter of my Father's Murder.

Adm.

This wou'd sound well, my Lord, in Front-Battle, But here upon a Visit from the King It looks not like the Guise.

Gui.

My Father's Murder? bid me not stand on points When that's remember'd! But track me to the Forest with thy Sword, Thus Man to Man, bark'd with all thy People, Follow me, or I will proclaim thee Traytor, Coward.

Adm.

O King, King, King! still let me sound thy Name, Lest this Fool-hardy-Boy, this knotty Trifler, This Spawn of Words, this Urchin of the War, Should raise my Anger past the pulling down.

Enter King, Queen Mother, Alberto Anjou, and Morvile.

But see He's here, I scorn to ruine thee: Therefore go tell him, tell him thy own Story.

King.

What now, my Lord of Guise? Is this your Visit? I charge you on your life, without reserve, Tell me the truth; how hapned this disorder? Those rusted hands, red looks, and port of Fury?

Gui.

I told him, Sir, since you resolve to have it, He was the Murderer of my Noble Father; Therefore a Traytor, Villain, and a Coward.

King.

Is't possible?

Adm.

No matter, Sir, no matter; The Old Man rouz'd, and shook himself, my Lord; A few hot words; no more, upon my life: So, if your Majesty will do me Honour, I do beseech you, let the business dye.

King.

Guise, go, submit your self, and ask his pardon.

Gui.

My Lord, I cannot speak.

King.

Where are our Guards?

Adm.

Hold there. Come, Sir, I will interpret for you. My Lord, this close embrace makes up the breach: We will be sorry, Sir, for one another.

Gui.

You have out-done me, Sir; but you'l excuse me, 'Twas a great Rack that screw'd me to this Folly.

Adm.

More than enough, we're riveted the faster.

King.

My Lord of Guise.

Q. M.

My good Lord Admiral, Now use your Power, and quite oblige the Court: Villandry has provok'd the King at Play, In such a nature, that he's doom'd to die; My Son refus'd my Intercession for him; Therefore, when he has done his Check to Guise, For your affront; pray, my good Lord, intreat him.

King.

The Marriage stays within; which past, resolve His Execution sudden as you can.

Gui.

Marvile.

Mar.

My Lord?

Gui.

I by the King's Commission, have Command To take the Admiral's life.

Mar.

I'le shoot him.

Gui.

Right: As he returns from Court.

Mar.

From some Out-Lodging I'le watch him till I execute your Order.

Adm.

I am a Suitor to your Majesty For poor Villandry's life.

King.

Haste, bring him forth. I think, my Lord, if you should ask my heart, My yielding breast would open to your hand. But, Father, let's away; the Cardinal Stays for Navarre.

Adm.

We'll wait your Majesty.

[Exit King with the Court.

O, my Cavagnes, where's Langorian now? Where's Antramont? but haste, and tell her all; Tell her th'extravagant kindness of the King, Tell her, but stay; why such repeated Oaths? That's to be thought on; Hollow was his aspect, Graves in his smiles; Death in his bloodless hands. O, Antramont! I'le haste to meet thy Eyes: The Face of Beauty on these rising horrours, Looks like the Midnight-Moon upon a Murder: It drives the Shades that thicken from the State, And gilds the dark design that's ripe for Fate.

[Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

The King rises from a Couch.

FRom Amber shrouds I see the morning rise Her Rosy hand begins to paint the Skies; And now the City Emets leave their Hive, And rouzing Hinds to chearful labour drive; High Cliffs, and Rocks are pleasing objects now, And Nature smiles upon the Mountains brow; The Joyful Birds falute the Sun's approach; The Sun too laughs, and mounts his gaudy Coach, While from his Car the dropping Gems distil, And all the Earth, and all the Heaven does smile: But Charles, still wrapt in Shades, like Night appears, His sighs the Vapors, and the Dews his Tears. Yet, O Just Power, with pity, O behold The wretch, whose fault is in your Book inroll'd: Behold these streams, with which his Soul aspires To slake your wrath, and quench your angry fires.

Enter Genius.

Gen.

Thy Genius, lo, from his sweet Bed of rest, Adorn'd with Jassamin, and with Roses drest, The Pow'r Divine has rais'd to stop thy Fate; A true Repentance never comes too late: So soon as born, she made her self a Shroud, The weeping Mantle of a Fleecy Cloud, And swift as thought, her Airy Journy took, Her hand Heav'ns Azure Gate with trembling strook; The Stars did with amazement on her look; She told thy Story in so sad a Tone, The Angels start from Bliss, and gave a groan. But Charles beware, oh dally not with Heav'n, For after this no Pardon shall be giv'n.

[Exit.

Enter the Queen Mother, Cardinal of Lorrain, Anjou, Alberto Gondi.

Car.

The King upon the Earth? O rise, my Lord.

Q. M.

He has of late been troubled with such Faintings; And see he bleeds at Mouth.

King.

Stand from me all. O, Mother, Mother! Whither will you lead me? Through what a Vault of Monuments, and Sculls, And dead Men's Bones? And you, my Lord Lorrain, Must I still journey through this Vale of Death, And never reach the Paradise you promis'd? I must not let the Massacre go forward: I'm warn'd from Heav'n, I swear I think from Heav'n.

Q. M.

Some Scar-crow of a Dream? So far from Sin, Or ought that's damnable, is our Design; That my Lord Cardinal will tell you, Sir, 'Tis meritorious: and when e're we strike, The Church shall bless it, as a blow from Heav'n.

Car.

Therefore, my Lord, I wish you to suspect Whatever thwarts you in your holy purpose; However veil'd, tho' in an Angel's form, Conclude it the suggestion of the Devil.

Q. M.

So; now, I hope, these Qualms are at an end, And we may close pursue the main intention. Supposed the Admiral kill'd: on this, the Hugonots Fall on the House of Guise; the City rises And cuts 'em all to pieces: now imagine Which I am apt to think the Hereticks Are more discreet, and only sue for Justice, Without a Tumult; shall the business stand?

Car.

No. If we find they do not run to Uproar, (Our only hope to colour o're their ruine) Proceed to instant Slaughter; or they'l find Some means for flight, and kindle up the War More dreadfully than ever.

Anj.

Is't determin'd That, with the rest, the Princes too shall bleed,

Q. M.

My Judgment is most positive in this: Let not one Soul of all be left alive; For 'tis ridiculous, in such Extreams, Ith' mid'st of Slaughter, Ruine, Blood, and Death, To think of ever being prais'd for Mercy.

Nor can a mean be us'd; the Duke of Guise Meddles not in it, if a man escape: And says, in such a desperate Purge of Humours, If any Relick of the great Distemper Be left behind, it runs to a Relapse. More dangerous than before.

King.

As I remember, Madam, it has been oft your Oracle, In this late Civil Wars, to avoid a Battel, That limbs, tho' ne're so foul, should not be lopt Without the utmost, last Necessity; Because the Body feels too great defect, Sharp Pains, and almost irrecoverable Weakness: And will you now cut the great Arteries, The Princes of the Blood? Most horrid thought!

Q. M.

Compose your self; Navarre and Conde live. Come, come, you must put off this Melancholy; 'Twill breed Suspicion, Sir, let me intreat you To go upon the Instant streight to Tennis, While Morvele does his business.

King.

O my heart! If you would have me fixt, you must not leave me, You must talk out to my distracted Soul, Left Conscience drown the Voice of Policy.

[Exeunt all but Car.

Car.

This 'tis to have a Conscience?—Here comes one

Enter Guise.

Sear'd as my self, of my own Family. Is he dispatch'd!

Gui.

Not yet; but Morvele waits him, His Fuzee cock'd, and planted at the Window: All, all is fitted.

Car.

What, your Marguerite, Said she was sick, and would not bed the Prince Last night?

Gui.

I know not that; but here I stay To take her as she passes to the Gardens. How fares the King?

Car.

A little bound in Conscience: He pukes at Dreams; and as I hear of late, Spits Blood.

Gui.

A Fit, a fit, my Lord, o'th' Mother: I told you so. But see: the furious Princess?

Away: I'le clap my Prow upon the Storm; And, if a Wrack must follow, let it come.

Enter Marguerite.

Mar.

Ha! Villain? Traytor? Devil? Hence, be gone; Or I must get into my Grave to hide me: I've sworn, I've sworn to fly thee like a Fury, And I am Damn'd if e're I see thee more.

Gui.

I will obey you. And indeed the Fates Of these sad Souls that must to day be dol'd Require my haste: I beg you but to hear me: Grant me but this, By Hell, and Hell's worst Horrors, And all the Murders of this bloody day; You ne're shall see me more.

Mar.

What can'st thou say? For see, I know not how, thou'st charm'd my rage.

Gui.

Know then, the lives of every Hugonot This moment now are sentenc'd to the Grave: A Massacre of all.

Mar.

A Massacre!

Gui.

Madam, I've done. But hark! a Gun went off! My leaping heart cries out, It is the Admiral. The Marriage of Navarre was for this end Design'd, to bring the Princes to the Court: And, on so great an Enterprise, the King Compell'd me to the tearing of the Contract, Or threatned the destruction of my House, And which was worse, your death before my eyes. What, hoa! Morvele! He pass'd the Anti-chamber.

Enter Morvele.

Permit me to consult him. Ha! speak out; Say, is the Admiral—

Morv.

Not dead, my Lord. I think I saw some of his Fingers fly, And part of his left Arm: I'm sure I hit him.

Gui.

Here, take this Key; fly to my Closet, haste; Thou art pursu'd: Farewell.

Mor.

I'm gone, my Lord.

[Exit.

Gui.

'Twas in this manner just, my noble Father Was palted from the Fame of all the World By such another Villain: and my Soul Leaps with Revenge, that this proud Admiral

Should, like an Eagle, in his utmost slight Be topled from the Clouds of all his Glory. Madam, farewel: I hope you will excuse What I, enforc'd, did act: I love you still; And, on this sad affair, in which perhaps Your Guise may perish, It would warm my heart To hear you do not hate me.

Marg.

Death and Horrour! Infamy, Vengeance, Murder, Massacre!

Gui.

Now by the life and heart of our design 'Tis well dissembled; stood thy Lord in view, I thus wou'd charge thee; bear thee in my arms, From the proud hurry of a clashing World: To Mahomet's Paradise, to Beds of Pleasure. Where we shall spin the silken Joys for ever, Without a break: lengthening the twinkling moment To an Eternity of deathless Pleasure.

Marg.

Touch me not for thy life, thou Traytor! Murderer! Ravisher! Oh thou titled Villany! In Purple dipt to give a gloss to mischief! Follow the bloody bark of thy Ambition, And never see me more—

Gui.

It cannot be, Unless you chain me, drag me in Sunless Caves: You are my Earthly goodness, all my hope Of Comfort here: nor wish I more hereafter.

Marg.

Hold, hold, Prophaner, thou hast dishonour'd me, But this is little to the Crimes that follow, Thou hast betray'd me, after all my Vows, To marry one I hate; for thy Ambition Mak'st me the Cause of this most horrid Vengeance. At which the Earth shall sicken, Saints be sad, And none but Furies like your self—

Gui.

Did not your Mother form the whole design?

Marg.

Whoever form'd or helpt in such contriving, Hell and Damnation waste 'em; but for thee, Sear'd as thou art, with Cruelty, Revenge, I pity thee, O Guise! because I lov'd thee, And beg thee view those Fiends that gape to seize thee: Allow at least a possibility; An unknown Country, after you are dead, As well as there was one e're you were born.

Gui.

Admit me then once more to share your Breast, To taste those Secrets from those lovely Lips, And I in time may be a Proselyte.

Marg.

Here look your last! for from the time I leave you Ne're hope to see lost Marguerite more.

Gui.

I am a Rebel, and have sworn to see you: By all our former Dearness, and I will By Heav'n: I will, in spite of your resolve, I'le gaze upon you till these Crystals run.

Marg.

You have broke my heart a thousand several ways, And now against my will this parting melts me.

Gui.

Speak not of parting: by those Eyes I beg, Nor melting hearts: The blood runs down from mine.

Marg.

For all the wrongs you have done me, my Dishonor For all your delays, your slights, your thousand Oaths, Your most considerate Pride in falling out, That I might court you to be Friends again.

Gui.

Stop yet: and Oh eternal Love shall crowu thee.

Marg.

For all my Midnight groans.

Gui.

Hold, Marguerite.

Marg.

My Tears, my Watchings, The bleeding tokens of the fondest Love.

Gui.

Take this, and strike it to my heart;

[Offers a Dagger.

But speak your griefs no more.

Marg.

By all I've said, I beg you, Sir, to spare my Husband's life.

Gui.

What, Marguerite? ha! Navarre agen? This was too much.

Marg.

Save him, if possible, And so farewel, thou Ruine of my Glory: Farewel, thou strong Seducer of my Youth; Yet I will Eye thee hungerly at last: Nay, take this sigh too that thus splits my heart, My Husband's life. In all that I implore, To save Navarre, and never see me more.

[Exit Marg.

Gui.

She's gone, for ever gone: why, let her go. Henceforth pronounce all Woman-kind thy Foe; Or if thy feeble Soul to Love return, Do not, like Anthony, for life time burn: But as a Lion, eager of his prey, Compell'd by thirst, turns from his purpos'd way; And in some silver Fountain slacks his rage, Then runs more fiercely on his Foes t'ingage; So having quench'd thy fires with Beauties Charms, Forget the Pleasures, and rush to Arms.

[Exit.

Enter King, Q. Mother, Anjou, Lorrain, Alb. Gondi.

King.

Command that all the City-Gates be shut, Except but two, for bringing in Provisions; And these my Lord of Rhetz, see strictly Guarded, Left that the Murderer escape.

Q. M.

You bear it bravely! Now to the wounded Admiral: be there As you are now, seem soft and pitiful, Fond him with tears, cry out with your impatience To be reveng'd upon the Murderer.

King.

You that are made of Artifice instruct me.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The Admiral Dressing, with all the Hugonots about him

Adm.

A finger and an arm? what all this noise About the shattering of a Limb? Away. And in a Cause so great, so glorious too? Nay, let 'em burn the other to the shoulder, Or let that Badger Queen grind every Bone Betwixt her teeth, and grin to hear 'em crack.

Cav.

Let's instantly resolve to bear him forth.

Adm.

No: with this mangled flesh held to Heav'n, This horrid mash of Blood, and Bone, and Marrow, Upon my knees I beg the Power Divine T'establish thus the Protestant Religion, To plant it in the Blood of lost Coligni, If that, Alas, may satisfy their Fury.

Cav.

Take heart, Sir; hope one day for full Revenge.

Enter Antramont.

Ant.

'Tis well, my Lord! 'tis well, my Cato! well! You call'd this Paris Vtica at first: The Stars of Great men have a cast Divine, And when they mould with second thought, the Spirit, The Air, the Life, the Golden Vapour's gone. Langoiran! O Langoiran!

Adm.

Fate, my Martia; There is a Providence that over-rules:

Therefore submit; haste, for thy life, away; I beg thee fly, my Martia, to Geneva: My little ones shall, with Teligny, follow.

Ant.

What, Sir, is't possible! Is a planck in this great Vessel rived? Is't necessary that a Wreck should follow?

Adm.

O, Antramont, there is no going forth; If the King be not in th' Assassination, Fear not; I shall have Justice: If he be, Farewel for ever, I'll ne're see thee more.

Ant.

You shall, you shall: why burst you not away? There are at least ten thousand, your Adherents, Will clear your passage to Chastillon: Why do you drag then, when your Fate cryes on?

Adm.

Once more I say, my Fate is in the King; Therefore away: If things go right, you come To me again; if not, there's one preserv'd T'embalm my Bowels. O my Antramont, I mean my Babes, that thus have force to thaw me. That Power, whose most unsearchable Decree Thus dooms our parting, give thee strength to bear it; To bear my Death; perhaps thou'lt hear it shortly: Yet thou shalt hear nothing unworthy me, Nothing that's faint and flagging at the Goal, But my last Gasp like my first start of Glory.

Ant.

What, leave thee, Gaspar, e're I kiss thy wound? O, let we touch the Batt'ry of his Arm! Forgive me; thus far I will be a Roman: There's Virtue here, in this most Sacred Relict, I swear I think there is, to save a Soul.

Adm.

Be gone, I say; I cannot bear thy Kindness: Force her away, and bear her to St. Germain.

Ant.

I go. For thee, this Prayer I leave behind me: When-e're thou dy'st, the Arms of Angels wast thee To those smooth Joys that have no gritty moments. For her that brought thee to this barbarous end, The Whips of Conscience drive her to Despair; Conscience! Sh' has none: why then the stings of Pleasure, Sores and Diseases, Disappointments plague her; May all her Life be one continu'd Torment, And that more Racking than a Mother's labour: In meeting Death, may her least trouble be As great, as now my parting is with thee.

[Exit.

Enter Alberto Gondi.

Alb.

My Lord, his Majesty, the Queen, his Mother, Approach, to mourn your Chance, and give you Justice.

Enter King, Queen, Anjou, Lorrain.

King.

My Lord, I come to pour the Balm of Tears Into your Wound; I come to threaten death To that bold Villain who durst act this outrage: And by my Soul I swear, my Father shall Have such Revenge, as if a King were kill'd.

Adm.

I thank your Majesty, and humbly crave Your leave, Sir, to retire home to Chastillon; Where, from these tumultuous Parisians, I may, my Lord, recover this Misfortune.

Q. M.

What, take a Journey, Sir, in this condition? Your Death must follow: but, alas, I fear, I fear the truth, with tears I must avow it, My Lord, you dare not trust the King and Me.

Adm.

O, do not tax me with the least Suspicion: I must believe the Royal Majesty; But all my fear is for my dear Companions, And these lov'd Princes, whom the Heav'ns defend.

King.

Therefore my Brother Streight shall draw the Guards Within the City, while for present Safety I order Monsieur Cosen's Company To keep your Quarters from all fear of Tumult. O, Father, Father, do not wound my Soul By a distrust unworthy of us both.

Q. M.

Ah, my Lord Admiral, can you imagine That we are past all fear, or hope of Mercy, That there's no Conscience, no regard of Vows, No Grace, no Reverence, fear of Heav'n, nor Hell, Nor common Care of Fame, ev'n in this World?

King.

To Bed, to Bed; let me intreat you rest.

Q. M.

Nay, you shall go, my Lord, supported thus Betwixt your Bosom-Friends: believe me, Sir, This is not seign'd; there are not two alive That love you more, than those that now sustain you.

Adm.

Is't possible? Why, if it were dissembled, The very Counterfeit of such a Friendship Were worth a dying for. Alas, my Lord? O, Madam! Why, why must this trouble be?

But lead me, lead your poor old Admiral, Blind with his Tears, and faint with his Blood: If I do well again; I'll thank you, Sir, I'll thank you in the Field; O, grant it, Heav'n, That I may end where no Assassins are, And fall a Victim in the Glorious War.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Guise, Aumale, Elbeuf, Angolesme, with Parisians.

Gui.

Look you, my Lords, this is, this is the Royal Order; The Dukes of Nevers and Monpensier Must wait to guard the Person of the King, With all the Royal Regiment in Arms: Haste, for the day begins to wear apace.

An.

El. We obey.

[Exeunt ambo.

Gui.

President Charton, Provost de Marchand, The Head of the Parisians.

Pros.

Here, my Lord.

Gui.

Provide two thousand men compleatly arm'd, Let each particular man, on his left arm Wear a Shirt-sleeve, and a white Cross in's Hat, That, upon notice given, all may be ready To execute his Majesty's Commands: The Eschevins of every several Ward See in just order and precisely set, That upon ringing the Palace-bell, Lights may be put directly on the instant In every Window all throughout the Town.

Pros.

It shall be done.

[Exit.

Gui.

My Lord Grand Prior, With what Commanders we can rise, be ready To take the Admiral's life. But see the Queen?

Enter Queen Mother, Cardinal, Anjou.

Q. M.

Come, come, my Lords, let's lose no longer time; The Hugonots proceed not to a Tumult, But only vent their Fury in high words: Therefore away. My Lord of Guise, your Father, Looks from the Clouds, and cryes, Revenge, Revenge. I think 'twere better too, while you kill the Admiral,

The King's Grand Provost should pursue his Wife.

Gui.

The old gray Sire, the Dam, and little Babes, I'le take 'em all together in the Nest, And pash 'em till they Sprawl. You and the Cardinal Haste to the Louvre; when the Gates are shut, Call the Chief Hugonots down, and cut their Throats. My Lord, the Duke of Anjou, to your Care The King commits the City: So Farewell; There wants no more but ringing of the Bell.

[Exeunt Severally.

SCENE. The City.

Lights in the Windows. The President Marches his Men over the Stage: the Bell of the Palace rings out.

Enter Admiral in his Night-Gown.

Adm.

The Palace Bell rings out, loud Cries of Murder, Guns fir'd, and groans of dying men below; The King has giv'n his Warrant for my last; His Vows, his Oaths, and Altar-Obligations Are lost: the Wax of all those Sacred Bonds Runs at the Queens Revenge, the Fire that melts 'em. They are no more: the Admiral's no more.

Enter Cavagnes bleeding.

Cav.

My Lord, God calls us; Death is in the Court: Fate, in the shape of Guise, all over Blood. I saw your Son in Law Teligny dye; Roura, the Son of Baron des Atrets, With Colonel Montaumar, Gallant Guerchy, Wrapping his Cloak about his Arm, fought on Till he was all one wound, and so Expir'd: But hark, they come!

Adm.

Why, let 'em, let 'em come; We shall e're long, my Friend, be worth their Envy: To dye thus for Religion, O, Cavagnes, It puts the Soul in everlasting Tune, And sounds already in the Ears of Angels! And, O, what cause had ever such Foundation! I tell thee that the Root shall reach the Center, Spread to the Poles, and with her top touch Heav'n.

But see, they come: stand fixt, and look on Death With such Contempt, so Masterly an Eye, As if he were thy Slave.

Enter Besnie, Sartabons, 4 Souldiers.

Besn.

See where he stands! ha, Slaves, what makes you pause.

1 Sould.

Kill him your self, for my part I'le not touch him.

2 Sould.

Nor I: for my part I am sorry for what is done already.

Adm.

Cowards indeed! thus to be terrified Ev'n with the shadow of th' Admiral.

Besn.

It goes against me; yet I must obey: Sheath all your Daggers in the Traytor's Breast.

Adm.

Young Man, thou oughtest to reverence these gray hairs; But I command thee, do as thou art order'd, Thou'lt cut but little from the Line of Life.

Besn.

Dye then, dye both: now for his Wife and Children.

[Stabs both, and Exeunt.

Adm.

Heard'st thou, Cavagnes? said they not my Children.

Cavag.

I know not what you say; the stroak of Death Has stun'd my sense of Hearing.

Adm.

Yet let's crawl With all our Wounds into each others Arms, And hand in hand go Martyr'd thus to Heaven.

Cavag.

I am gone, farewel.

[Dyes.

Adm.

Why dost thou shudder thus, And gasp upon my Bosom? 'Twas his last; My Soul so likes her house, she's loth to part; But, O what Builder can repair the ruines? The Lights are choak'd, the Windows are damn'd up, The main Beams crack, and the Foundation sinks; Besides, the Lordly Owner warns me forth: I come, great Master of the World and me, And, O revenge, revenge thy Peoples blood. A hundred thousand Souls for Justice call; Let not the guiltless without Vengeance fall.

[Dyes.

Enter the Duke of Guise and Souldiers.

Gui.

So fling him down, down with him to the Court, Expose his Carcass to the Peoples mercy, Drag him away, and hurl him from the Window: See all his Bastards strangled on the spot; There's Orders for't. The Hostel de Chastillon Be raz'd for ever: his Posterity

Be made incapable of bearing Office, Or being Noble; burn his Statue, haste: There's a Commission granted for the deed; Nay, kill, as if 'twere Sport to see 'em bleed.

[Exeunt.

SCENA ULTIMA.

The LOVVRE.

Queen Mother, Cardinal, Duke of Anjou, Colonel D'O.

Q. M.

Here Colonel bring forth your Prisoners, And let me see these Leaders of the Faction.

[The Scene draws, showing the Commanders standing with their hands ty'd behind 'em betwixt the Souldiers in a rank▪

The Count de Rochfaucalt, Marquis de Renel, Piles, Pluvialt, Pardillan, and Lavardin.

Give the Word Colonel.

D'O.

Fire on 'em all.

[Shoot.]

The Scene draws, and shews the Admiral's Body burning.

Gui.

I saw the Master Villain dragg'd along To Execution, by the Common People, Who from the Shoulders tore the mangled Head, Cut off his Hands, and at Mountfaucon hung him, Half burning, by one Leg upon the Gallows.

Enter King, Princes, Alberto Gondi.

King.

O horror! horror! O thou cruel Guise! O Mother! Brother! and thou Murd'ring Priest! Dost thou not blush to fail in Seas of ruin, To hang the Flag of a Damn'd Pyrat forth, Yet call thy bloody Bark the Christian Church? Or, tell me, Canst thou lay the Furies here, Pale Hugonots that haunt me up and down Through Chambers, into Closets, Beds, and Couches? Or dar'st thou shield me, when the Admiral's Ghost Claps to my Heart the Dagger of my Word?

Q. M.

Why are you thus?

King.

The Angel's words are true, And Charles is near his end. O Mother! Mother! Hear my last words, and take my dying Counsel, Stop the vast Murder that you have begun; For know, all Churches by Decree and Doctrine, Kings by their Sword and Balance of their Justice, All Learning, Christian, Moral, and Prophane, Shall by the virtue of their Mercury Rod For ever damn to Hell those curs'd Designs That with Religion's Face to ruin tend, And go by Heav'n to reach the blackest end▪

[Exeunt Omnes.

FINIS.