massacre at paris(巴黎大屠杀)-第9节
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earth。
Enter a Messenger。
MESSENGER。 And it please your Majestie heere is a Frier of the
order of the Jacobins; sent from the President of Paris; that craves accesse
unto your grace。
KING。 Let him come in。
Enter Frier with a Letter。
EPERNOUNE。 I like not this Friers look。 Twere not amisse my Lord;
if he were searcht。
KING。 Sweete Epernoune; our Friers are holy men; And will not offer
violence to their King; For all the wealth and treasure of the world。 Frier;
thou dost acknowledge me thy King?
FRIER。 I my good Lord; and will dye therein。
KING。 Then come thou neer; and tell what newes thou bringst。
FRIER。 My Lord; The President of Paris greetes your grace; And sends
his dutie by these speedye lines; Humblye craving your gracious reply。
KING。 Ile read them Frier; and then Ile answere thee。
FRIER。 Sancte Jacobus; now have mercye on me。 He stabs the King
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with a knife as he readeth the letter; and then the King getteth the knife
and killes him。
EPERNOUNE。 O my Lord; let him live a while。
KING。 No; let the villaine dye; and feele in hell; Just torments for his
trechery。
NAVARRE。 What; is your highnes hurt?
KING。 Yes Navarre; but not to death I hope。
NAVARRE。 God shield your grace from such a sodaine death: Goe
call a surgeon hether strait。
'Exit attendant。'
KING。 What irreligeous Pagans partes be these; Of such as horde them
of the holy church? Take hence that damned villaine from my sight。
'Exeunt attendants with body'
EPERNOUNE。 Ah; had your highnes let him live; We might have
punisht him for his deserts。
KING。 Sweet Epernoune all Rebels under heaven; Shall take example
by his punishment; How they beare armes against their soveraigne。 Goe
call the English Agent hether strait; Ile send my sister England newes of
this; And give her warning of her trecherous foes。
'Enter Surgeon。'
NAVARRE。 Pleaseth your grace to let the Surgeon search your wound。
KING。 The wound I warrant you is deepe my Lord; Search Surgeon
and resolve me what thou seest。
The Surgeon searcheth。
Enter the English Agent。
Agent for England; send thy mistres word; What this detested Jacobin
hath done。 Tell her for all this that I hope to live; Which if I doe; the Papall
Monarck goes To wrack; an antechristian kingdome falles。 These bloudy
hands shall teare his triple Crowne; And fire accursed Rome about his
eares。 Ile fire his erased buildings and incense The papall towers to kisse
the holy earth。 Navarre; give me thy hand; I heere do sweare; To ruinate
this wicked Church of Rome; That hatcheth up such bloudy practices。 And
heere protest eternall love to thee; And to the Queene of England
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Massacre at Paris
especially; Whom God hath blest for hating Popery。
NAVARRE。 These words revive my thoughts and comfort me; To see
your highnes in this vertuous minde。
KING。 Tell me Surgeon; shall I live?
SURGEON。 Alas my Lord; the wound is dangerous; For you are
stricken with a poysoned knife。
KING。 A poysoned knife? what; shall the French king dye; Wounded
and poysoned; both at once?
EPERNOUNE。 O that that damned villaine were alive againe; That we
might torture him with some new found death。
BARTUS。 He died a death too good; the devill of hell Torture his
wicked soule。
KING。 Oh curse him not since he is dead。 O the fatall poyson workes
within my brest; Tell me Surgeon and flatter not; may I live?
SURGEON。 Alas my Lord; your highnes cannot live。
NAVARRE。 Surgeon; why saist thou so? the King may live。
KING。 Oh no Navarre; thou must be King of France。
NAVARRE。 Long may you live; and still be King of France。
EPERNOUNE。 Or else dye Epernoune。
KING。 Sweet Epernoune thy King must dye。 My Lords; Fight in the
quarrell of this valiant Prince; For he is your lawfull King and my next
heire: Valoyses lyne ends in my tragedie。 Now let the house of Bourbon
weare the crowne; And may it never end in bloud as mine hath done。 Weep
not sweet Navarre; but revenge my death。 Ah Epernoune; is this thy love
to me? Henry thy King wipes of these childish teares; And bids thee whet
thy sword on Sextus bones; That it may keenly slice the Catholicks。 He
loves me not the best that sheds most teares; But he that makes most lavish
of his bloud。 Fire Paris where these trecherous rebels lurke。 I dye Navarre;
come beare me to my Sepulchre。 Salute the Queene of England in my
name; And tell her Henry dyes her faithfull freend。
He dyes。
NAVARRE。 Come Lords; take up the body of the King; That we may
see it honourably interde: And then I vow so to revenge his death; That
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Rome and all those popish Prelates there; Shall curse the time that ere
Navarre was King; And rulde in France by Henries fatall death。
They march out with the body of the King; lying on foure mens
shoulders with a dead march; drawingg weapons on the ground。
FINIS。
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