Massacre at Paris

And then determine of this enterprise.

Exeunt

[Scene xiii]

Enter the Duchesse of Guise, and her Maide.

DUCHESSE. Goe fetch me pen and inke.

MAID. I will Madam.

Exit Maid.

DUCHESSE. That I may write unto my dearest Lord.
Sweet Mugeroune, tis he that hath my heart,
And Guise usurpes it, cause I am his wife:
Faine would I finde some means to speak with him
But cannot, and therfore am enforst to write,
That he may come and meet me in some place,
Where we may one injoy the others sight.

Enter the Maid with Inke and Paper.

So, set it down and leave me to my selfe.
O would to God this quill that heere doth write,
She writes.
Had late been plucks from out faire Cupids wing:
That it might print these lines within his heart.

Enter the Guise.

GUISE. What, all alone my love, and writing too:
I prethee say to whome thou writes?

DUCHESSE. To such a one, as when she reads my lines,
Will laugh I feare me at their good aray.

GUISE. I pray thee let me see.

DUCHESSE. O no my Lord, a woman only must
Partake the secrets of my heart.

GUISE. But Madam I must see.
He takes it.
Are these your secrets that no man must know?

DUCHESSE. O pardon me my Lord.

GUISE. Thou trothles and unjust, what lines are these?
Am I growne olde, or is thy lust growne yong,
Or hath my love been so obscurde in thee,
That others need to comment on my text?
Is all my love forgot which helde thee deare?
I, dearer then the apple of mine eye?
Is Guises glory but a clowdy mist,
In sight and judgement of thy lustfull eye?
Mor du, were not the fruit within thy wombe,
On whose encrease I set some longing hope:
This wrathfull hand should strike thee to the hart
Hence strumpet, hide thy head for shame,
And fly my presence if thou look'st to live.

Exit [Duchesse].

O wicked sexe, perjured and unjust,
Now doe I see that from the very first,
Her eyes and lookes sow'd seeds of perjury,
But villaine he to whom these lines should goe,
Shall buy her love even with his dearest bloud.

Exit

[Scene xiv]

Enter the King of Navarre, Pleshe and Bartus, and their train, with drums and trumpets.

NAVARRE. Now Lords, since in a quarrell just and right,
We undertake to mannage these our warres
Against the proud disturbers of the faith,
I meane the Guise, the Pope, and King of Spaine,
Who set themselves to tread us under foot,
And rend our true religion from this land:
But for you know our quarrell is no more,
But to defend their strange inventions,
Which they will put us to with sword and fire:
We must with resolute minces resolve to fight,
In honor of our God and countries good.
Spaine is the counsell chamber of the pope,
Spaine is the place where he makes peace and warre,
And Guise for Spaine hath now incenst the King,
To send his power to meet us in the field.

BARTUS. Then in this bloudy brunt they may beholde,
The sole endevour of your princely care,
To plant the true succession of the faith,
In spite of Spaine and all his heresies.

NAVARRE. The power of vengeance now implants it selfe,
Upon the hauty mountains of my brest: