Good morrow to my loving Cousin of Guise.
How fares it this morning with your excellence?
I heard your Majestie was scarcely pleasde,
That in the Court I bear so great a traine.
They were to blame that said I was displeasde,
And you good Cosin to imagine it.
Twere hard with me if I should doubt my kinne,
Or be suspicious of my deerest freends:
Cousin, assure you I am resolute,
Whatever any whisper in mine eares,
Not to suspect disloyaltye in thee,
And so sweet Cuz farwell.
Now sues the King for favour to the Guise,
And all his Minions stoup when I commaund:
Why this tis to have an army in the fielde.
Now by the holy sacrament I sweare,
As ancient Romanes over their Captive Lords,
So will I triumph over this wanton King,
And he shall follow my proud Chariots wheeles.
Now doe I but begin to look about,
And all my former time was spent in vaine:
For in thee is the Guises hope.
Oh I have my death wound, give me leave to speak.
Then pray to God, and aske forgivenes of the King.
Trouble me not, I neare offended him,
Nor will I aske forgivenes of the King.
Oh that I have not power to stay my life,
Nor immortalitie to be reveng'd:
To dye by Pesantes, what a greefe is this?
Ah Sextus, be reveng'd upon the King,
Philip and Parma, I am slaine for you:
Pope excommunicate, Philip depose,
The wicked branch of curst Valois's line.
Vive la messe, perish Hugonets,
Thus Caesar did goe foorth, and thus he dies.
Surchargde with guilt of thousand massacres,
Mounser of Loraine sinke away to hell,
In just remembrance of those bloudy broyles,
To which thou didst alure me being alive:
And heere in presence of you all I sweare,
I nere was King of France untill this houre:
This is the traitor that hath spent my golde,
In making forraine warres and cruel broiles.
Did he not draw a sorte of English priestes
From Doway to the Seminary at Remes,
To hatch forth treason gainst their naturall Queene?
Did he not cause the King of Spaines huge fleete,
To threaten England and to menace me?
Did he not injure Mounser thats deceast?
Hath he not made me in the Popes defence,
To spend the treasure that should strength my land,
In civill broiles between Navarre and me?
Tush, to be short, he meant to make me Munke,
Or else to murder me, and so be King.
Let Christian princes that shall heare of this,
(As all the world shall know our Guise is dead)
Rest satisfed with this that heer I sweare,
Nere was there King of France so yoakt as I.
But what availeth that this traitors dead,
When Duke Dumaine his brother is alive,
And that young Cardinall that is growne so proud?
Goe to the Governour of Orleance,
And will him in my name to kill the Duke.
And let her croup, my heart is light enough.
Mother, how like you this device of mine?
I slew the Guise, because I would be King.
King, why so thou wert before.
Pray God thou be a King now this is done.
Nay he was King and countermanded me,
But now I will be King and rule my selfe,
And make the Guisians stoup that are alive.
I cannot speak for greefe: when thou west bome,
I would that I had murdered thee my sonne.
My sonne: thou art a changeling, not my sonne.
I curse thee and exclaime thee miscreant,
Traitor to God, and to the realme of France.
Cry out, exclaime, houle till thy throat be hoarce,
The Guise is slaine, and I rejoyce therefore:
And now will I to armes, come Epernoune:
And let her greeve her heart out if she will.
Away, leave me alone to meditate.
Sweet Guise, would he had died so thou wert heere:
To whom shall I bewray my secrets now,
Or who will helpe to builde Religion?
The Protestants will glory and insulte,
Wicked Navarre will get the crowne of France,
The Popedome cannot stand, all goes to wrack,
And all for thee my Guise: what may I doe?
But sorrow seaze upon my toyling soule,
For since the Guise is dead, I will not live.
Exit [the attendants taking up body of the Guise].