Page:The Massacre at Paris - Marlowe (1600).pdf/55

 But now I will be King and rule my selfe, And make the Guisians stoup that are alive.

Queene. I cannot speak for greefe, when thou wast borne, 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.

King. 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.

Queene. 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.

Car. Murder me not, I am a Cardenall.

1. Wert thou the Pope thou mightst not scape from us.