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Enter the English Agent.

Agent for England, send thy mistress word
What this detested Jacobin hath done.
Tell her, for all this, that I hope to live;
Which if I do, the papal monarch goes
To wreck, and [th'] antichristian kingdom falls :
These bloody hands shall tear his triple


And fire accursed Rome about his ears;
I'll fire his crazèd buildings, and enforce
The papal towers to kiss the lowly earth.-*
Navarre, give me thy hand: I here do swear
To ruinate that wicked Church of Rome,
That hatcheth up such bloody practices;
And here protest eternal love to thee,
And to the Queen of England specially,
Whom God hath bless'd for hating papistry.

Nav. These words revive my thoughts, and comfort me,

To see your highness in this virtuous mind.
Henry. Tell me, surgeon, shall I live?

Surg. Alas, my lord, the wound is dangerous, For you are stricken with a poison'd knife! Henry. A poison'd knife! what, shall the French king die,

Wounded and poison'd both at once?
Eper. O, that

That damned villain were alive again,
That we might torture him with some new-found

Bar. He died a death too good:

The devil of hell torture his wicked soul! Henry. Ah, curse him not, sith† he is dead!—

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O, the fatal poison works within my breast!— Tell me, surgeon, and flatter not-may I live? Surg. Alas, my lord, your highness cannot live! Nav. Surgeon, why say'st thou so? the king may live.

Henry. O, no, Navarre! thou must be king of France.

Nav. Long may you live, and still be king of France!

Eper. Or else, die Epernoun !
Henry. Sweet Epernoun, thy king must die.—
My lords,

Fight in the quarrel of this valiant prince,
For he's your lawful king, and my next heir;
Valois's line ends in my tragedy.

Now let the house of Bourbon wear the crown; And may it ne'er end in blood, as mine hath done

Weep not, sweet Navarre, but revenge my death.—
Ah, Epernoun, is this thy love to me?
Henry, thy king, wipes off these childish tears,
And bids thee whet thy sword on Sixtus' bones,
That it may keenly slice the Catholics.
He loves me not [the most*] that sheds most tears,
But he that makes most lavish of his blood.
Fire Paris, where these treacherous rebels lurk.—
I die, Navarre: come bear me to my sepulchre.
Salute the Queen of England in my name,
And tell her, Henry dies her faithful friend.

[Dies. Nav. Come, lords, take up the body of the king, That we may see it honourably interr'd: And then I vow so † to revenge his death As Rome, and all those popish prelates there, Shall curse the time that e'er Navarre was king, And rul'd in France by Henry's fatal death.

[They march out, with the body of KING HENRY lying on four men's shoulders, with a dead march, drawing weapons on the ground.

* the most] So, it would seem, the author wrote.-The modern editors print "the best."

80] Old ed. "for" (the MS. having had "soe," which the compositor misread "for ").



The Tragedie of Dido Queene of Carthage: Played by the Children of her Maiesties Chappell. Written by Christopher Marlowe, and Thomas Nash. Gent.

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At London, Printed, by the Widdowe Orwin, for Thomas Woodcocke, and are to be solde at his shop, in Paules Churchyeard, at the signe of the blacks Beare. 1594. 4to.








ASCANIUS, his son.





Other Trojans.

Carthaginian Lords.


ANNA, her sister.

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