GUISE. Now shall I prove, and guerdon to the full, The love thou bear'st unto the house of Guise. Where are those perfum'd gloves, which late I sent To be poisoned? Hast thou done them? Speak. Will ev'ry savour breed a pang of death?

APOTH. See where they be, my lord; and he that smells

But to them, dies.

GUISE. Then thou remainest resolute?

APOTH.I am, my lord, in what your grace commands, Till death.

GUISE. Thanks, my good friend, I will requite thy love.

Go then, present them to the Queen Navarre,
For she is that huge blemish in our eye,

That makes these upstart heresies in France.
Begone, my friend, present them to her straight.-
Soldier!
[Exit Apoth.

SOL. My lord.

Enter a SOLDIER.

GUISE. Now come thou forth, and play thy tragic

part.

Stand in some window, op'ning near the street,
And when thou see'st the admiral ride by,

Discharge thy musket, and perform his death;

And then I'll guerdon thee with store of crowns.
SOL. I will, my lord.

[Exit.

GUISE. Now, Guise, begin those deep-engender'd thoughts

To burst abroad those never-dying flames,

Which cannot be extinguish'd but by blood.
Oft have I levell'd, and at last have learn'd
That peril is the chiefest way to happiness;
And resolution, honour's fairest aim.
What glory is there in a common good,
That hangs for ev'ry peasant to achieve?
That like I best, that flies beyond my reach.
Set me to scale the high Pyramides,
And thereon set the diadem of France;
I'll either rend it with my nails to nought,
Or mount the top with my aspiring wings,
Although my downfall be the deepest hell.
For this, I wake, when others think I sleep;
For this, I wait, that scorn attendance else;
For this, my quenchless thirst, whereon I build,
Hath often pleaded kindred to the king;

For this, this head, this heart, this hand and sword, Contrive, imagine, and fully execute,

Matters of import aimed at by many,

Yet understood by none.

For this, hath heav'n engender'd me of earth;
For this, the earth sustains my body's weight;
And with this weight I'll counterpoise a crown,
Or with seditions weary all the world.
For this, from Spain the stately Catholic
Sends Indian gold to coin me French ecus;
For this, have I a largess from the pope;
A pension, and a dispensation too;
And by that privilege to work upon,
My policy hath framed religion.

Religion! O Diabole !

Fie! I am asham'd, however that I seem,
To think a word of such a simple sound,

Of so great matter should be made the ground.
The gentle king, whose pleasure uncontroul'd
Weakeneth his body, and will waste his realm,
If I repair not what he ruinates,

Him, as a child, I daily win with words,
So that for proof he barely bears the name:
I execute, and he sustains the blame.
The Mother Queen works wonders for my

sake,

And in my love entombs the hope of France;
Rifling the bowels of her treasury,

To supply my wants and necessity.
Paris hath full five hundred colleges,
As monasteries, priories, abbeys, and halls,
Wherein are thirty thousand able men,

Besides a thousand sturdy student Catholics:
And more, of my knowledge, in one cloister keep
Five hundred fat Franciscan friars and priests.
All this, and more, if more may be compris❜d,

To bring the will of our desires to end.
Then, Guise, since thou hast all the cards
Within thy hands, to shuffle or to cut,
Take this as surest thing,

That, right or wrong, thou deal thyself a king.—
Aye, but Navarre,-'tis but a nook of France,
Sufficient yet for such a petty king,

That with a rabblement of his heretics,

Blinds Europe's eyes, and troubleth our estate,

Him will we

[Pointing to his sword.

But first let's follow those in France,

That hinder our possession to the crown.
As Cæsar to his soldiers, so say I;

Those that hate me will I learn to loathe.
Give me a look, that when I bend the brows,
Pale death may walk in furrows of my face:
A hand, that with a grasp may gripe the world;
An ear to hear what my detractors say;
A royal seat, a sceptre, and a crown,

That those which do behold them, may become
As men that stand and gaze against the sun.
The plot is laid, and things shall come to pass,
Where resolution strives for victory.

SCENE III.

[Exit.

Enter the KING of NAVARRE, MARGARET, the Old QUEEN of NAVARRE, the PRINCE of CONDE, the LORD HIGH ADMIRAL, and the APOTHECARY, with the gloves, which he gives to the Old Queen.

APOTH. Madam, I beseech your grace to accept this simple gift.

OLD QUEEN. Thanks, my good friend; hold, take thou this reward.

APOTH. I humbly thank your majesty.

[Exit.

OLD QUEEN. Methinks the gloves have a very

strong perfume,

The scent whereof doth make my head to ache.

NAV. Doth not your grace know the man that gave them you ?

OLD QUEEN. Not well, but do remember such a

man.

ADм. Your grace was ill-advis'd to take them,

then,

Considering of these dangerous times.

OLD QUEEN. Help, son Navarre! I am poison'd! MAR. The heavens forbid your highness such mishap!

NAV. The late suspicion of the duke of Guise,
Might well have mov'd your highness to beware
How you did meddle with such dang'rous gifts.
MAR. Too late it is, my lord, if that be true,
To blame her highness; but I hope it be
Only some natʼral passion makes her sick.

OLD QUEEN. Oh! no, sweet Margaret; the fatal poison

Doth work within my heart; my brain-pan breaks; My heart doth faint; I die!

[Dies.

NAV. My mother poison'd here before my face! Oh! gracious God, what times are these.

Oh, grant, sweet God, my days may end with hers, That I with her may die, and live again.

MAR. Let not this heavy chance, my dearest lord, (For whose effects my soul is massacred) Infect thy gracious breast with fresh supply, To aggravate our sudden misery.

ADм. Come, my lords, let us bear her body hence,