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earth。
Enter a Messenger。
MESSENGER。 And it please your Majestie heere is a Frier of the
order of the Jacobins； sent from the President of Paris； that craves accesse
unto your grace。
KING。 Let him come in。
Enter Frier with a Letter。
EPERNOUNE。 I like not this Friers look。 Twere not amisse my Lord；
if he were searcht。
KING。 Sweete Epernoune； our Friers are holy men； And will not offer
violence to their King； For all the wealth and treasure of the world。 Frier；
thou dost acknowledge me thy King？
FRIER。 I my good Lord； and will dye therein。
KING。 Then come thou neer； and tell what newes thou bringst。
FRIER。 My Lord； The President of Paris greetes your grace； And sends
his dutie by these speedye lines； Humblye craving your gracious reply。
KING。 Ile read them Frier； and then Ile answere thee。
FRIER。 Sancte Jacobus； now have mercye on me。 He stabs the King
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with a knife as he readeth the letter； and then the King getteth the knife
and killes him。
EPERNOUNE。 O my Lord； let him live a while。
KING。 No； let the villaine dye； and feele in hell； Just torments for his
trechery。
NAVARRE。 What； is your highnes hurt？
KING。 Yes Navarre； but not to death I hope。
NAVARRE。 God shield your grace from such a sodaine death： Goe
call a surgeon hether strait。
＇Exit attendant。＇
KING。 What irreligeous Pagans partes be these； Of such as horde them
of the holy church？ Take hence that damned villaine from my sight。
＇Exeunt attendants with body＇
EPERNOUNE。 Ah； had your highnes let him live； We might have
punisht him for his deserts。
KING。 Sweet Epernoune all Rebels under heaven； Shall take example
by his punishment； How they beare armes against their soveraigne。 Goe
call the English Agent hether strait； Ile send my sister England newes of
this； And give her warning of her trecherous foes。
＇Enter Surgeon。＇
NAVARRE。 Pleaseth your grace to let the Surgeon search your wound。
KING。 The wound I warrant you is deepe my Lord； Search Surgeon
and resolve me what thou seest。
The Surgeon searcheth。
Enter the English Agent。
Agent for England； send thy mistres word； What this detested Jacobin
hath done。 Tell her for all this that I hope to live； Which if I doe； the Papall
Monarck goes To wrack； an antechristian kingdome falles。 These bloudy
hands shall teare his triple Crowne； And fire accursed Rome about his
eares。 Ile fire his erased buildings and incense The papall towers to kisse
the holy earth。 Navarre； give me thy hand； I heere do sweare； To ruinate
this wicked Church of Rome； That hatcheth up such bloudy practices。 And
heere protest eternall love to thee； And to the Queene of England
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Massacre at Paris
especially； Whom God hath blest for hating Popery。
NAVARRE。 These words revive my thoughts and comfort me； To see
your highnes in this vertuous minde。
KING。 Tell me Surgeon； shall I live？
SURGEON。 Alas my Lord； the wound is dangerous； For you are
stricken with a poysoned knife。
KING。 A poysoned knife？ what； shall the French king dye； Wounded
and poysoned； both at once？
EPERNOUNE。 O that that damned villaine were alive againe； That we
might torture him with some new found death。
BARTUS。 He died a death too good； the devill of hell Torture his
wicked soule。
KING。 Oh curse him not since he is dead。 O the fatall poyson workes
within my brest； Tell me Surgeon and flatter not； may I live？
SURGEON。 Alas my Lord； your highnes cannot live。
NAVARRE。 Surgeon； why saist thou so？ the King may live。
KING。 Oh no Navarre； thou must be King of France。
NAVARRE。 Long may you live； and still be King of France。
EPERNOUNE。 Or else dye Epernoune。
KING。 Sweet Epernoune thy King must dye。 My Lords； Fight in the
quarrell of this valiant Prince； For he is your lawfull King and my next
heire： Valoyses lyne ends in my tragedie。 Now let the house of Bourbon
weare the crowne； And may it never end in bloud as mine hath done。 Weep
not sweet Navarre； but revenge my death。 Ah Epernoune； is this thy love
to me？ Henry thy King wipes of these childish teares； And bids thee whet
thy sword on Sextus bones； That it may keenly slice the Catholicks。 He
loves me not the best that sheds most teares； But he that makes most lavish
of his bloud。 Fire Paris where these trecherous rebels lurke。 I dye Navarre；
come beare me to my Sepulchre。 Salute the Queene of England in my
name； And tell her Henry dyes her faithfull freend。
He dyes。
NAVARRE。 Come Lords； take up the body of the King； That we may
see it honourably interde： And then I vow so to revenge his death； That
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Rome and all those popish Prelates there； Shall curse the time that ere
Navarre was King； And rulde in France by Henries fatall death。
They march out with the body of the King； lying on foure mens
shoulders with a dead march； drawingg weapons on the ground。
FINIS。
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