Massacre at Paris

[Scene xiv]

        Enter the King of Navarre, Pleshe and Bartus, and their train,
        with drums and trumpets.

   NAVARRE. Now Lords, since in a quarrell just and right,
   We undertake to mannage these our warres
   Against the proud disturbers of the faith,
   I meane the Guise, the Pope, and King of Spaine,
   Who set themselves to tread us under foot,
   And rend our true religion from this land:
   But for you know our quarrell is no more,
   But to defend their strange inventions,
   Which they will put us to with sword and fire:
   We must with resolute minces resolve to fight,
   In honor of our God and countries good.
   Spaine is the counsell chamber of the pope,
   Spaine is the place where he makes peace and warre,
   And Guise for Spaine hath now incenst the King,
   To send his power to meet us in the field.

   BARTUS. Then in this bloudy brunt they may beholde,
   The sole endevour of your princely care,
   To plant the true succession of the faith,
   In spite of Spaine and all his heresies.

   NAVARRE. The power of vengeance now implants it selfe,
   Upon the hauty mountains of my brest:
   Plaies with her goary coulours of revenge,
   Whom I respect as leaves of boasting greene,
   That change their coulour when the winter comes,
   When I shall vaunt as victor in revenge.

        Enter a Messenger.

   How now sirra, what newes?

   MESSENGER. My Lord, as by our scoutes we understande,
   A mighty army comes from France with speed:
   Which is already mustered in the land,
   And meanesto meet your highnes in the field.

   NAVARRE. In Gods name, let them come.
   This is the Guise that hath incenst the King,
   To leavy armes and make these civill broyles:
   But canst thou tell me who is their generall?

   MESSENGER. Not yet my Lord, for thereon doe they stay:
   But as report doth goe, the Duke of Joyeux
   Hath made great sute unto the King therfore.

   NAVARRE. It will not countervaile his paines I hope,
   I would the Guise in his steed might have come,
   But he doth lurke within his drousie couch,
   And makes his footstoole on securitie:
   So he be safe he cares not what becomes,
   Of King or Country, no not for them both.
   But come my Lords, let us away with speed,
   And place our selves in order for the fight.

        Exeunt.