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.

Exit [the attendants taking up body of the Guise].

[Scene xx]

Enter two [Murtherers] dragging in the Cardenall [of Loraine].

CARDINALL. Murder me not, I am a Cardenall.

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

CARDINALL. What, will you fyle your handes with Churchmens bloud?

2. Shed your bloud,
O Lord no: for we entend to strangle you.

CARDINALL. Then there is no remedye but I must dye?

1. No remedye, therefore prepare your selfe.

CARDINALL. Yet lives
My brother Duke Dumaine, and many moe:
To revenge our deaths upon that cursed King,
Upon whose heart may all the furies gripe,
And with their pawes drench his black soule in hell.

1. Yours my Lord Cardinall, you should have saide.

Now they strangle him.

So, pluck amaine,
He is hard hearted, therfore pull with violence.
Come take him away.

Exeunt.

[Scene xxi]

Enter Duke Dumayn reading of a letter, with others.

DUMAINE. My noble brother murthered by the King,
Oh what may I doe, to revenge thy death?
The Kings alone, it cannot satisfie.
Sweet Duke of Guise our prop to leane upon,
Now thou art dead, heere is no stay for us:
I am thy brother, and ile revenge thy death,
And roote Valois's line from forth of France,
And beate proud Burbon to his native home,
That basely seekes to joyne with such a King,
Whose murderous thoughts will be his overthrow.
Hee wild the Governour of Orleance in his name,
That I with speed should have beene put to death.
But thats prevented, for to end his life,
And all those traitors to the Church of Rome,
That durst attempt to murder noble Guise.

Enter the Frier.

FRIER. My Lord, I come to bring you newes, that your brother
the Cardinall of Loraine by the Kings consent is lately strangled
unto death.

DUMAINE. My brother Cardenall slaine and I alive?
O wordes of power to kill a thousand men.
Come let us away and leavy men,
Tis warre that must asswage the tyrantes pride.

FRIER. My Lord, heare me but speak.
I am a Frier of the order