SCENE XXIV.

_Drums and Trumpets. Enter_[426] KING HENRY, _the_ KING OF NAVARRE, EPERNOUN, BARTUS, PLESHÈ, Soldiers, _and_ Attendants.

_Henry._ Brother of Navarre, I sorrow much That ever I was prov'd your enemy, And that the sweet and princely mind you bear Was ever troubled with injurious wars. I vow, as I am lawful king of France, To recompense your reconcilèd love, With all the honours and affections That ever I vouchsaf'd my dearest friends.

_Nav._ It is enough if that Navarre may be Esteemèd faithful to the king of France, 10 Whose service he may still command till death.

_Henry._ Thanks to my kingly brother of Navarre. Then here we'll lie before Lutetia-walls,[427] Girting this strumpet city with our siege, Till, surfeiting with our afflicting arms, She cast her hateful stomach to the earth.

_Enter a_ Messenger.

_Mes._ An it please your majesty, here is a friar of the order of the Jacobins, sent from the President of Paris, that craves access unto your grace.

_Henry._ Let him come in. [_Exit_ Mess. 20

_Enter_ Friar, _with a letter._

_Eper._ I like not this friar's look: 'Twere not amiss, my lord, if he were search'd.

_Henry._ Sweet Epernoun, our friars are holy men. And will not offer violence to their king For all the wealth and treasure of the world.-- Friar, thou dost acknowledge me thy king?

_Fri._ I, my good lord, and will die therein.

_Henry._ Then come thou near, and tell what news thou bring'st.

_Fri._ My lord, The President of Paris greets your grace, 30 And sends his duty by these speedy lines, Humbly craving your gracious reply. [_Gives letter._

_Henry._ I'll read them, friar, and then I'll answer thee.

_Fri._ _Sancte Jacobe_,[428] now have mercy upon me!

[_Stabs the king with a knife, as he reads the letter; and then the king gets the knife, and kills him._

_Eper._ O my lord, let him live a while!

_Henry._ No, let the villain die, and feel in hell Just torments for his treachery.

_Nav._ What, is your highness hurt?

_Henry._ Yes, Navarre; but not to death, I hope.

_Nav._ God shield your grace from such a sudden death!-- 40 Go call a surgeon hither straight. [_Exit an_ Attendant.

_Henry._ What irreligious pagans' parts be these, Of such as hold them of the holy church! Take hence that damnèd villain from my sight. [Attendants _carry out the_ Friar's _body._ _Eper._ Ah, had your highness let him live, We might have punish'd him to his deserts!

_Henry._ Sweet Epernoun, all rebels under heaven Shall take example by his[429] punishment, How they bear arms against their sovereign.-- Go call the English agent hither straight: 50 [_Exit an_ Attendant. I'll send my sister England news of this, And give her warning of her treacherous foes.

_Enter a_ Surgeon.

_Nav._ Pleaseth your grace to let the surgeon search your wound?

_Henry._ The wound, I warrant ye, is deep, my lord.-- Search, surgeon, and resolve me what thou see'st. [_The_ Surgeon _searches the wound._

_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 antichristian kingdom falls: 60 These bloody hands shall tear his triple crown, And fire accursèd Rome about his ears; I'll fire his crazèd buildings, and enforce The papal towers to kiss the lowly[430] 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. 70

_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 damnèd villain were alive again, 79 That we might torture him with some new-found death!

_Bar._ He died a death too good: The devil of hell torture his wicked soul!

_Henry._ Ah, curse him not, sith he is dead!-- 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! 90

_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, 100 That it may keenly slice the Catholics. He loves me not [the most[431]] 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[432] to revenge his death, 110 As Rome, and all these popish prelates there, Shall curse the time that e'er Navarre was king, And ruled 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 TRAGEDY OF DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE.

_Dido_ was published in 1594, with the following title:--

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

_Actors._

_Jupiter._ _Ascanius._ _Ganimed._ _Dido._ _Venus._ _Anna._ _Cupid._ _Achates._ _Juno._ _Ilioneus._ _Mercurie, or_ _Iarbas._ _Hermes._ _Cloanthes._ _Æneas._ _Sergestus._

_At London, Printed, by the Widdowe Orwin, for Thomas Woodcocke, and are to be sold at his shop, in Paules Churchyeard, at the signe of the blacke Beare._ 1594. 4_to._

A copy of this edition is in the Bodleian Library; and I am indebted to my friend Mr. C. H. Firth for kindly comparing Dyce's text with the text of the Bodleian copy.

_PERSONS REPRESENTED._

JUPITER. GANYMEDE. HERMES. CUPID.

JUNO. VENUS.

ÆNEAS. ASCANIUS, his son. ACHATES. ILIONEUS. CLOANTHUS. SERGESTUS. Other Trojans. IARBAS. Carthaginian Lords.

DIDO. ANNA, her sister. Nurse.

THE TRAGEDY OF DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE.