stay:    Come Mother, Let us goe to honor this solemnitie. QUEENE MOTHER. Which Ile desolve with bloud and crueltie.         [Aside.]          Exit [Charles] the King, Queene Mother, and [Margaret]         the Queene of Navar [with others], and manet Navar, the Prince of Condy, and the Lord high Admirall. NAVARRE. Prince Condy and my good Lord Admiral, Now Guise may storme but does us little hurt:    Having the King, Queene Mother on our side, To stop the mallice of his envious heart, That seekes to murder all the Protestants:    Have you not heard of late how he decreed, If that the King had given consent thereto, That all the protestants that are in Paris,    Should have been murdered the other night? ADMIRALL. My Lord I mervaile that th'aspiring Guise Dares once adventure without the Kings assent, To meddle or attempt such dangerous things. CONDY. My Lord you need not mervaile at the Guise, For what he doth the Pope will ratifie:    In murder, mischeefe, or in tiranny. NAVARRE. But he that sits and rules above the clowdes, Doth heare and see the praiers of the just:    And will revenge the bloud of innocents, That Guise hath slaine by treason of his heart, And brought by murder to their timeles ends. ADMIRALL. My Lord, but did you mark the Cardinall The Guises brother, and the Duke Dumain:    How they did storme at these your nuptiall rites, Because the house of Burbon now comes in, And joynes your lineage to the crowne of France? NAVARRE. And thats the cause that Guise so frowns at us, And beates his braines to catch us in his trap, Which he hath pitcht within his deadly toyle. Come my Lords lets go to the Church and pray, That God may still defend the right of France:    And make his Gospel flourish in this land. Exeunt. 

  

       [Scene ii]     

         Enter the Duke of Guise. GUISE. If ever Hymen lowr'd at marriage rites, And had his alters decks with duskie lightes:    If ever sunne stainde heaven with bloudy clowdes, And made it look with terrour on the worlde:    If ever day were turnde to ugly night, And night made semblance of the hue of hell, This day, this houre, this fatall night, Shall fully shew the fury of them all. Apothecarie.—          Enter the Pothecarie. POTHECARIE. My Lord. GUISE. Now shall I prove and guerdon to the ful, The love thou bear'st unto the house of Guise:    Where are those perfumed gloves which late I sent To be poysoned, hast thou done them? speake, Will every savour breed a pangue of death? POTHECARIE. See where they be my 

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