The Massacre
Old Qu.
Thanks my good freend, holde take thou this reward.
Pothe.
I humbly thank your Majestie. Exit Po.
Old Qu.
Me thinkes the gloves have a very strong perfume,
The sent whereof doth make my head to ake.
Navar.
Doth not your grace know the man that gave them you?
Old Qu.
Not wel, but do remember such a man.
Ad.
Your grace was ill advisde to take them then,
Considering of these dangerous times.
Old Qu.
Help sonne Navarre I am poysoned.
Q. Mar.
The heavens forbid your highnes such mishap.
Navar.
The late suspition of the Duke of Guise,
Might well have moved your highnes to beware:
How you did meddle with such dangerous giftes.
Q. Mar.
Too late it is my Lord if that be true
To blame her highnes, but I hope it be
Only some naturall passion makes her sicke.
Old Qu.
O no, sweet Margret, the fatall poyson
Workes within my head, my brain pan breakes,
My heart doth faint, I dye. She dyes.
Navar.
My Mother poysoned heere before my face:
O gracious God, what times are these?
O graunt sweet God my daies may end with hers,
That I with her may dye and live againe.
Q. Mar.
Let not this heavy chaunce my dearest Lord,
For
