The Massacre
2.
Then pray to God, and aske forgivenes of the King.
Guise.
Trouble me not, I neare offended him.
Nor will I aske forgivenes of the King.
Oh that I have not power to stay my life,
Nor immortalitie to be reveng'd:
To dye by Pesantes, what a greefe is this?
Ah Sixtus, be reveng'd upon the King,
Philip and Parma, I am slaine for you:
Pope excommunicate, Philip depose,
The wicked branch of curst Valois his line.
Vive la messa, perish Hugonets,
Thus Cæsar did goe foorth, and thus he dyed. He dyes.
Enter Captaine of the Guarde.
Captaine.
My Lord, see where the Guise is slaine.
King.
Ah this sweet sight is phisick to my soule,
Goe fetch his sonne for to beholde his death:
Surchargde with guilt of thousand massacres:
Mounser of Loraine sinke away to hell,
And in remembrance of those bloudy broyles:
To
