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SCENE III. - Christopher Marlowe, The Works of Christopher Marlowe, vol. 2 [1593]

Edition used:

The Works of Christopher Marlowe, ed. A.H. Bullen (London: John C. Nimmo, 1885). Vol. 2.

Part of: The Works of Christopher Marlowe, 3 vols.

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SCENE III.

Enter theKingofNavarre,2QueenMargaret, theOldQueenofNavarre, thePrinceofCondè, and theAdmiral; they are met by the Apothecary with the gloves, which he gives to theOldQueen.

Apoth.

  • Madam,
  • I beseech your grace to accept this simple gift.

Old Q. of Nav.

  • Thanks, my good friend. Hold, take thou this reward.
  • [Gives a purse.

Apoth.

  • I humbly thank your majesty.
  • [Exit.

Old Q. of Nav.

  • Methinks the gloves have a very strong perfume,
  • The scent whereof doth make my head to ache.

Nav.

  • Doth not your grace know the man that gave them you?

Old Q. of Nav.

  • Not well; but do remember such a man.

Adm.

  • Your grace was ill-advised to take them, then,
  • Considering of these dangerous times.

    10

Old Q. of Nav.

  • Help, son Navarre! I am poisoned!

Mar.

  • The heavens forbid your highness such mishap!

Nav.

  • The late suspicion of the Duke of Guise
  • Might well have moved your highness to beware
  • How you did meddle with such dangerous gifts.

Mar.

  • Too late it is, my lord, if that be true,
  • To blame her highness; but I hope it be

Old Q. of Nav.

  • O no, sweet Margaret! the fatal poison
  • Works within my head'; my brain-pan breaks;

    20

  • My heart doth faint; I die!
  • [Dies.

Nav.

  • My mother poisoned here before my face!
  • O gracious God, what times are these!
  • O grant, sweet God, my days may end with hers,
  • That I with her may die and live again!

Mar.

  • Let not this heavy chance, my dearest lord
  • (For whose effects my soul is massacrèd),
  • Infect thy gracious breast with fresh supply
  • To aggravate our sudden misery.

Adm.

  • Come, my lords, let us bear her body hence,

    30

  • And see it honoured with just solemnity.
  • [As they are going out, the Soldier dischargeth his musket at theAdmiral.

Con.

  • What, are you hurt, my Lord High Admiral?

Adm.

  • Ay, my good lord, shot through the arm.

Nav.

  • We1 are betrayed come, my lords,
  • And let us Go tell the king of this.”

Adm.

  • These are
  • The cursèd Guisians, that do seek our death.
  • O fatal was this marriage to us all!
  • [Exeunt, bearing out the body of theOldQueenofNavarre.

[2]Scene: a street.

[1]Cunningham arranges ll. 34-5 thus:—

  • “We are betrayed! Come, my lords, and let us
  • Go tell the king of this.”