THE MASSACRE AT PARIS
A monologue from the
play by Christopher
Marlowe
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NOTE: This monologue is reprinted
from Masterpieces of the English Drama. Ed. William Lyon
Phelps. New York: American Book Company, 1912. |
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- DUKE OF GUISE: Now, Guise, begin those deep-engender'd
thoughts
- To burst abroad those never-dying flames
- Which cannot be extinguished but by blood.
- Oft have I levell'd, and at last have learn'd
- That peril is the chiefest way to happiness,
- And resolution honour's fairest aim.
- What glory is there in a common good,
- That hangs for every peasant to achieve?
- That like I best, that flies beyond my reach.
- Set me to scale the high Pyramides,
- And thereon set the diadem of France;
- I'll either rend it with my nails to naught,
- Or mount the top with my aspiring wings,
- Although my downfall be the deepest hell.
- For this I wake, when others think I sleep;
- For this I wait, that scorn attendance else;
- For this, my quenchless thirst, whereon I build,
- Hath often pleaded kindred to the king;
- For this, this head, this heart, this hand, and sword,
- Contrives, imagines, and fully executes,
- Matters of import aimed at by many,
- Yet understood by none;
- For this, hath heaven engender'd me of earth;
- For this, this earth sustains my body's weight,
- And with this weight I'll counterpoise a crown,
- Or with seditions weary all the world;
- For this, from Spain the stately Catholics
- Send Indian gold to coin me French ecues;
- For this, have I a largess from the Pope,
- A pension, and a dispensation too;
- And by that privilege to work upon,
- My policy hath fram'd religion.
- Religion! O Diabole!
- Fie, I am asham'd, however that I seem,
- To think a word of such a simple sound,
- Of so great matter should be made the ground!
- The gentle king, whose pleasure uncontroll'd
- Weakeneth his body, and will waste his realm,
- If I repair not what he ruinates,--
- Him, as a child, I daily win with words,
- So that for proof he barely bears the name;
- I execute, and he sustains the blame.
- The Mother-Queen works wonders for my sake,
- And in my love entombs the hope of France,
- Rifling the bowels of her treasury,
- To supply my wants and necessity.
- Paris hath full five hundred colleges,
- As monasteries, priories, abbeys, and halls,
- Wherein are thirty thousand able men,
- Besides a thousand sturdy student Catholics;
- And more,--of my knowledge, in one cloister keep
- Five hundred fat Franciscan friars and priests:
- All this, and more, if more may be compris'd,
- To bring the will of our desires to end.
- Then, Guise,
- Since thou hast all the cards within thy hands,
- To shuffle or cut, take this as surest thing,
- That, right or wrong, thou deal thyself a king.
MORE MONOLOGUES BY CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE |
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