Massacre at Paris by Christopher Marlowe
page 9 of 75 (12%)
page 9 of 75 (12%)
![]() | ![]() |
|
Exit Souldier.
GUISE. Now Guise, begin those deepe ingendred thoughts To burst abroad, those never dying flames, Which cannot be extinguisht but by bloud. Oft have I leveld, and at last have learnd, That perill is the cheefest way to happines, And resolution honors fairest aime. What glory is there in a common good, That hanges for every peasant to atchive? That like I best that flyes beyond my reach. Set me to scale the high Peramides, And thereon set the Diadem of Fraunce, Ile either rend it with my nayles to naught, Or mount the top with my aspiring winges, Although my downfall be the deepest hell. For this, I wake, when others think I sleepe, For this, I waite, that scorn attendance else: For this, my quenchles thirst whereon I builde, Hath often pleaded kindred to the King. For this, this head, this heart, this hand and sworde, Contrive, imagine and fully execute Matters of importe, aimed at by many, Yet understoode by none. For this, hath heaven engendred me of earth, For this, the earth sustaines my bodies weight, And with this wait Ile counterpoise a Crowne, Or with seditions weary all the worlde: For this, from Spaine the stately Catholic Sends Indian golde to coyne me French ecues: |
|