Christopher Marlowe - The Ma**acre at Paris SCENE 18. lyrics

Enter the King of Navarre reading of a letter, and Bartus. Navarre. My Lord, I am advertised from France, That the Guise hath taken armes against the King, And that Paris is revolted from his grace. Bartus. Then hath your grace fit oportunitie, To shew your love unto the King of France: Offering him aide against his enemies, Which cannot but be thankfully receiv'd. Navarre. Bartus, it shall be so, poast then to Fraunce, And there salute his highnesse in our name, Assure him all the aide we can provide, Against the Guisians and their complices. Bartus be gone, commend me to his grace, And tell him ere it be long, Ile visite him. Bartus. I will my Lord. Exit. Navarre. Pleshe. Enter Pleshe. Pleshe. My Lord. Navarre. Pleshe, goe muster up our men with speed, And let them march away to France amaine: For we must aide the King against the Guise. Be gone I say, tis time that we were there. Pleshe. I goe my Lord. Exit. Navarre. That wicked Guise I feare me much will be, The wine of that famous Realme of France: For his aspiring thoughts aime at the crowne, He takes his vantage on Religion, To plant the Pope and popelings in the Realme, And binde it wholy to the Sea of Rome: But if that God doe prosper mine attempts, And send us safely to arrive in France: Wee'l beat him back, and drive him to his d**h, That basely seekes the wine of his Realme. Exit.