Monologue

Guise Monologue from Massacre at Paris

From Massacre at Paris by Christopher Marlowe

male · dark · 1:09 min

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If ever Hymen lowr'd at marriage rites, And had his alters decks with duskie lightes: If ever sunne stainde heaven with bloudy clowdes, And made it look with terrour on the worlde: If ever day were turnde to ugly night, And night made semblance of the hue of hell, This day, this houre, this fatall night, Shall fully shew the fury of them all. Apothecarie.-- Enter the Pothecarie. (POTHECARIE: My Lord.) Now shall I prove and guerdon to the ful, The love thou bear'st unto the house of Guise: Where are those perfumed gloves which late I sent To be poysoned, hast thou done them? speake, Will every savour breed a pangue of death? (POTHECARIE: See where they be my Lord, and he that smelles but to them, dyes.) Then thou remainest resolute.

About this piece

30s · anger · death · revenge · power · fate

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