_Henry._ Nay, he was king, and countermanded me: But now I will be king, and rule myself, And make the Guisians stoop that are alive. _Cath._ I cannot speak for grief.--When thou wast born, I would that I had murdered thee, my son! My son? thou art a changeling, not my son: I curse thee, and exclaim thee miscreant, Traitor to God and to the realm of France! _Henry._ Cry out, exclaim, howl till thy throat be hoarse! The Guise is slain, and I rejoice therefore: 150 And now will I to arms.--Come, Epernoun, And let her grieve her heart out, if she will. [_Exit with_ EPERNOUN. _Cath._. Away! leave me alone to meditate. [_Exeunt_ Attendants. Sweet Guise, would he had died, so thou wert here! To whom shall I bewray my secrets now, Or who will help to build religion? The Protestants will glory and insult; Wicked Navarre will get the crown of France; The Popedom cannot stand; all goes to wreck; And all for thee, my Guise! What may I do? 160 But sorrow seize upon my toiling soul! For, since the Guise is dead, I will not live. [_Exit._ SCENE XXII. _Enter_[423] _two_ Murderers, _dragging in the_ CARDINAL. _Card._ Murder me not; I am a cardinal. _First Murd._ Wert thou the Pope thou might'st not scape from us. _Card._ What, will you file your hands with churchmen's blood? _Sec. Murd._ Shed your blood! O Lord, no! for we intend to strangle you. _Card._ Then there is no remedy, but I must die? _First Murd._ No remedy; therefore prepare yourself. _Card._ Yet lives my brother Duke Dumaine, and many mo, To revenge our deaths upon that cursèd king; Upon whose heart may all the Furies gripe, 10 And with their paws drench his black soul in hell! _First Murd._ Yours, my Lord Cardinal, you should have said.-- [_They strangle him._ So, pluck amain: He is hard-hearted; therefore pull with violence. Come, take him away. [_Exeunt with the body._ SCENE XXIII. _Enter_[424] DUMAINE, _reading a letter; with others._