ACT II
SCENE I.—ALINGTON CASTLE.
SIR THOMAS WYATT. I do not hear from Carew or the DukeOf Suffolk, and till then I should not move.The Duke hath gone to Leicester; Carew stirsIn Devon: that fine porcelain Courtenay,Save that he fears he might be crack'd in using,(I have known a semi-madman in my timeSo fancy-ridd'n) should be in Devon too.EnterWILLIAM.News abroad, William?WILLIAM. None so new, Sir Thomas, and none so old, Sir Thomas. No newnews that Philip comes to wed Mary, no old news that all men hate it.Old Sir Thomas would have hated it. The bells are ringing atMaidstone. Doesn't your worship hear?WYATT. Ay, for the Saints are come to reign again.Most like it is a Saint's-day. There's no callAs yet for me; so in this pause, beforeThe mine be fired, it were a pious workTo string my father's sonnets, left aboutLike loosely-scatter'd jewels, in fair order,And head them with a lamer rhyme of mine,To grace his memory.WILLIAM. Ay, why not, Sir Thomas? He was a fine courtier, he; QueenAnne loved him. All the women loved him. I loved him, I was in Spainwith him. I couldn't eat in Spain, I couldn't sleep in Spain. I hateSpain, Sir Thomas.WYATT. But thou could'st drink in Spain if I remember.WILLIAM. Sir Thomas, we may grant the wine. Old Sir Thomas alwaysgranted the wine.WYATT. Hand me the casket with my father's sonnets.WILLIAM. Ay—sonnets—a fine courtier of the old Court, old SirThomas. [Exit.WYATT. Courtier of many courts, he loved the moreHis own gray towers, plain life and letter'd peace,To read and rhyme in solitary fields,The lark above, the nightingale below,And answer them in song. The sire begetsNot half his likeness in the son. I failWhere he was fullest: yet—to write it down.[He writes.Re-enterWILLIAM.WILLIAM. Thereisnews, thereisnews, and no call forsonnet-sorting now, nor for sonnet-making either, but ten thousandmen on Penenden Heath all calling after your worship, and yourworship's name heard into Maidstone market, and your worship the firstman in Kent and Christendom, for the Queen's down, and the world's up,and your worship a-top of it.WYATT. Inverted Aesop—mountain out of mouse.Say for ten thousand ten—and pothouse knaves,Brain-dizzied with a draught of morning ale.EnterANTONY KNYVETT.WILLIAM. Here's Antony Knyvett.KNYVETT. Look you, Master Wyatt,Tear up that woman's work there.WYATT. No; not these,Dumb children of my father, that will speakWhen I and thou and all rebellions lieDead bodies without voice. Song flies you knowFor ages.KNYVETT. Tut, your sonnet's a flying ant,Wing'd for a moment.WYATT. Well, for mine own work,[Tearing the paper.It lies there in six pieces at your feet;For all that I can carry it in my head.KNYVETT. If you can carry your head upon your shoulders.WYATT. I fear you come to carry it off my shoulders,And sonnet-making's safer.KNYVETT. Why, good Lord,Write you as many sonnets as you will.Ay, but not now; what, have you eyes, ears, brains?This Philip and the black-faced swarms of Spain,The hardest, cruellest people in the world,Come locusting upon us, eat us up,Confiscate lands, goods, money—Wyatt, Wyatt,Wake, or the stout old island will becomeA rotten limb of Spain. They roar for youOn Penenden Heath, a thousand of them—more—All arm'd, waiting a leader; there's no gloryLike his who saves his country: and you sitSing-songing here; but, if I'm any judge,By God, you are as poor a poet, Wyatt,As a good soldier.WYATT. You as poor a criticAs an honest friend: you stroke me on one cheek,Buffet the other. Come, you bluster, Antony!You know I know all this. I must not moveUntil I hear from Carew and the Duke.I fear the mine is fired before the time.KNYVETT (showing a paper).But here's some Hebrew. Faith, I half forgot it.Look; can you make it English? A strange youthSuddenly thrust it on me, whisper'd, 'Wyatt,'And whisking round a corner, show'd his backBefore I read his face.WYATT. Ha! Courtenay's cipher. [Reads.'Sir Peter Carew fled to France: it is thought the Duke will be taken.I am with you still; but, for appearance sake, stay with the Queen.Gardiner knows, but the Council are all at odds, and the Queen hath noforce for resistance. Move, if you move, at once.'Is Peter Carew fled? Is the Duke taken?Down scabbard, and out sword! and let RebellionRoar till throne rock, and crown fall. No; not that;But we will teach Queen Mary how to reign.Who are those that shout below there?KNYVETT. Why, some fiftyThat follow'd me from Penenden Heath in hopeTo hear you speak.WYATT. Open the window, Knyvett;The mine is fired, and I will speak to them.Men of Kent; England of England; you that have kept your old customsupright, while all the rest of England bow'd theirs to the Norman, thecause that hath brought us together is not the cause of a county or ashire, but of this England, in whose crown our Kent is the fairestjewel. Philip shall not wed Mary; and ye have called me to be yourleader. I know Spain. I have been there with my father; I have seenthem in their own land; have marked the haughtiness of their nobles;the cruelty of their priests. If this man marry our Queen, howeverthe Council and the Commons may fence round his power with restriction,he will be King, King of England, my masters; and the Queen, and thelaws, and the people, his slaves. What? shall we have Spain on thethrone and in the parliament; Spain in the pulpit and on the law-bench;Spain in all the great offices of state; Spain in our ships, in ourforts, in our houses, in our beds?CROWD. No! no! no Spain!WILLIAM. No Spain in our beds—that were worse than all. I have beenthere with old Sir Thomas, and the beds I know. I hate Spain.A PEASANT. But, Sir Thomas, must we levy war against the Queen'sGrace?WYATT. No, my friend; warforthe Queen's Grace—to save her fromherself and Philip—war against Spain. And think not we shall bealone—thousands will flock to us. The Council, the Court itself, ison our side. The Lord Chancellor himself is on our side. The King ofFrance is with us; the King of Denmark is with us; the world is withus—war against Spain! And if we move not now, yet it will be knownthat we have moved; and if Philip come to be King, O, my God! therope, the rack, the thumbscrew, the stake, the fire. If we move notnow, Spain moves, bribes our nobles with her gold, and creeps, creepssnake-like about our legs till we cannot move at all; and ye know, mymasters, that wherever Spain hath ruled she hath wither'd all beneathher. Look at the New World—a paradise made hell; the red man, thatgood helpless creature, starved, maim'd, flogg'd, flay'd, burn'd,boil'd, buried alive, worried by dogs; and here, nearer home, theNetherlands, Sicily, Naples, Lombardy. I say no more—only this, theirlot is yours. Forward to London with me! forward to London! If ye loveyour liberties or your skins, forward to London!CROWD. Forward to London! A Wyatt! a Wyatt!WYATT. But first to Rochester, to take the gunsFrom out the vessels lying in the river.Then on.A PEASANT. Ay, but I fear we be too few, Sir Thomas.WYATT. Not many yet. The world as yet, my friend,Is not half-waked; but every parish towerShall clang and clash alarum as we pass,And pour along the land, and swoll'n and fedWith indraughts and side-currents, in full forceRoll upon London.CROWD. A Wyatt! a Wyatt! Forward!KNYVETT. Wyatt, shall we proclaim Elizabeth?WYATT. I'll think upon it, Knyvett.KNYVETT. Or Lady Jane?WYATT. No, poor soul; no.Ah, gray old castle of Alington, green fieldBeside the brimming Medway, it may chanceThat I shall never look upon you more.KNYVETT. Come, now, you're sonnetting again.WYATT. Not I.I'll have my head set higher in the state;Or—if the Lord God will it—on the stake.[Exeunt.
SCENE II.—GUILDHALL.SIR THOMAS WHITE (The Lord Mayor), LORD WILLIAM HOWARD, SIR RALPHBAGENHALL, ALDERMENandCITIZENS.
WHITE. I trust the Queen comes hither with her guards.HOWARD. Ay, all in arms.[Several of the citizens move hastily out of the hall.Why do they hurry out there?WHITE. My Lord, cut out the rotten from your apple,Your apple eats the better. Let them go.They go like those old Pharisees in JohnConvicted by their conscience, arrant cowards,Or tamperers with that treason out of Kent.When will her Grace be here?HOWARD. In some few minutes.She will address your guilds and companies.I have striven in vain to raise a man for her.But help her in this exigency, makeYour city loyal, and be the mightiest manThis day in England.WHITE. I am Thomas White.Few things have fail'd to which I set my will.I do my most and best.HOWARD. You know that afterThe Captain Brett, who went with your train bandsTo fight with Wyatt, had gone over to himWith all his men, the Queen in that distressSent Cornwallis and Hastings to the traitor,Feigning to treat with him about her marriage—Know too what Wyatt said.WHITE. He'd sooner be,While this same marriage question was being argued,Trusted than trust—the scoundrel—and demandedPossession of her person and the Tower.HOWARD. And four of her poor Council too, my Lord,As hostages.WHITE. I know it. What do and sayYour Council at this hour?HOWARD. I will trust you.We fling ourselves on you, my Lord. The Council,The Parliament as well, are troubled waters;And yet like waters of the fen they know notWhich way to flow. All hangs on her address,And upon you, Lord Mayor.WHITE. How look'd the cityWhen now you past it? Quiet?HOWARD. Like our Council,Your city is divided. As we past,Some hail'd, some hiss'd us. There were citizensStood each before his shut-up booth, and look'dAs grim and grave as from a funeral.And here a knot of ruffians all in rags,With execrating execrable eyes,Glared at the citizen. Here was a young mother,Her face on flame, her red hair all blown back,She shrilling 'Wyatt,' while the boy she heldMimick'd and piped her 'Wyatt,' as red as sheIn hair and cheek; and almost elbowing her,So close they stood, another, mute as death,And white as her own milk; her babe in armsHad felt the faltering of his mother's heart,And look'd as bloodless. Here a pious Catholic,Mumbling and mixing up in his scared prayersHeaven and earth's Maries; over his bow'd shoulderScowl'd that world-hated and world-hating beast,A haggard Anabaptist. Many such groups.The names of Wyatt, Elizabeth, Courtenay,Nay the Queen's right to reign—'fore God, the rogues—Were freely buzzed among them. So I sayYour city is divided, and I fearOne scruple, this or that way, of successWould turn it thither. Wherefore now the QueenIn this low pulse and palsy of the state,Bad me to tell you that she counts on youAnd on myself as her two hands; on you,In your own city, as her right, my Lord,For you are loyal.WHITE. Am I Thomas White?One word before she comes. Elizabeth—Her name is much abused among these traitors.Where is she? She is loved by all of us.I scarce have heart to mingle in this matter,If she should be mishandled.HOWARD. No; she shall not.The Queen had written her word to come to court:Methought I smelt out Renard in the letter,And fearing for her, sent a secret missive,Which told her to be sick. Happily or not,It found her sick indeed.WHITE. God send her well;Here comes her Royal Grace.EnterGUARDS, MARYandGARDINER. SIR THOMASWHITEleads her to a raised seat on the dais.WHITE. I, the Lord Mayor, and these our companiesAnd guilds of London, gathered here, beseechYour Highness to accept our lowliest thanksFor your most princely presence; and we prayThat we, your true and loyal citizens,From your own royal lips, at once may knowThe wherefore of this coming, and so learnYour royal will, and do it.—I, Lord MayorOf London, and our guilds and companies.MARY. In mine own person am I come to you,To tell you what indeed ye see and know,How traitorously these rebels out of KentHave made strong head against ourselves and you.They would not have me wed the Prince of Spain:That was their pretext—so they spake at first—But we sent divers of our Council to them,And by their answers to the question ask'd,It doth appear this marriage is the leastOf all their quarrel.They have betrayed the treason of their hearts:Seek to possess our person, hold our Tower,Place and displace our councillors, and useBoth us and them according as they will.Now what I am ye know right well—your Queen;To whom, when I was wedded to the realmAnd the realm's laws (the spousal ring whereof,Not ever to be laid aside, I wearUpon this finger), ye did promise fullAllegiance and obedience to the death.Ye know my father was the rightful heirOf England, and his right came down to meCorroborate by your acts of Parliament:And as ye were most loving unto him,So doubtless will ye show yourselves to me.Wherefore, ye will not brook that anyoneShould seize our person, occupy our state,More specially a traitor so presumptuousAs this same Wyatt, who hath tamper'd withA public ignorance, and, under colourOf such a cause as hath no colour, seeksTo bend the laws to his own will, and yieldFull scope to persons rascal and forlorn,To make free spoil and havock of your goods.Now as your Prince, I say,I, that was never mother, cannot tellHow mothers love their children; yet, methinks,A prince as naturally may love his peopleAs these their children; and be sure your QueenSo loves you, and so loving, needs must deemThis love by you return'd as heartily;And thro' this common knot and bond of love,Doubt not they will be speedily overthrown.As to this marriage, ye shall understandWe made thereto no treaty of ourselves,And set no foot theretoward unadvisedOf all our Privy Council; furthermore,This marriage had the assent of those to whomThe king, my father, did commit his trust;Who not alone esteem'd it honourable,But for the wealth and glory of our realm,And all our loving subjects, most expedient.As to myself,I am not so set on wedlock as to chooseBut where I list, nor yet so amorousThat I must needs be husbanded; I thank God,I have lived a virgin, and I noway doubtBut that with God's grace, I can live so still.Yet if it might please God that I should leaveSome fruit of mine own body after me,To be your king, ye would rejoice thereat,And it would be your comfort, as I trust;And truly, if I either thought or knewThis marriage should bring loss or danger to you,My subjects, or impair in any wayThis royal state of England, I would neverConsent thereto, nor marry while I live;Moreover, if this marriage should not seem,Before our own High Court of Parliament,To be of rich advantage to our realm,We will refrain, and not alone from this,Likewise from any other, out of whichLooms the least chance of peril to our realm.Wherefore be bold, and with your lawful PrinceStand fast against our enemies and yours,And fear them not. I fear them not. My Lord,I leave Lord William Howard in your city,To guard and keep you whole and safe from allThe spoil and sackage aim'd at by these rebels,Who mouth and foam against the Prince of Spain.VOICES. Long live Queen Mary!Down with Wyatt!The Queen!WHITE. Three voices from our guilds and companies!You are shy and proud like Englishmen, my masters,And will not trust your voices. Understand:Your lawful Prince hath come to cast herselfOn loyal hearts and bosoms, hoped to fallInto the wide-spread arms of fealty,And finds you statues. Speak at once—and all!For whom?Our sovereign Lady by King Harry's will;The Queen of England—or the Kentish Squire?I know you loyal. Speak! in the name of God!The Queen of England or the rabble of Kent?The reeking dungfork master of the mace!Your havings wasted by the scythe and spade—Your rights and charters hobnail'd into slush—Your houses fired—your gutters bubbling blood—ACCLAMATION. No! No! The Queen! the Queen!WHITE. Your Highness hearsThis burst and bass of loyal harmony,And how we each and all of us abhorThe venomous, bestial, devilish revoltOf Thomas Wyatt. Hear us now make oathTo raise your Highness thirty thousand men,And arm and strike as with one hand, and brushThis Wyatt from our shoulders, like a fleaThat might have leapt upon us unawares.Swear with me, noble fellow-citizens, all,With all your trades, and guilds, and companies.CITIZENS. We swear!MARY. We thank your Lordship and your loyal city.[ExitMARYattended.WHITE. I trust this day, thro' God, I have saved the crown.FIRST ALDERMAN. Ay, so my Lord of Pembroke in commandOf all her force be safe; but there are doubts.SECOND ALDERMAN. I hear that Gardiner, coming with the Queen,And meeting Pembroke, bent to his saddle-bow,As if to win the man by flattering him.Ishe so safe to fight upon her side?FIRST ALDERMAN. If not, there's no man safe.WHITE. Yes, Thomas White.I am safe enough; no man need flatter me.SECOND ALDERMAN. Nay, no man need; but did you mark our Queen?The colour freely play'd into her face,And the half sight which makes her look so stern,Seem'd thro' that dim dilated world of hers,To read our faces; I have never seen herSo queenly or so goodly.WHITE. Courage, sir,Thatmakes or man or woman look their goodliest.Die like the torn fox dumb, but never whineLike that poor heart, Northumberland, at the block.BAGENHALL. The man had children, and he whined for those.Methinks most men are but poor-hearted, elseShould we so doat on courage, were it commoner?The Queen stands up, and speaks for her own self;And all men cry, She is queenly, she is goodly.Yet she's no goodlier; tho' my Lord Mayor here,By his own rule, he hath been so bold to-day,Should look more goodly than the rest of us.WHITE. Goodly? I feel most goodly heart and hand,And strong to throw ten Wyatts and all Kent.Ha! ha! sir; but you jest; I love it: a jestIn time of danger shows the pulses even.Be merry! yet, Sir Ralph, you look but sad.I dare avouch you'd stand up for yourself,Tho' all the world should bay like winter wolves.BAGENHALL. Who knows? the man is proven by the hour.WHITE. The man should make the hour, not this the man;And Thomas White will prove this Thomas Wyatt,And he will prove an Iden to this Cade,And he will play the Walworth to this Wat;Come, sirs, we prate; hence all—gather your men—Myself must bustle. Wyatt comes to Southwark;I'll have the drawbridge hewn into the Thames,And see the citizens arm'd. Good day; good day.[ExitWHITE.BAGENHALL. One of much outdoor bluster.HOWARD. For all that,Most honest, brave, and skilful; and his wealthA fountain of perennial alms—his faultSo thoroughly to believe in his own self.BAGENHALL. Yet thoroughly to believe in one's own self,So one's own self be thorough, were to doGreat things, my Lord.HOWARD. It may be.BAGENHALL. I have heardOne of your Council fleer and jeer at him.HOWARD. The nursery-cocker'd child will jeer at aughtThat may seem strange beyond his nursery.The statesman that shall jeer and fleer at men,Makes enemies for himself and for his king;And if he jeer not seeing the true manBehind his folly, he is thrice the fool;And if he see the man and still will jeer,He is child and fool, and traitor to the State.Who is he? let me shun him.BAGENHALL. Nay, my Lord,He is damn'd enough already.HOWARD. I must setThe guard at Ludgate. Fare you well, Sir Ralph.BAGENHALL. 'Who knows?' I am for England. But who knows,That knows the Queen, the Spaniard, and the Pope,Whether I be for Wyatt, or the Queen?[Exeunt.
SCENE III.—LONDON BRIDGE.
EnterSIR THOMAS WYATTandBRETT.WYATT. Brett, when the Duke of Norfolk moved against usThou cried'st 'A Wyatt!' and flying to our sideLeft his all bare, for which I love thee, Brett.Have for thine asking aught that I can give,For thro' thine help we are come to London Bridge;But how to cross it balks me. I fear we cannot.BRETT. Nay, hardly, save by boat, swimming, or wings.WYATT. Last night I climb'd into the gate-house, Brett,And scared the gray old porter and his wife.And then I crept along the gloom and sawThey had hewn the drawbridge down into the river.It roll'd as black as death; and that same tideWhich, coming with our coming, seem'd to smileAnd sparkle like our fortune as thou saidest,Ran sunless down, and moan'd against the piers.But o'er the chasm I saw Lord William HowardBy torchlight, and his guard; four guns gaped at me,Black, silent mouths: had Howard spied me thereAnd made them speak, as well he might have done,Their voice had left me none to tell you this.What shall we do?BRETT. On somehow. To go backWere to lose all.WYATT. On over London BridgeWe cannot: stay we cannot; there is ordnanceOn the White Tower and on the Devil's Tower,And pointed full at Southwark; we must roundBy Kingston Bridge.BRETT. Ten miles about.WYATT. Ev'n so.But I have notice from our partisansWithin the city that they will stand by usIf Ludgate can be reach'd by dawn to-morrow.Enter one ofWYATT'S MEN.MAN. Sir Thomas, I've found this paper; prayyour worship read it; I know not my letters; the oldpriests taught me nothing.WYATT (reads). 'Whosoever will apprehend the traitor Thomas Wyattshall have a hundred pounds for reward.'MAN. Is that it? That's a big lot of money.WYATT. Ay, ay, my friend; not read it? 'tis not writtenHalf plain enough. Give me a piece of paper![Writes 'THOMAS WYATT' large.There, any man can read that. [Sticks it in his cap.BRETT. But that's foolhardy.WYATT. No! boldness, which will give my followers boldness.EnterMANwith a prisoner.MAN. We found him, your worship, a plundering o' Bishop Winchester'shouse; he says he's a poor gentleman.WYATT. Gentleman! a thief! Go hang him. Shall we makeThose that we come to serve our sharpest foes?BRETT. Sir Thomas—WYATT. Hang him, I say.BRETT. Wyatt, but now you promised me a boon.WYATT. Ay, and I warrant this fine fellow's life.BRETT. Ev'n so; he was my neighbour once in Kent.He's poor enough, has drunk and gambled outAll that he had, and gentleman he was.We have been glad together; let him live.WYATT. He has gambled for his life, and lost, he hangs.No, no, my word's my word. Take thy poor gentleman!Gamble thyself at once out of my sight,Or I will dig thee with my dagger. Away!Women and children!Enter a Crowd ofWOMENandCHILDREN.FIRST WOMAN. O Sir Thomas, Sir Thomas, pray you go away, Sir Thomas,or you'll make the White Tower a black 'un for us this blessed day.He'll be the death on us; and you'll set the Divil's Tower a-spitting,and he'll smash all our bits o' things worse than Philip o' Spain.SECOND WOMAN. Don't ye now go to think that we be for Philip o' Spain.THIRD WOMAN. No, we know that ye be come to kill the Queen, and we'llpray for you all on our bended knees. But o' God's mercy don't ye killthe Queen here, Sir Thomas; look ye, here's little Dickon, and littleRobin, and little Jenny—though she's but a side-cousin—and all onour knees, we pray you to kill the Queen further off, Sir Thomas.WYATT. My friends, I have not come to kill the QueenOr here or there: I come to save you all,And I'll go further off.CROWD. Thanks, Sir Thomas, we be beholden to you, and we'll pray foryou on our bended knees till our lives' end.WYATT. Be happy, I am your friend. To Kingston, forward![Exeunt.
SCENE IV.—ROOM IN THE GATEHOUSE OF WESTMINSTER PALACE.MARY, ALICE, GARDINER, RENARD, LADIES.
GARDINER. Their cry is, Philip never shall be king.MARY. Lord Pembroke in command of all our forceWill front their cry and shatter them into dust.ALICE. Was not Lord Pembroke with Northumberland?O madam, if this Pembroke should be false?MARY. No, girl; most brave and loyal, brave and loyal.His breaking with Northumberland broke Northumberland.At the park gate he hovers with our guards.These Kentish ploughmen cannot break the guards.EnterMESSENGER.MESSENGER. Wyatt, your Grace, hath broken thro' the guardsAnd gone to Ludgate.GARDINER. Madam, I much fearThat all is lost; but we can save your Grace.The river still is free. I do beseech you,There yet is time, take boat and pass to Windsor.MARY. I pass to Windsor and I lose my crown.GARDINER. Pass, then, I pray your Highness, to the Tower.MARY. I shall but be their prisoner in the Tower.CRIESwithout. The traitor! treason! Pembroke!LADIES. Treason! treason!MARY. Peace.False to Northumberland, is he false to me?Bear witness, Renard, that I live and dieThe true and faithful bride of Philip—A soundOf feet and voices thickening hither—blows—Hark, there is battle at the palace gates,And I will out upon the gallery.LADIES. No, no, your Grace; see there the arrows flying.MARY. I am Harry's daughter, Tudor, and not fear.[Goes out on the gallery.The guards are all driven in, skulk into cornersLike rabbits to their holes. A gracious guardTruly; shame on them! they have shut the gates!EnterSIR ROBERT SOUTHWELL.SOUTHWELL. The porter, please your Grace, hath shut the gatesOn friend and foe. Your gentlemen-at-arms,If this be not your Grace's order, cryTo have the gates set wide again, and theyWith their good battleaxes will do you rightAgainst all traitors.MARY. They are the flower of England; set the gates wide.[ExitSOUTHWELL.EnterCOURTENAY.COURTENAY. All lost, all lost, all yielded! A barge, a barge!The Queen must to the Tower.MARY. Whence come you, sir?COURTENAY. From Charing Cross; the rebels broke us there,And I sped hither with what haste I mightTo save my royal cousin.MARY. Where is Pembroke?COURTENAY. I left him somewhere in the thick of it.MARY. Left him and fled; and thou that would'st be King,And hast nor heart nor honour. I myselfWill down into the battle and there bideThe upshot of my quarrel, or die with thoseThat are no cowards and no Courtenays.COURTENAY. I do not love your Grace should call me coward.Enter anotherMESSENGER.MESSENGER. Over, your Grace, all crush'd; the brave Lord WilliamThrust him from Ludgate, and the traitor flyingTo Temple Bar, there by Sir Maurice BerkeleyWas taken prisoner.MARY. To the Tower withhim!MESSENGER. 'Tis said he told Sir Maurice there was oneCognisant of this, and party thereunto,My Lord of Devon.MARY. To the Tower withhim!COURTENAY. O la, the Tower, the Tower, always the Tower,I shall grow into it—I shall be the Tower.MARY. Your Lordship may not have so long to wait. Remove him!COURTENAY. La, to whistle out my life,And carve my coat upon the walls again![ExitCOURTENAYguarded.MESSENGER. Also this Wyatt did confess the PrincessCognisant thereof, and party thereunto.MARY. What? whom—whom did you say?MESSENGER. Elizabeth,Your Royal sister.MARY. To the Tower withher!My foes are at my feet and I am Queen.[GARDINERand herLADIESkneel to her.GARDINER (rising).There let them lie, your foot-stool! (Aside.) Can I strikeElizabeth?—not now and save the lifeOf Devon: if I save him, he and hisAre bound to me—may strike hereafter. (Aloud.) Madam,What Wyatt said, or what they said he said,Cries of the moment and the street—MARY. He said it.GARDINER. Your courts of justice will determine that.RENARD (advancing).I trust by this your Highness will allowSome spice of wisdom in my telling you,When last we talk'd, that Philip would not comeTill Guildford Dudley and the Duke of Suffolk,And Lady Jane had left us.MARY. They shall die.RENARD. And your so loving sister?MARY. She shall die.My foes are at my feet, and Philip King.[Exeunt.
ACT III.
SCENE I.—THE CONDUIT IN GRACECHURCH,Painted with the Nine Worthies, among them King Henry VIII. holding abook, on it inscribed'Verbum Dei'.
EnterSIR RALPH BAGENHALLandSIR THOMAS STAFFORD.BAGENHALL. A hundred here and hundreds hang'd in Kent.The tigress had unsheath'd her nails at last,And Renard and the Chancellor sharpen'd them.In every London street a gibbet stood.They are down to-day. Here by this house was one;The traitor husband dangled at the door,And when the traitor wife came out for breadTo still the petty treason therewithin,Her cap would brush his heels.STAFFORD. It is Sir Ralph,And muttering to himself as heretofore.Sir, see you aught up yonder?BAGENHALL. I miss something.The tree that only bears dead fruit is gone.STAFFORD. What tree, sir?BAGENHALL. Well, the tree in Virgil, sir,That bears not its own apples.STAFFORD. What! the gallows?BAGENHALL. Sir, this dead fruit was ripening overmuch,And had to be removed lest living SpainShould sicken at dead England.STAFFORD. Not so dead,But that a shock may rouse her.BAGENHALL. I believeSir Thomas Stafford?STAFFORD. I am ill disguised.BAGENHALL. Well, are you not in peril here?STAFFORD. I think so.I came to feel the pulse of England, whetherIt beats hard at this marriage. Did you see it?BAGENHALL. Stafford, I am a sad man and a serious.Far liefer had I in my country hallBeen reading some old book, with mine old houndCouch'd at my hearth, and mine old flask of wineBeside me, than have seen it: yet I saw it.STAFFORD. Good, was it splendid?BAGENHALL. Ay, if Dukes, and Earls,And Counts, and sixty Spanish cavaliers,Some six or seven Bishops, diamonds, pearls,That royal commonplace too, cloth of gold,Could make it so.STAFFORD. And what was Mary's dress?BAGENHALL. Good faith, I was too sorry for the womanTo mark the dress. She wore red shoes!STAFFORD. Red shoes!BAGENHALL. Scarlet, as if her feet were wash'd in blood,As if she had waded in it.STAFFORD. Were your eyesSo bashful that you look'd no higher?BAGENHALL. A diamond,And Philip's gift, as proof of Philip's love,Who hath not any for any,—tho' a true one,Blazed false upon her heart.STAFFORD. But this proud Prince—BAGENHALL. Nay, he is King, you know, the King of Naples.The father ceded Naples, that the sonBeing a King, might wed a Queen—O heFlamed in brocade—white satin his trunk-hose,Inwrought with silver,—on his neck a collar,Gold, thick with diamonds; hanging down from thisThe Golden Fleece—and round his knee, misplaced,Our English Garter, studded with great emeralds,Rubies, I know not what. Have you had enoughOf all this gear?STAFFORD. Ay, since you hate the telling it.How look'd the Queen?BAGENHALL. No fairer for her jewels.And I could see that as the new-made coupleCame from the Minster, moving side by sideBeneath one canopy, ever and anonShe cast on him a vassal smile of love,Which Philip with a glance of some distaste,Or so methought, return'd. I may be wrong, sir.This marriage will not hold.STAFFORD. I think with you.The King of France will help to break it.BAGENHALL. France!We have once had half of France, and hurl'd our battlesInto the heart of Spain; but England nowIs but a ball chuck'd between France and Spain,His in whose hand she drops; Harry of BolingbrokeHad holpen Richard's tottering throne to stand,Could Harry have foreseen that all our noblesWould perish on the civil slaughter-field,And leave the people naked to the crown,And the crown naked to the people; the crownFemale, too! Sir, no woman's regimenCan save us. We are fallen, and as I think,Never to rise again.STAFFORD. You are too black-blooded.I'd make a move myself to hinder that:I know some lusty fellows there in France.BAGENHALL. You would but make us weaker, Thomas Stafford.Wyatt was a good soldier, yet he fail'd,And strengthen'd Philip.STAFFORD. Did not his last breathClear Courtenay and the Princess from the chargeOf being his co-rebels?BAGENHALL. Ay, but thenWhat such a one as Wyatt says is nothing:We have no men among us. The new LordsAre quieted with their sop of Abbeylands,And ev'n before the Queen's face Gardiner buys themWith Philip's gold. All greed, no faith, no courage!Why, ev'n the haughty prince, Northumberland,The leader of our Reformation, kneltAnd blubber'd like a lad, and on the scaffoldRecanted, and resold himself to Rome.STAFFORD. I swear you do your country wrong, Sir Ralph.I know a set of exiles over there,Dare-devils, that would eat fire and spit it outAt Philip's beard: they pillage Spain already.The French King winks at it. An hour will comeWhen they will sweep her from the seas. No men?Did not Lord Suffolk die like a true man?Is not Lord William Howard a true man?Yea, you yourself, altho' you are black-blooded:And I, by God, believe myself a man.Ay, even in the church there is a man—Cranmer.Fly would he not, when all men bad him fly.And what a letter he wrote against the Pope!There's a brave man, if any.BAGENHALL. Ay; if it hold.CROWD (coming on).God save their Graces!STAFFORD. Bagenhall, I seeThe Tudor green and white. (Trumpets.) They are coming now.And here's a crowd as thick as herring-shoals.BAGENHALL. Be limpets to this pillar, or we are tornDown the strong wave of brawlers.CROWD. God save their Graces![Procession of Trumpeters, Javelin-men, etc.; thenSpanish and Flemish Nobles intermingled.STAFFORD. Worth seeing, Bagenhall! These black dog-DonsGarb themselves bravely. Who's the long-face there,Looks very Spain of very Spain?BAGENHALL. The DukeOf Alva, an iron soldier.STAFFORD. And the Dutchman,Now laughing at some jest?BAGENHALL. William of Orange,William the Silent.STAFFORD. Why do they call him so?BAGENHALL. He keeps, they say, some secret that may costPhilip his life.STAFFORD. But then he looks so merry.BAGENHALL. I cannot tell you why they call him so.[TheKINGandQUEENpass, attended by Peers ofthe Realm, Officers of State, etc. Cannon shot off.CROWD. Philip and Mary, Philip and Mary!Long live the King and Queen, Philip and Mary!STAFFORD. They smile as if content with one another.BAGENHALL. A smile abroad is oft a scowl at home.[KINGandQUEENpass on. Procession.FIRST CITIZEN. I thought this Philip had been one of those blackdevils of Spain, but he hath a yellow beard.SECOND CITIZEN. Not red like Iscariot's.FIRST CITIZEN. Like a carrot's, as thou say'st, and English carrot'sbetter than Spanish licorice; but I thought he was a beast.THIRD CITIZEN. Certain I had heard that every Spaniard carries a taillike a devil under his trunk-hose.TAILOR. Ay, but see what trunk-hoses! Lord! they be fine; I neverstitch'd none such. They make amends for the tails.FOURTH CITIZEN. Tut! every Spanish priest will tell you that allEnglish heretics have tails.FIFTH CITIZEN. Death and the Devil—if he find I have one—FOURTH CITIZEN. Lo! thou hast call'd them up! here they come—a palehorse for Death and Gardiner for the Devil.EnterGARDINER(turning back from the procession).GARDINER. Knave, wilt thou wear thy cap before the Queen?MAN. My Lord, I stand so squeezed among the crowdI cannot lift my hands unto my head.GARDINER. Knock off his cap there, some of you about him!See there be others that can use their hands.Thou art one of Wyatt's men?MAN. No, my Lord, no.GARDINER. Thy name, thou knave?MAN. I am nobody, my Lord.GARDINER (shouting).God's passion! knave, thy name?MAN. I have ears to hear.GARDINER. Ay, rascal, if I leave thee ears to hear.Find out his name and bring it me (toATTENDANT).ATTENDANT. Ay, my Lord.GARDINER. Knave, thou shalt lose thine ears and find thy tongue,And shalt be thankful if I leave thee that.[Coming before the Conduit.The conduit painted—the nine worthies—ay!But then what's here? King Harry with a scroll.Ha—Verbum Dei—verbum—word of God!God's passion! do you know the knave that painted it?ATTENDANT. I do, my Lord.GARDINER. Tell him to paint it out,And put some fresh device in lieu of it—A pair of gloves, a pair of gloves, sir; ha?There is no heresy there.ATTENDANT. I will, my Lord;The man shall paint a pair of gloves. I am sure(Knowing the man) he wrought it ignorantly,And not from any malice.GARDINER. Word of GodIn English! over this the brainless loonsThat cannot spell Esaias from St. Paul,Make themselves drunk and mad, fly out and flareInto rebellions. I'll have their bibles burnt.The bible is the priest's. Ay! fellow, what!Stand staring at me! shout, you gaping rogue!MAN. I have, my Lord, shouted till I am hoarse.GARDINER. What hast thou shouted, knave?MAN. Long live Queen Mary!GARDINER. Knave, there be two. There be both King and Queen,Philip and Mary. Shout!MAN. Nay, but, my Lord,The Queen comes first, Mary and Philip.GARDINER. Shout, then,Mary and Philip!MAN. Mary and Philip!GARDINER. Now,Thou hast shouted for thy pleasure, shout for mine!Philip and Mary!MAN. Must it be so, my Lord?GARDINER. Ay, knave.MAN. Philip and Mary!GARDINER. I distrust thee.Thine is a half voice and a lean assent.What is thy name?MAN. Sanders.GARDINER. What else?MAN. Zerubbabel.GARDINER. Where dost thou live?MAN. In Cornhill.GARDINER. Where, knave, where?MAN. Sign of the Talbot.GARDINER. Come to me to-morrow.—Rascal!—this land is like a hill of fire,One crater opens when another shuts.But so I get the laws against the heretic,Spite of Lord Paget and Lord William Howard,And others of our Parliament, revived,I will show fire on my side—stake and fire—Sharp work and short. The knaves are easily cow'd.Follow their Majesties.[Exit. The crowd following.BAGENHALL. As proud as Becket.STAFFORD. You would not have him murder'd as Becket was?BAGENHALL. No—murder fathers murder: but I sayThere is no man—there was one woman with us—It was a sin to love her married, deadI cannot choose but love her.STAFFORD. Lady Jane?CROWD (going off).God save their Graces!STAFFORD. Did you see her die?BAGENHALL. No, no; her innocent blood had blinded me.You call me too black-blooded—true enoughHer dark dead blood is in my heart with mine.If ever I cry out against the PopeHer dark dead blood that ever moves with mineWill stir the living tongue and make the cry.STAFFORD. Yet doubtless you can tell me how she died?BAGENHALL. Seventeen—and knew eight languages—in musicPeerless—her needle perfect, and her learningBeyond the churchmen; yet so meek, so modest,So wife-like humble to the trivial boyMismatch'd with her for policy! I have heardShe would not take a last farewell of him,She fear'd it might unman him for his end.She could not be unmann'd—no, nor outwoman'd—Seventeen—a rose of grace!Girl never breathed to rival such a rose;Rose never blew that equall'd such a bud.STAFFORD. Pray you go on.BAGENHALL. She came upon the scaffold,And said she was condemn'd to die for treason;She had but follow'd the device of thoseHer nearest kin: she thought they knew the laws.But for herself, she knew but little law,And nothing of the titles to the crown;She had no desire for that, and wrung her hands,And trusted God would save her thro' the bloodOf Jesus Christ alone.STAFFORD. Pray you go on.BAGENHALL. Then knelt and said the Misere Mei—But all in English, mark you; rose again,And, when the headsman pray'd to be forgiven,Said, 'You will give me my true crown at last,But do it quickly;' then all wept but she,Who changed not colour when she saw the block,But ask'd him, childlike: 'Will you take it offBefore I lay me down?' 'No, madam,' he said,Gasping; and when her innocent eyes were bound,She, with her poor blind hands feeling—'where is it?Where is it?'—You must fancy that which follow'd,If you have heart to do it!CROWD (in the distance).God save their Graces!STAFFORD. Their Graces, our disgraces! God confound them!Why, she's grown bloodier! when I last was here,This was against her conscience—would be murder!BAGENHALL. The 'Thou shall do no murder,' which God's handWrote on her conscience, Mary rubb'd out pale—She could not make it white—and over that,Traced in the blackest text of Hell—'Thou shall!'And sign'd it—Mary!STAFFORD. Philip and the PopeMust have sign'd too. I hear this Legate's comingTo bring us absolution from the Pope.The Lords and Commons will bow down before him—You are of the house? what will you do, Sir Ralph?BAGENHALL. And why should I be bolder than the rest,Or honester than all?STAFFORD. But, sir, if I—And oversea they say this state of yoursHath no more mortice than a tower of cards;And that a puff would do it—then if IAnd others made that move I touch'd upon,Back'd by the power of France, and landing here,Came with a sudden splendour, shout, and show,And dazzled men and deafen'd by some brightLoud venture, and the people so unquiet—And I the race of murder'd Buckingham—Not for myself, but for the kingdom—Sir,I trust that you would fight along with us.BAGENHALL. No; you would fling your lives into the gulf.STAFFORD. But if this Philip, as he's like to do,Left Mary a wife-widow here alone,Set up a viceroy, sent his myriads hitherTo seize upon the forts and fleet, and make usA Spanish province; would you not fight then?BAGENHALL. I think I should fight then.STAFFORD. I am sure of it.Hist! there's the face coming on here of oneWho knows me. I must leave you. Fare you well,You'll hear of me again.BAGENHALL. Upon the scaffold.[Exeunt.