SCENE II.—ROOM IN WHITEHALL PALACE.MARY.EnterPHILIPandCARDINAL POLE.
POLE. Ave Maria, gratia plena, Benedicta tu in mulieribus.MARY. Loyal and royal cousin, humblest thanks.Had you a pleasant voyage up the river?POLE. We had your royal barge, and that same chair,Or rather throne of purple, on the deck.Our silver cross sparkled before the prow,The ripples twinkled at their diamond-dance,The boats that follow'd, were as glowing-gayAs regal gardens; and your flocks of swans,As fair and white as angels; and your shoresWore in mine eyes the green of Paradise.My foreign friends, who dream'd us blanketedIn ever-closing fog, were much amazedTo find as fair a sun as might have flash'dUpon their lake of Garda, fire the Thames;Our voyage by sea was all but miracle;And here the river flowing from the sea,Not toward it (for they thought not of our tides),Seem'd as a happy miracle to make glide—In quiet—home your banish'd countryman.MARY. We heard that you were sick in Flanders, cousin.POLE. A dizziness.MARY. And how came you round again?POLE. The scarlet thread of Rahab saved her life;And mine, a little letting of the blood.MARY. Well? now?POLE. Ay, cousin, as the heathen giantHad but to touch the ground, his force return'd—Thus, after twenty years of banishment,Feeling my native land beneath my foot,I said thereto: 'Ah, native land of mine,Thou art much beholden to this foot of mine,That hastes with full commission from the PopeTo absolve thee from thy guilt of heresy.Thou hast disgraced me and attainted me,And mark'd me ev'n as Cain, and I returnAs Peter, but to bless thee: make me well.'Methinks the good land heard me, for to-dayMy heart beats twenty, when I see you, cousin.Ah, gentle cousin, since your Herod's death,How oft hath Peter knock'd at Mary's gate!And Mary would have risen and let him in,But, Mary, there were those within the houseWho would not have it.MARY. True, good cousin Pole;And there were also those without the houseWho would not have it.POLE. I believe so, cousin.State-policy and church-policy are conjoint,But Janus-faces looking diverse ways.I fear the Emperor much misvalued me.But all is well; 'twas ev'n the will of God,Who, waiting till the time had ripen'd, now,Makes me his mouth of holy greeting. 'Hail,Daughter of God, and saver of the faith.Sit benedictus fructus ventris tui!'MARY. Ah, heaven!POLE. Unwell, your Grace?MARY. No, cousin, happy—Happy to see you; never yet so happySince I was crown'd.POLE. Sweet cousin, you forgetThat long low minster where you gave your handTo this great Catholic King.PHILIP. Well said, Lord Legate.MARY. Nay, not well said; I thought of you, my liege,Ev'n as I spoke.PHILIP. Ay, Madam; my Lord PagetWaits to present our Council to the Legate.Sit down here, all; Madam, between us you.POLE. Lo, now you are enclosed with boards of cedar,Our little sister of the Song of Songs!You are doubly fenced and shielded sitting hereBetween the two most high-set thrones on earth,The Emperor's highness happily symboll'd byThe King your husband, the Pope's HolinessBy mine own self.MARY. True, cousin, I am happy.When will you that we summon both our housesTo take this absolution from your lips,And be regather'd to the Papal fold?POLE. In Britain's calendar the brightest dayBeheld our rough forefathers break their Gods,And clasp the faith in Christ; but after thatMight not St. Andrew's be her happiest day?MARY. Then these shall meet upon St. Andrew's day.EnterPAGET,who presents the Council. Dumb show.POLE. I am an old man wearied with my journey,Ev'n with my joy. Permit me to withdraw.To Lambeth?PHILIP. Ay, Lambeth has ousted Cranmer.It was not meet the heretic swine should liveIn Lambeth.MARY. There or anywhere, or at all.PHILIP. We have had it swept and garnish'd after him.POLE. Not for the seven devils to enter in?PHILIP. No, for we trust they parted in the swine.POLE. True, and I am the Angel of the Pope.Farewell, your Graces.PHILIP. Nay, not here—to me;I will go with you to the waterside.POLE. Not be my Charon to the counter side?PHILIP. No, my Lord Legate, the Lord Chancellor goes.POLE. And unto no dead world; but Lambeth palace,Henceforth a centre of the living faith.[ExeuntPHILIP, POLE, PAGET,etc.ManetMARY.MARY. He hath awaked! he hath awaked!He stirs within the darkness!Oh, Philip, husband! now thy love to mineWill cling more close, and those bleak manners thaw,That make me shamed and tongue-tied in my love.The second Prince of Peace—The great unborn defender of the Faith,Who will avenge me of mine enemies—He comes, and my star rises.The stormy Wyatts and Northumberlands,The proud ambitions of Elizabeth,And all her fieriest partisans—are paleBefore my star!The light of this new learning wanes and dies:The ghosts of Luther and Zuinglius fadeInto the deathless hell which is their doomBefore my star!His sceptre shall go forth from Ind to Ind!His sword shall hew the heretic peoples down!His faith shall clothe the world that will be his,Like universal air and sunshine! Open,Ye everlasting gates! The King is here!—My star, my son!EnterPHILIP, DUKE OF ALVA,etc.Oh, Philip, come with me;Good news have I to tell you, news to makeBoth of us happy—ay, the Kingdom too.Nay come with me—one moment!PHILIP (toALVA). More than that:There was one here of late—William the SilentThey call him—he is free enough in talk,But tells me nothing. You will be, we trust,Sometime the viceroy of those provinces—He must deserve his surname better.ALVA. Ay, sir;Inherit the Great Silence.PHILIP. True; the provincesAre hard to rule and must be hardly ruled;Most fruitful, yet, indeed, an empty rind,All hollow'd out with stinging heresies;And for their heresies, Alva, they will fight;You must break them or they break you.ALVA (proudly). The first.PHILIP. Good!Well, Madam, this new happiness of mine?[Exeunt.EnterTHREE PAGES.FIRST PAGE. News, mates! a miracle, a miracle! news!The bells must ring; Te Deums must be sung;The Queen hath felt the motion of her babe!SECOND PAGE. Ay; but see here!FIRST PAGE. See what?SECOND PAGE. This paper, Dickon.I found it fluttering at the palace gates:—'The Queen of England is delivered of a dead dog!'THIRD PAGE. These are the things that madden her. Fie upon it!FIRST PAGE. Ay; but I hear she hath a dropsy, lad,Or a high-dropsy, as the doctors call it.THIRD PAGE. Fie on her dropsy, so she have a dropsy!I know that she was ever sweet to me.FIRST PAGE. For thou and thine are Roman to the core.THIRD PAGE. So thou and thine must be. Take heed!FIRST PAGE. Not I,And whether this flash of news be false or true,So the wine run, and there be revelry,Content am I. Let all the steeples clash,Till the sun dance, as upon Easter Day.[Exeunt.
SCENE III.—GREAT HALL IN WHITEHALL.At the far end a dais. On this three chairs, two under one canopyforMARYandPHILIP,another on the right of these forPOLE.Under the dais onPOLE'Sside, ranged along the wall, sit all theSpiritual Peers, and along the wall opposite, all the Temporal. TheCommons on cross benches in front, a line of approach to the daisbetween them. In the foreground, SIR RALPH BAGENHALLand otherMembers of the Commons.
FIRST MEMBER. St. Andrew's day; sit close, sit close, we are friends.Is reconciled the word? the Pope again?It must be thus; and yet, cocksbody! how strangeThat Gardiner, once so one with all of usAgainst this foreign marriage, should have yieldedSo utterly!—strange! but stranger still that he,So fierce against the Headship of the Pope,Should play the second actor in this pageantThat brings him in; such a cameleon he!SECOND MEMBER. This Gardiner turn'd his coat in Henry's time;The serpent that hath slough'd will slough again.THIRD MEMBER. Tut, then we all are serpents.SECOND MEMBER. Speak for yourself.THIRD MEMBER. Ay, and for Gardiner! being English citizen,How should he bear a bridegroom out of Spain?The Queen would have him! being English churchmanHow should he bear the headship of the Pope?The Queen would have it! Statesmen that are wiseShape a necessity, as a sculptor clay,To their own model.SECOND MEMBER. Statesmen that are wiseTake truth herself for model. What say you?[ToSIR RALPH BAGENHALL.BAGENHALL. We talk and talk.FIRST MEMBER. Ay, and what use to talk?Philip's no sudden alien—the Queen's husband,He's here, and king, or will be—yet cocksbody!So hated here! I watch'd a hive of late;My seven-years' friend was with me, my young boy;Out crept a wasp, with half the swarm behind.'Philip!' says he. I had to cuff the rogueFor infant treason.THIRD MEMBER. But they say that bees,If any creeping life invade their hiveToo gross to be thrust out, will build him round,And bind him in from harming of their combs.And Philip by these articles is boundFrom stirring hand or foot to wrong the realm.SECOND MEMBER. By bonds of beeswax, like your creeping thing;But your wise bees had stung him first to death.THIRD MEMBER. Hush, hush!You wrong the Chancellor: the clauses addedTo that same treaty which the emperor sent usWere mainly Gardiner's: that no foreignerHold office in the household, fleet, forts, army;That if the Queen should die without a child,The bond between the kingdoms be dissolved;That Philip should not mix us any wayWith his French wars—SECOND MEMBER. Ay, ay, but what security,Good sir, for this, if Philip——THIRD MEMBER. Peace—the Queen, Philip, and Pole.[All rise, and stand.EnterMARY, PHILIP,andPOLE.[GARDINERconducts them to the three chairs of state.PHILIPsits on theQUEEN'Sleft, POLEon her right.GARDINER. Our short-lived sun, before his winter plunge,Laughs at the last red leaf, and Andrew's Day.MARY. Should not this day be held in after yearsMore solemn than of old?PHILIP. Madam, my wishEchoes your Majesty's.POLE. It shall be so.GARDINER. Mine echoes both your Graces'; (aside) but the Pope—Can we not have the Catholic church as wellWithout as with the Italian? if we cannot,Why then the Pope.My lords of the upper house,And ye, my masters, of the lower house,Do ye stand fast by that which ye resolved?VOICES. We do.GARDINER. And be you all one mind to supplicateThe Legate here for pardon, and acknowledgeThe primacy of the Pope?VOICES. We are all one mind.GARDINER. Then must I play the vassal to this Pole. [Aside.[He draws a paper from under his robes andpresents it to theKINGandQUEEN,who lookthrough it and return it to him; then ascendsa tribune, and reads.We, the Lords Spiritual and Temporal,And Commons here in Parliament assembled,Presenting the whole body of this realmOf England, and dominions of the same,Do make most humble suit unto your Majesties,In our own name and that of all the state,That by your gracious means and intercessionOur supplication be exhibitedTo the Lord Cardinal Pole, sent here as LegateFrom our most Holy Father Julius, Pope,And from the Apostolic see of Rome;And do declare our penitence and griefFor our long schism and disobedience,Either in making laws and ordinancesAgainst the Holy Father's primacy,Or else by doing or by speaking aughtWhich might impugn or prejudice the same;By this our supplication promising,As well for our own selves as all the realm,That now we be and ever shall be quick,Under and with your Majesties' authorities,To do to the utmost all that in us liesTowards the abrogation and repealOf all such laws and ordinances made;Whereon we humbly pray your Majesties,As persons undefiled with our offence,So to set forth this humble suit of oursThat we the rather by your intercessionMay from the Apostolic see obtain,Thro' this most reverend Father, absolution,And full release from danger of all censuresOf Holy Church that we be fall'n into,So that we may, as children penitent,Be once again received into the bosomAnd unity of Universal Church;And that this noble realm thro' after yearsMay in this unity and obedienceUnto the holy see and reigning PopeServe God and both your Majesties.VOICES. Amen.[All sit.[He again presents the petition to theKINGandQUEEN,who hand it reverentially toPOLE.POLE (sitting). This is the loveliest day that ever smiledOn England. All her breath should, incenselike,Rise to the heavens in grateful praise of HimWho now recalls her to His ancient fold.Lo! once again God to this realm hath givenA token of His more especial Grace;For as this people were the first of allThe islands call'd into the dawning churchOut of the dead, deep night of heathendom,So now are these the first whom God hath givenGrace to repent and sorrow for their schism;And if your penitence be not mockery,Oh how the blessed angels who rejoiceOver one saved do triumph at this hourIn the reborn salvation of a landSo noble. [A pause.For ourselves we do protestThat our commission is to heal, not harm;We come not to condemn, but reconcile;We come not to compel, but call again;We come not to destroy, but edify;Nor yet to question things already done;These are forgiven—matters of the past—And range with jetsam and with offal thrownInto the blind sea of forgetfulness. [A pause.Ye have reversed the attainder laid on usBy him who sack'd the house of God; and we,Amplier than any field on our poor earthCan render thanks in fruit for being sown,Do here and now repay you sixty-fold,A hundred, yea, a thousand thousand-fold,With heaven for earth.[Rising and stretching forth his hands. All kneel butSIR RALPH BAGENHALL,who rises and remains standing.The Lord who hath redeem'd usWith His own blood, and wash'd us from our sins,To purchase for Himself a stainless bride;He, whom the Father hath appointed HeadOf all his church, He by His mercy absolve you! [A pause.And we by that authority Apostolic,Given unto us, his Legate, by the Pope,Our Lord and Holy Father, Julius,God's Vicar and Vicegerent upon earth,Do here absolve you and deliver youAnd every one of you, and all the realmAnd its dominions from all heresy,All schism, and from all and every censure,Judgment, and pain accruing thereupon;And also we restore you to the bosomAnd unity of Universal Church.[Turning toGARDINER.Our letters of commission will declare this plainlier.[QUEENheard sobbing. Cries ofAmen! Amen!Some of theMembers embrace one another. All butSIR RALPH BAGENHALLpass out into the neighboring chapel, whence is heardthe Te Deum.BAGENHALL. We strove against the papacy from the first,In William's time, in our first Edward's time,And in my master Henry's time; but now,The unity of Universal Church,Mary would have it; and this Gardiner follows;The unity of Universal Hell,Philip would have it; and this Gardiner follows!A Parliament of imitative apes!Sheep at the gap which Gardiner takes, who notBelieves the Pope, nor any of them believe—These spaniel-Spaniard English of the time,Who rub their fawning noses in the dust,For that is Philip's gold-dust, and adoreThis Vicar of their Vicar. Would I had beenBorn Spaniard! I had held my head up then.I am ashamed that I am Bagenhall,English.EnterOFFICER.OFFICER. Sir Ralph Bagenhall!BAGENHALL. What of that?OFFICER. You were the one sole man in either houseWho stood upright when both the houses fell.BAGENHALL. The houses fell!OFFICER. I mean the houses kneltBefore the Legate.BAGENHALL. Do not scrimp your phrase,But stretch it wider; say when England fell.OFFICER. I say you were the one sole man who stood.BAGENHALL. I am the one sole man in either house,Perchance in England, loves her like a son.OFFICER. Well, you one man, because you stood upright,Her Grace the Queen commands you to the Tower.BAGENHALL. As traitor, or as heretic, or for what?OFFICER. If any man in any way would beThe one man, he shall be so to his cost.BAGENHALL. What! will she have my head?OFFICER. A round fine likelier.Your pardon. [Calling toATTENDANT.By the river to the Tower.[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.—WHITEHALL. A ROOM IN THE PALACE.MARY, GARDINER, POLE, PAGET, BONNER,etc.
MARY. The King and I, my Lords, now that all traitorsAgainst our royal state have lost the headsWherewith they plotted in their treasonous malice,Have talk'd together, and are well agreedThat those old statutes touching LollardismTo bring the heretic to the stake, should beNo longer a dead letter, but requicken'd.ONE OF THE COUNCIL. Why, what hath fluster'd Gardiner? how he rubsHis forelock!PAGET. I have changed a word with himIn coming, and may change a word again.GARDINER. Madam, your Highness is our sun, the KingAnd you together our two suns in one;And so the beams of both may shine upon us,The faith that seem'd to droop will feel your light,Lift head, and flourish; yet not light alone,There must be heat—there must be heat enoughTo scorch and wither heresy to the root.For what saith Christ? 'Compel them to come in.'And what saith Paul? 'I would they were cut offThat trouble you.' Let the dead letter live!Trace it in fire, that all the louts to whomTheir A B C is darkness, clowns and groomsMay read it! so you quash rebellion too,For heretic and traitor are all one:Two vipers of one breed—an amphisbaena,Each end a sting: Let the dead letter burn!PAGET. Yet there be some disloyal Catholics,And many heretics loyal; heretic throatsCried no God-bless-her to the Lady Jane,But shouted in Queen Mary. So there beSome traitor-heretic, there is axe and cord.To take the lives of others that are loyal,And by the churchman's pitiless doom of fire,Were but a thankless policy in the crown,Ay, and against itself; for there are many.MARY. If we could burn out heresy, my Lord Paget,We reck not tho' we lost this crown of England—Ay! tho' it were ten Englands!GARDINER. Right, your Grace.Paget, you are all for this poor life of ours,And care but little for the life to be.PAGET. I have some time, for curiousness, my LordWatch'd children playing attheirlife to be,And cruel at it, killing helpless flies;Such is our time—all times for aught I know.GARDINER. We kill the heretics that sting the soul—They, with right reason, flies that prick the flesh.PAGET. They had not reach'd right reason; little children!They kill'd but for their pleasure and the powerThey felt in killing.GARDINER. A spice of Satan, ha!Why, good! what then? granted!—we are fallen creatures;Look to your Bible, Paget! we are fallen.PAGET. I am but of the laity, my Lord Bishop,And may not read your Bible, yet I foundOne day, a wholesome scripture, 'Little children,Love one another.'GARDINER. Did you find a scripture,'I come not to bring peace but a sword'? The swordIs in her Grace's hand to smite with. Paget,You stand up here to fight for heresy,You are more than guess'd at as a heretic,And on the steep-up track of the true faithYour lapses are far seen.PAGET. The faultless Gardiner!MARY. You brawl beyond the question; speak, Lord Legate!POLE. Indeed, I cannot follow with your Grace:Rather would say—the shepherd doth not killThe sheep that wander from his flock, but sendsHis careful dog to bring them to the fold.Look to the Netherlands, wherein have beenSuch holocausts of heresy! to what end?For yet the faith is not established there.GARDINER. The end's not come.POLE. No—nor this way will come,Seeing there lie two ways to every end,A better and a worse—the worse is hereTo persecute, because to persecuteMakes a faith hated, and is furthermoreNo perfect witness of a perfect faithIn him who persecutes: when men are tostOn tides of strange opinion, and not sureOf their own selves, they are wroth with their own selves,And thence with others; then, who lights the faggot?Not the full faith, no, but the lurking doubt.Old Rome, that first made martyrs in the Church,Trembled for her own gods, for these were trembling—But when did our Rome tremble?PAGET. Did she notIn Henry's time and Edward's?POLE. What, my Lord!The Church on Peter's rock? never! I have seenA pine in Italy that cast its shadowAthwart a cataract; firm stood the pine—The cataract shook the shadow. To my mind,The cataract typed the headlong plunge and fallOf heresy to the pit: the pine was Rome.You see, my Lords,It was the shadow of the Church that trembled;Your church was but the shadow of a church,Wanting the Papal mitre.GARDINER (muttering). Here be tropes.POLE. And tropes are good to clothe a naked truth,And make it look more seemly.GARDINER. Tropes again!POLE. You are hard to please. Then without tropes, my Lord,An overmuch severeness, I repeat,When faith is wavering makes the waverer passInto more settled hatred of the doctrinesOf those who rule, which hatred by and byInvolves the ruler (thus there springs to lightThat Centaur of a monstrous Commonweal,The traitor-heretic) then tho' some may quail,Yet others are that dare the stake and fire,And their strong torment bravely borne, begetsAn admiration and an indignation,And hot desire to imitate; so the plagueOf schism spreads; were there but three or fourOf these misleaders, yet I would not sayBurn! and we cannot burn whole towns; they are many,As my Lord Paget says.GARDINER. Yet my Lord Cardinal—POLE. I am your Legate; please you let me finish.Methinks that under our Queen's regimenWe might go softlier than with crimson rowelAnd streaming lash. When Herod-Henry firstBegan to batter at your English Church,This was the cause, and hence the judgment on her.She seethed with such adulteries, and the livesOf many among your churchmen were so foulThat heaven wept and earth blush'd. I would adviseThat we should thoroughly cleanse the Church withinBefore these bitter statutes be requicken'd.So after that when she once more is seenWhite as the light, the spotless bride of Christ,Like Christ himself on Tabor, possiblyThe Lutheran may be won to her again;Till when, my Lords, I counsel tolerance.GARDINER. What, if a mad dog bit your hand, my Lord,Would you not chop the bitten finger off,Lest your whole body should madden with the poison?I would not, were I Queen, tolerate the heretic,No, not an hour. The ruler of a landIs bounden by his power and place to seeHis people be not poison'd. Tolerate them!Why? do they tolerate you? Nay, many of themWould burn—have burnt each other; call they notThe one true faith, a loathsome idol-worship?Beware, Lord Legate, of a heavier crimeThan heresy is itself; beware, I say,Lest men accuse you of indifferenceTo all faiths, all religion; for you knowRight well that you yourself have been supposedTainted with Lutheranism in Italy.POLE (angered). But you, my Lord, beyond all supposition,In clear and open day were congruentWith that vile Cranmer in the accursed lieOf good Queen Catherine's divorce—the springOf all those evils that have flow'd upon us;For you yourself have truckled to the tyrant,And done your best to bastardise our Queen,For which God's righteous judgment fell upon youIn your five years of imprisonment, my Lord,Under young Edward. Who so bolster'd upThe gross King's headship of the Church, or moreDenied the Holy Father!GARDINER. Ha! what! eh?But you, my Lord, a polish'd gentleman,A bookman, flying from the heat and tussle,You lived among your vines and oranges,In your soft Italy yonder! You were sent for.You were appeal'd to, but you still preferr'dYour learned leisure. As for what I didI suffer'd and repented. You, Lord LegateAnd Cardinal-Deacon, have not now to learnThat ev'n St. Peter in his time of fearDenied his Master, ay, and thrice, my Lord.POLE. But not for five-and-twenty years, my Lord.GARDINER. Ha! good! it seems then I was summon'd hitherBut to be mock'd and baited. Speak, friend Bonner,And tell this learned Legate he lacks zeal.The Church's evil is not as the King's,Cannot be heal'd by stroking. The mad biteMust have the cautery—tell him—and at once.What would'st thou do hadst thou his power, thouThat layest so long in heretic bonds with me;Would'st thou not burn and blast them root and branch?BONNER. Ay, after you, my Lord.GARDINER. Nay, God's passion, before me! speak'BONNER. I am on fire until I see them flame.GARDINER. Ay, the psalm-singing weavers, cobblers, scum—But this most noble prince Plantagenet,Our good Queen's cousin—dallying over seasEven when his brother's, nay, his noble mother's,Head fell—POLE. Peace, madman!Thou stirrest up a grief thou canst not fathom.Thou Christian Bishop, thou Lord ChancellorOf England! no more rein upon thine angerThan any child! Thou mak'st me much ashamedThat I was for a moment wroth at thee.MARY. I come for counsel and ye give me feuds,Like dogs that set to watch their master's gate,Fall, when the thief is ev'n within the walls,To worrying one another. My Lord Chancellor,You have an old trick of offending us;And but that you are art and part with usIn purging heresy, well we might, for thisYour violence and much roughness to the Legate,Have shut you from our counsels. Cousin Pole,You are fresh from brighter lands. Retire with me.His Highness and myself (so you allow us)Will let you learn in peace and privacyWhat power this cooler sun of England hathIn breeding godless vermin. And pray HeavenThat you may see according to our sight.Come, cousin.[ExeuntQUEENandPOLE,etc.GARDINER. Pole has the Plantagenet face,But not the force made them our mightiest kings.Fine eyes—but melancholy, irresolute—A fine beard, Bonner, a very full fine beard.But a weak mouth, an indeterminate—ha?BONNER. Well, a weak mouth, perchance.GARDINER. And not like thineTo gorge a heretic whole, roasted or raw.BONNER. I'd do my best, my Lord; but yet the LegateIs here as Pope and Master of the Church,And if he go not with you—GARDINER. Tut, Master Bishop,Our bashful Legate, saw'st not how he flush'd?Touch him upon his old heretical talk,He'll burn a diocese to prove his orthodoxy.And let him call me truckler. In those times,Thou knowest we had to dodge, or duck, or die;I kept my head for use of Holy Church;And see you, we shall have to dodge again,And let the Pope trample our rights, and plungeHis foreign fist into our island ChurchTo plump the leaner pouch of Italy.For a time, for a time.Why? that these statutes may be put in force,And that his fan may thoroughly purge his floor.BONNER. So then you hold the Pope—GARDINER. I hold the Pope!What do I hold him? what do I hold the Pope?Come, come, the morsel stuck—this Cardinal's fault—I have gulpt it down. I am wholly for the Pope,Utterly and altogether for the Pope,The Eternal Peter of the changeless chair,Crown'd slave of slaves, and mitred king of kings,God upon earth! what more? what would you have?Hence, let's be gone.EnterUSHER.USHER. Well that you be not gone,My Lord. The Queen, most wroth at first with you,Is now content to grant you full forgiveness,So that you crave full pardon of the Legate.I am sent to fetch you.GARDINER. Doth Pole yield, sir, ha!Did you hear 'em? were you by?USHER. I cannot tell you,His bearing is so courtly-delicate;And yet methinks he falters: their two GracesDo so dear-cousin and royal-cousin him,So press on him the duty which as LegateHe owes himself, and with such royal smiles—GARDINER. Smiles that burn men. Bonner, it will be carried.He falters, ha? 'fore God, we change and change;Men now are bow'd and old, the doctors tell you,At three-score years; then if we change at allWe needs must do it quickly; it is an ageOf brief life, and brief purpose, and brief patience,As I have shown to-day. I am sorry for itIf Pole be like to turn. Our old friend Cranmer,Your more especial love, hath turn'd so often,He knows not where he stands, which, if this pass,We two shall have to teach him; let 'em look to it,Cranmer and Hooper, Ridley and Latimer,Rogers and Ferrar, for their time is come,Their hour is hard at hand, their 'dies Irae'Their 'dies Illa,' which will test their sect.I feel it but a duty—you will find in itPleasure as well as duty, worthy Bonner,—To test their sect. Sir, I attend the QueenTo crave most humble pardon—of her mostRoyal, Infallible, Papal Legate-cousin.[Exeunt.
SCENE V.—WOODSTOCK.ELIZABETH, LADY IN WAITING.
ELIZABETH. So they have sent poor Courtenay over sea.LADY. And banish'd us to Woodstock, and the fields.The colours of our Queen are green and white,These fields are only green, they make me gape.ELIZABETH. There's whitethorn, girl.LADY. Ay, for an hour in May.But court is always May, buds out in masques,Breaks into feather'd merriments, and flowersIn silken pageants. Why do they keep us here?Why still suspect your Grace?ELIZABETH. Hard upon both.[Writes on the window with a diamond.Much suspected, of meNothing proven can be.Quoth Elizabeth, prisoner.LADY. What hath your Highness written?ELIZABETH. A true rhyme.LADY. Cut with a diamond; so to last like truth.ELIZABETH. Ay, if truth last.LADY. But truth, they say, will out,So it must last. It is not like a word,That comes and goes in uttering.ELIZABETH. Truth, a word!The very Truth and very Word are one.But truth of story, which I glanced at, girl,Is like a word that comes from olden days,And passes thro' the peoples: every tongueAlters it passing, till it spells and speaksQuite other than at first.LADY. I do not follow.ELIZABETH. How many names in the long sweep of timeThat so foreshortens greatness, may but hangOn the chance mention of some fool that onceBrake bread with us, perhaps: and my poor chronicleIs but of glass. Sir Henry BedingfieldMay split it for a spite.LADY. God grant it last,And witness to your Grace's innocence,Till doomsday melt it.ELIZABETH. Or a second fire,Like that which lately crackled underfootAnd in this very chamber, fuse the glass,And char us back again into the dustWe spring from. Never peacock against rainScream'd as you did for water.LADY. And I got it.I woke Sir Henry—and he's true to youI read his honest horror in his eyes.ELIZABETH. Or true to you?LADY. Sir Henry Bedingfield!I will have no man true to me, your Grace,But one that pares his nails; to me? the clown!ELIZABETH. Out, girl! you wrong a noble gentleman.LADY. For, like his cloak, his manners want the napAnd gloss of court; but of this fire he says.Nay swears, it was no wicked wilfulness,Only a natural chance.ELIZABETH. A chance—perchanceOne of those wicked wilfuls that men make,Nor shame to call it nature. Nay, I knowThey hunt my blood. Save for my daily rangeAmong the pleasant fields of Holy WritI might despair. But there hath some one come;The house is all in movement. Hence, and see.[ExitLADY.MILKMAID (singing without).Shame upon you, Robin,Shame upon you now!Kiss me would you? with my handsMilking the cow?Daisies grow again,Kingcups blow again,And you came and kiss'd me milking the cow.Robin came behind me,Kiss'd me well I vow;Cuff him could I? with my handsMilking the cow?Swallows fly again,Cuckoos cry again,And you came and kiss'd me milking the cow.Come, Robin, Robin,Come and kiss me now;Help it can I? with my handsMilking the cow?Ringdoves coo again,All things woo again.Come behind and kiss me milking the cow!ELIZABETH. Right honest and red-cheek'd; Robin was violent,And she was crafty—a sweet violence,And a sweet craft. I would I were a milkmaid,To sing, love, marry, churn, brew, bake, and die,Then have my simple headstone by the church,And all things lived and ended honestly.I could not if I would. I am Harry's daughter:Gardiner would have my head. They are not sweet,The violence and the craft that do divideThe world of nature; what is weak must lie;The lion needs but roar to guard his young;The lapwing lies, says 'here' when they are there.Threaten the child; 'I'll scourge you if you did it:'What weapon hath the child, save his soft tongue,To say 'I did not?' and my rod's the block.I never lay my head upon the pillowBut that I think, 'Wilt thou lie there to-morrow?'How oft the falling axe, that never fell,Hath shock'd me back into the daylight truthThat it may fall to-day! Those damp, black, deadNights in the Tower; dead—with the fear of deathToo dead ev'n for a death-watch! Toll of a bell,Stroke of a clock, the scurrying of a ratAffrighted me, and then delighted me,For there was life—And there was life in death—The little murder'd princes, in a pale light,Rose hand in hand, and whisper'd, 'come away!The civil wars are gone for evermore:Thou last of all the Tudors, come away!With us is peace!' The last? It was a dream;I must not dream, not wink, but watch. She has gone,Maid Marian to her Robin—by and byBoth happy! a fox may filch a hen by night,And make a morning outcry in the yard;But there's no Renard here to 'catch her tripping.'Catch me who can; yet, sometime I have wish'dThat I were caught, and kill'd away at onceOut of the flutter. The gray rogue, Gardiner,Went on his knees, and pray'd me to confessIn Wyatt's business, and to cast myselfUpon the good Queen's mercy; ay, when, my Lord?God save the Queen! My jailor—EnterSIR HENRY BEDINGFIELD.BEDINGFIELD. One, whose bolts,That jail you from free life, bar you from death.There haunt some Papist ruffians hereaboutWould murder you.ELIZABETH. I thank you heartily, sir,But I am royal, tho' your prisoner,And God hath blest or cursed me with a nose—Your boots are from the horses.BEDINGFIELD. Ay, my Lady.When next there comes a missive from the QueenIt shall be all my study for one hourTo rose and lavender my horsiness,Before I dare to glance upon your Grace.ELIZABETH. A missive from the Queen: last time she wrote,I had like to have lost my life: it takes my breath:O God, sir, do you look upon your boots,Are you so small a man? Help me: what think you,Is it life or death.BEDINGFIELD. I thought not on my boots;The devil take all boots were ever madeSince man went barefoot. See, I lay it here,For I will come no nearer to your Grace;[Laying down the letter.And, whether it bring you bitter news or sweet,And God hath given your Grace a nose, or not,I'll help you, if I may.ELIZABETH. Your pardon, then;It is the heat and narrowness of the cageThat makes the captive testy; with free wingThe world were all one Araby. Leave me now,Will you, companion to myself, sir?BEDINGFIELD. Will I?With most exceeding willingness, I will;You know I never come till I be call'd.[Exit.ELIZABETH. It lies there folded: is there venom in it?A snake—and if I touch it, it may sting.Come, come, the worst!Best wisdom is to know the worst at once. [Reads:'It is the King's wish, that you should wed Prince Philibert of Savoy.You are to come to Court on the instant; and think of this in yourcoming. 'MARY THE QUEEN.'Think I have many thoughts;I think there may be birdlime here for me;I think they fain would have me from the realm;I think the Queen may never bear a child;I think that I may be some time the Queen,Then, Queen indeed: no foreign prince or priestShould fill my throne, myself upon the steps.I think I will not marry anyone,Specially not this landless PhilibertOf Savoy; but, if Philip menace me,I think that I will play with Philibert,As once the Holy Father did with mine,Before my father married my good mother,—For fear of Spain.EnterLADY.LADY. O Lord! your Grace, your Grace,I feel so happy: it seems that we shall flyThese bald, blank fields, and dance into the sunThat shines on princes.ELIZABETH. Yet, a moment since,I wish'd myself the milkmaid singing here,To kiss and cuff among the birds and flowers—A right rough life and healthful.LADY. But the wenchHath her own troubles; she is weeping now;For the wrong Robin took her at her word.Then the cow kick'd, and all her milk was spilt.Your Highness such a milkmaid?ELIZABETH. I had keptMy Robins and my cows in sweeter orderHad I been such.LADY (slyly). And had your Grace a Robin?ELIZABETH. Come, come, you are chill here; you want the sunThat shines at court; make ready for the journey.Pray God, we 'scape the sunstroke. Ready at once.[Exeunt.