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THE WORKS OF TENNYSON. 



IN THIRTEEN VOLUMES. 



VOL. XII. 



THE WORKS OF 



ALFRED TENNYSON 



POET LAUREATK 



VOL. XII. QUEEN MARY 




O^LDN^T^ 



Henry S. King and Co., London 



/? r r 



1 1 



QUEEN MARY 



A DRAMA 



« 



12 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



QuBBN Mary. 

Philip, King of Naples and Sicily ^ afterwards King of 
Spain. 

The Princess Elizabeth. 

Reginald Pole, Cardinal and Papal Legate, 

Simon Renard, Spanish Ambassador. 

Lb Sieur de Noailles, French Ambassador. 

Thomas Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury. 

Sir Nicholas Heath, Archbishop of York: Lord Chan- 
cellor after Gardiner. 

Edward Courtenay, Earl of Devon. 

Lord William Howard, qftertvards Lord Howard^ and 
Lord High Admiral. 

Lord Williams of Thame. 

Lord Paget. 

Lord Pet re. 

Stephen Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester and Lord 
Chancellor, 

Edmund Bonner, Bishop of London. 

Thomas Thirlbv, Bishop of Ely. 

Sir Thomas Wyatt i insurrectionary Leaders. 
Sir Thomas Stafford ) 
Sir Ralph Bagenhall. 
Sir Robert Southwell. 
Sir Henrv Bedingfield. 



'^^"'l o» ^<"'° Wit**- 



QUEEN MARY. 



■ Ot 




ACT 'I. 

SCENE I.— Aldgate richly decorated. 
Crowd. Marshalmen. 

MARSHALMAN. 

TAND back, keep a clear lane I When '• 
will her Majesty pass, sa3rst thou? 
why now, even now ; wherefore draw 
back your heads and your horns before 
I break them, and make what noise you will with 
your tongues, so it be not treason. Long live 
Queen Mary, the lawful and legitimate daughter 
of Harry the Eighth I Shout, knaves ! 

CITIZENS. 

Long live Queen Mary ! 

FIRST CITIZEN. 

That's a hard word, legitimate ; what does it 
mean? 

SECOND CITII.^^. 

It means a bastard. 



N o ; it was the Lady EKxabeth. 

THIRD CITIZEN. 

-« «v« man • that was after. 

That was after, man , u«*«^ 

FIRST CITIZEN. 

Then whidi is the bastard ? 

SECOND CITIZEN. 

Tfoth, they be both bastards by Act 
jncnt and CoandL ^,^,_^ 

THIRD CITIZEN. 

Av the Pariiamcnt can make ever 
^^Jf^sabastaxd. Old Nokes. ca 
thee a bastard? thou shoaldst know, 
^ white as three Chiistmasses. 

OL.D NOKBS {dreamily^. 
VTho's a passing? King Eawn 

llichaid ? ^^^^^ CITIZEN. 



SCENE I. QUEE N MAR V. 7- 

NOKES. 
Let father alone, my masters ! he^s past your 
questioning. 

THIRD CITIZEN. 

Answer thou for him, then ! thou*rt no such 
:ockerel th)rself, for thou was bom i* the tail end 
jf old Harry the Seventh. 

NOKES. 

£h ! that was afore bastard-making b^an. 
[ was bom tme man at five in the forenoon i' the 
tail of old Harry, and so they can't make me a 
bastard. 

THIRD CITIZEN. 

But if Parliament can make the Queen a 
Mstard, why, it follows all the more that they 
:an make thee one, who art fray'd i' the knees, 
ind out at elbow, and bald o' the back, and 
sursten at the toes, and down at heels. 

NOKES. 

I was bom of a tme man and a ring'd wife, 
md I can't argue upon it ; but I and my old 
voman 'ud bum upon it, that would we. 

MARSHALMAN. 

What are you cackling of bastardy under the 
^een's own nose? I'll have you flogg'd and 
>umt too, by the Rood I will. 

FIRST CITIZEN. 

He swears by iht Rood. 'WYve.'w \ 



8 QUEEN MARY. act i. 

SECOND CITIZEN. 

Hark ! the trumpets. 

\The Procession passes^ Mary and Eliza- 
beth riding side by side^ and disappears 
under the gate, 

CITIZENS. 

Long live Queen Mary ! down with all traitors ! 
God save her Grace ; and death to Northumber- 
land ! [Exeunt, 
Maneyit Two Gentlemen. 

FIRST GENTLEMAN. 

By God*s light a noble creature, riglit royal ! 

SECOND GENTLEMAN. 

She looks comelier than ordinary to-day ; but 
to my mind the Lady Elizabeth is the more noble 
and royal. 

FIRST GENTLEMAN. 

I mean the Lady Elizabeth. Did you hear (I 
have a daughter in her service who reported it) 
that she met the Queen at Wanstead with five 
hundred horse, and the Queen (tho' some say they 
be much divided) took her hand, call'd her sweet 
sister, and kiss'd not her alone, but all the ladies 
of her following. 

SECOND GENTLEMAN. 

Ay, that was in her hour of joy ; there will be 

plenty to sunder and unsister them again : this 

Gardiner for one, who is to be made Lord Chan- 

cellor, and will pounce like a wild beast out of 

his cage to vcovry Cranmer. 



SCENE r. Q UEEN ^f A RY. 9 

FIRST GENTLEMAN. 

And furthermore, my daughter said that when 
there rose a talk of the late rebellion, she spoke 
even of Northumberland pitifully, and of the good 
Lady Jane as a poor innocent child who had but 
obeyed her father ; and furthermore, she said that 
no one in her time should be burnt for heresy. 

SECOND GENTLEMAN. 

Weill sir, I look for happy times. 

FIRST GENTLEMAN. 

There is but one thing against them. I know 
not if you know. 

SECOND GENTLEMAN. 

I suppose you touch upon the rumour that 
Charles, the master of the world, has offered her 
his son Philip, the Pope and the Devil. I trust 
it is but a rumour. 

FIRST GENTLEMAN. 

She is going now to the Tower to loose the 
prisoners there, and among them Courtenay, to be 
made Earl of Devon, of royal blood, of splendid 
feature, whom the council and all her people wish 
her to marry. May it be so, for we are many 
of us Catholics, but few Papists, and the Hot 
Gospellers will go mad upon it. 

SECOND GENTLEMAN. 

Was she not betrothed m Vv« \»5or{^^i^^^si"^^ 
Great Emperor VvlmseUt 



I he biEUR DE INOAILLES aiia h 
Roger in front of the stage, Hubbu 

NQAILLES. 

Hast thou let fall those papers in the p 

ROGER. 

Ay, sir. 

NOAILLES. 

"There will be no peace for Mary til 
h lose her head/' 

ROGER. 

Ay, sir. 

NOAILLES. 

And the other, ** Long live Elizab 
een ! " 

ROGER. 

Ay, sir ; she needs must tread upon th 

NOAILLES. 



SCENE in. QUEEN MARY. 15 

BOURNE. 

— and so this unhappy land, long divided in 

itself, and sever'd from the faith, will return into 

the one true fold, seeing that our gracious Virgin 

Queen hath 

CROWD. 

No pope ! no pope ! 

ROGER {to those about him^ mimicking bourne). 
— hath sent for the holy legate of the holy father 
the Pope, Cardinal Pole, to give us all that holy 
absolution which 

first citizen. 
Old Bourne to the life ! 

SECOND citizen. 

Holy absolution ! holy Inquisition 1 

THIRD citizen. 

Down with the Papist ! [Hubbub. 

BOURNE. 

— and now that your good bishop, Bonner, 

who hath lain so long under bonds for the faith — 

[Hubbub, 
noailles. 

Friend Roger, steal thou in among the crowd, 

And get the swine to shout Elizabeth. 

Yon gray old Gospeller, sour as midwinter, 

Begin with him. 

ROGER {goes). 

By the mass, old friend, we'll Vvsn^ wa \ra^ 

here while the Lady ElizabetYv Wves. 



..^, iuai am I, new converted, but 
;aven sticks to my tongue yet. 

FIRST CITIZEN. 

He says right ; by the mass we'll I 
lass here. 

VOICES OF THE CROWD. 

Peace I hear him ; let his own wordi 
e Papist. From thine own mouth I judj 
tear him down. 

BOURNE. 

— and since our Gracious Queen, let n 
our second Virgin Mary, hath begun 
y the true temple 

FIRST CITIZEN. 

Virgin Mary! we'll have no virgins 1 
1 have the Lady Elizabeth ! 
[SuH^'ds are drawtiy a knife is hurle 
sticks in the pulpit. Th^ — -' " 



SCENE III. QUEEN MARY. 17 

CROWD. 
A Courtenay ! a Courtenay ! 
[A train of Spanish servattts crosses at the 
back of the stage, 

NOAILLES. 

These birds of passage come before their time : 
Stave off the crowd upon the Spaniard there. 

ROGER. 

My masters, yonder*s fatter game for you 
Than this old gaping guigoyle ; look you there — 
The Prince of Spain coming to wed our Queen ! 
After him, boys ! and pelt him from the city. 

[They seize stones and follow the Spaniards, 

Exeunt on the other side MARCHIONESS OF 

Exeter am/ Attendants. 

NOAILLES {to ROGER). 

Stand from me. If Elizabeth lose her head -~ 

That makes for France. 

And if her people, anger'd thereupon. 

Arise against her and dethrone the Queen — 

That makes for France. 

And if I breed confusion anyway — 

That makes for France. 

Good-day, my Lord of Devon ; 
A bold heart yours to beard that raging mob ! 

COURTENAY. 

My mother said, Go up ; and up I went. 
I knew they would not do me any >«\wv^. 
For I am mighty popular yj\X\v V\i«.m, "^oac^^^. 
/ 12 c 






iiot^ 



^^' . gracious Q^^^"''^ 



:i,tAV 

but* 






-fore GO*' t.oM^>«^;^deT 



t\vis 






SCENE III. QUEEN MARY. xg 

COURTENAY. 

The Game of Chess ! 
I can play well, and I shall beat you there. 

NOAILLES. 

Ay, but we play with Henry, King of France, 
And certain of his court. 

His Highness makes his moves across the Channel, 
We answer him with ours, and there are mes- 
sengers 
That go between us. 

COURTENAY. 

Why, such a game, sir, were whole years a 
playing. 

NOAILLES. 

Nay ; not so long I trust. That all depends 
Upon the skill and swiftness of the players. 

COURTENAY. 

The king is skilful at it ? 

NOAILLES. 

Very, my Lord. 

COURTENAY, 

And the stakes high ? 

NOAILLES. 

But not beyond your means. 

COURTENAY. 

Well, Tm the first of players. I shall win. 

NOAILLtS. 

With our advice and in ov\t cotcv.'^^xv'^ ^ 



20 QUEEN MARY. act i. 

And so you well attend to the king's moves, 
I think you may. 

COURTENAY. 

When do you meet ? 

NOAILLES. 

To-night. 
COURTENAY (aside), 

I will be there ; the fellow's at his tricks — 

Deep — I shall fathom him. {A/oud,) Good 

morning, Noailles. [£xtl Courtenay. 

NOAILLES. 

Good -day, my Lord. Strange game of chess ! a 

King 
That with her own pawns plays against a Queen, 
Whose play is all to find herself a King. 
Ay ; but this fine blue-blooded Courtenay seems 
Too princely for a pawn. Call him a Knight, 
That, with an ass's, not an horse's head, 
Skips every way, from levity or from fear. 
Well, we shall use him somehow, so that Gardiner 
And Simon Renard spy not out our game 
Too early. Roger, thinkest thou that anyone 
Suspected thee to be my man ? 

ROGER. 

Not one, sir. 

NOAILLES. 

No ! the disguise was perfect. Let's away. 

[Exeunt, 



scKNK IV. QUEEN MA RV. ax 

SCENE IV.— London. A Room in the 

Palace. 

Elizabeth. Enter Courtenay. 

COURTENAY. 

So yet am I, 

Unless my friends and mirrors lie to me, 
A goodlier-looking fellow than this Philip. 
Pah! 

The queen is ill advised : shall I turn traitor ? 
TheyVe almost talked me into it : yet the word 
Affrights me somewhat ; to be such a one 
As Harry Bolingbroke hath a lure in it. 
Good now, my Lady Queen, tho* by your age, 
And by your looks you are not worth the having, 
Yet by your crown you are. [Seeing Elizabeth. 

The Princess there ? 
If I tried her and la — she*s amorous. 
Have we not heard of her in Edward's time, 
Her freaks and frolics with the late Lord Admiral ? 
I do believe she'd yield. I should be still 
A party in the state ; and then, who knows — 

ELIZABETH. 

What are you musing on, my Lord of Devon ? 

COURTENAY. 

Has not the Queen— 

ELIZABETH. 



22 QUEEN MARY. act 

COURTENAY. 

— made you folic 
The Lady Suffolk and the Lady Lennox ? — 
You, , 

The heir presumptive. 

ELIZABETH. 

Why do you ask ? you know 

COURTENAY. 

You needs must bear it hardly. 

ELIZABETH. 

No, indeed ! 
I am utterly submissive to the Queen. 

COURTENAY. 

Well, I was musing upon that ; the Queen 

Is both my foe and yours : we should be friends 

ELIZABETH. 

My Lord, the hatred of another to us 
Is no true bond of friendship. 

COURTENAY. 

Might it not 
Be the rough preface of some closer bond ? 

ELIZABETH. 

My Lord, you late were loosed from out the Tow 
Where, like a butterfly in a chrysalis. 
You spent your life ; that broken, out you flutti 
Thro* the new world, go zigzag, now would set 
Upon this flower, now that ; but all things her< 
At court are known ; you have solicited 
i The Queen, and been rejected. 



SCENE IV. QUEEN MAR V. 23 

COURTENAY. 

Flower, she ! 
Half faded ! but you, cousin, are fresh and sweet 
As the first flower no bee has ever tried. 

ELIZABETH. 

Are you the bee to try me ? why, but now 
I called you butterfly. 

COURTENAY. 

You did me wrong, 
I love not to be called a butterfly : 
Why do you call me butterfly ? 

ELIZABETH. 

"Why do you go so gay then ? 

COURTENAY. 

Velvet and gold. 
This dress was made me as the Earl of Devon 
To take my seat in ; looks it not right royal ? 

ELIZABETH. 

So royal that the Queen forbad you wearing it. 

COURTENAY. 

I wear it then to spite her. 

ELIZABETH. 

My Lord, my Lord ; 
I see you in the Tower again. Her Majesty 
Hears you affect the Prince — prelates kneel to 
you. — 

COURTENAY. 

1 am the noblest blood in Europe, Madam, 
A Courtenay of Devon, and hex toxs^vw. 



How folly ? a great party in the state 
Wills me to wed her. 

ELIZABETH. 

Failing her, myl 
Doth not as great a party in the state 
Will you to wed me ? 

COURTENAY. 

Even so, fair lad] 

ELIZABETH. 

You know to flatter ladies. 

COURTENAY. 

Nay, I 
True matters of the heart. 

ELIZABETH. 

My heart, my L 
Is no great party in the state as yet. 

COURTENAY. 



SCENE IV. QUEEN MARY. aS 

The Duke of Suffolk and Sir Peter Carew, 
Sir Thomas Wyatt, I myself, some others. 
Have sworn this Spanish marriage shall not be. 
If Mary will not hear us — well — conjecture — 
Were I in Devon with my wedded bride, 
The people there so worship me — Your ear ; 
You shall be Queen. 

ELIZABETH. 

You speak too low, my Lord ; 
I cannot hear you. 

COURTENAY. 

I'll repeat it. 

ELIZABETH. 

No! 
Stand further off, or you may lose your head. 

COURTENAY. 

I have a head to lose for your sweet sake. 

ELIZABETH. 

Have you, my Lord ? Best keep it for your own. 

Nay, pout not, cousin. 

Not many friends are mine, except indeed 

Among the many. I believe you mine ; 

And so you may continue mine, farewell. 

And that at once. 

Enter Mary, behittd, 

MARY. 

Whispering— leagued together 
To bar me from my Philip. 



26 QUEEN MARY. act i. 

COURTENAY. 

Pray — consider^ 
ELIZABETH {smng the queen). 
Well, that's a noble horse of yours, my Lord. 
I tnist that he will carry you well to-day, 
And heal your headache. 

COURTENAY. 

You are wild ; what headache ? 
Heartache, perchance ; not headache. 

ELIZABETH [aside to COURTENAY). 

Are you blind ? 
[CoURTENAY sees the Queen and exit. Exit Mary. 

JEfiter Lord William Howard. 

HOWARD. 

Was that my Lord of Devon ? do not you 
Be seen in comers with my Lord of Devon. 
He hath fallen out of favour with the Queen. 
She fears the Lords may side with you and him 
Against her marriage ; therefore is he dangerous. 
And if this Prince of fluff and feather come 
To woo you, niece, he is dangerous every way. 

ELIZABETH. 

Not very dangerous that way, my good uncle. 

HOWARD. 

But your own state is full of danger here. 
The disaffected, heretics, reformers. 
Look to you as the one to crown their ends. 
Mix not yourself with any plot I pray you ; 



i 



SCENE IV. QUEEN MARY. 27 

Nay, if by chance you hear of any such, 
Speak not thereof — no, not to your best friend, 
Lest you should be confounded with it. Still — 
Perinde ac cadaver — as the priest says. 
You know your Latin — quiet as a dead body. 
What was my Lord of Devon telling you ? 

ELIZABETH. 

Whether he told me anything or not, 

I follow your good counsel, gracious uncle. 

Quiet as a dead body. 

HOWARD. 

You do right well. 
I do not care to know ; but this I charge you, 
Tell Courtenay nothing. The Lord Chancellor 
(I count it as a kind of virtue in him. 
He hath not many), as a mastiff dog 
May love a puppy cur for no more reason 
Than that the twain have been tied up together, 
Thus Gardiner— for the two were fellow-prisoners 
So many years in yon accursed lower — 
Hath taken to this Courtenay. Look to it, niece, 
He hath no fence when Gardiner questions him ; 
All oozes out ; yet him— because they know him 
The last White Rose, the last Plantagenet 
(Nay, there is Cardinal Pole, too), the people 
Claim as their natural leader— ay, some say, 
That you shall marry him, make him King belike. 

ELIZABETH. 

Do they say so, good undel 



ELIZABETH. 

No, good Ul 

Enter Gardiner. 

GARDINER. . 

The Queen would see your Grace up< 
moment. 

ELIZABETH. 

Why, my Lord Bishop? 

GARDINER. 

I think she means to counsel your withdraw! 
To Ashridge, or some other country house. 

ELIZABETH. 

Why, my Lord Bishop ? 

GARDINER. 

t do but bring the message, know no more, 
/our Grace will hear her reasons from hersel 

ELIZABETH 



SCENE IV. QUEEN MARY. 29 

I left her with rich jewels in her hand, 
Whereof 'tis like enough she means to make 
A farewell present to your Grace. 

ELIZABETH. 

My Lord, 
I have the jewel of a loyal heart. 

GARDINER. 

I doubt it not, Madam, most loyal. 

\B(rws low and exit. 
HOWARD. 

See, 
This comes of parlejdng with my Lord of Devon. 
Well, well, you must obey ; and I myself 
Believe it will be better for your welfare. 
Your time will come. 

ELIZABETH. 

I think my time will come. 
Uncle, 

I am of sovereign nature, that I know. 
Not to be quell'd ; and I have felt within me 
Stirrings of some great doom when God's just hour 
Peals —but this fierce old Gardiner— his big bald- 
ness. 
That irritable forelock which he rubs. 
His buzzard beak and deep-incavem'd eyes 
Half fright me. 

HOWARD. 

You've a bold heart ; keep it so. 
He cannot touch you save that you turn traitor 
And so take heed I pray -^ou — '^oax ^\t ^>^ 



that lone house, to practise on my life, 
r poison, fire, shot, stab — 

HOWARD. 

They will nc 
ine is the fleet and all the power at sea 
r will be in a moment. If they dared 
o harm you, I would blow this Philip a 
our trouble to the dogstar and the devil 

ELIZABETH. 

b the Pleiads, uncle ; they have lost a i 

HOWARD. 

lut why say that? what have you done to 
'ome, come, I will go with you to the ( 

SCENE v.— A Room in the P/ 
Mary with Philip's miniature, 1 



SCENE V. QUEEN MARY. 31 

MARY. 

Ay ; some waxen doll 
Thy baby eyes have rested on, belike ; 
All red and white, the fashion of our land. 
But my good mother came (God rest her soul) 
Of Spain, and I am Spanish in myself, 
And in my likings. 

ALICE. 

By your Grace's leave 
Your royal mother came of Spain, but took 
To the English red and white. Your royal father 
(For so they say) was all pure lily and rose 
In his youth, and like a lady. 

MARY. 

O, just God ! 
Sweet mother, you had time and cause enough 
To sicken of his lilies and his roses. 
Cast off, betray'd, defamed, divorced, forlorn ! 
And then the King — that traitor past forgiveness, 
The false archbishop fawning on him, married 
The mother of Elizabeth — a heretic 
Ev'n as she is ; but God hath sent me here 
To take such order with all heretics 
That it shall be, before I die, as tho* 
My father and my brother had not lived. 
What wast thou saying of this Lady Jane, 
Now in the Tower? 

ALICE. 
Why, Madam, she was passing 
Some chapel down in Ess^x, ^tv^ >«\\^cvV^'^ 



annot, and I dare not, tell your Grace 
lat Lady Jane replied. 

MARY. 

But I will hav* 

ALICE. 

e said — pray pardon me, and pity her— 
e hath hearken'd evil counsel — ah ! she 
le baker made him. 

MARY. 

Monstrous ! blasphe 
le ought to bum. Hence thou {Exit . 

No — being traitor 
er head will fall : shall it ? she is but a 
e do not kill the child for doing that 
is father whipt him into doing — a head 
) full of grace and beauty ! would that i 



SCENE V. Q UEEN MA R Y, 33 

Will he be drawn to her ? 

No, being of the true faith with myself. 

Paget is for him — for to wed with Spain 

Would treble England — Gardiner is against him ; 

The Comicil, people, Parliament against him ; 

But I will have him ! My hard father hated me ; 

My brother rather hated me than loved ; 

My sister cowers and hates me. Holy Virgin, 

Plead with thy blessed son ; grant me my prayer : 

Give me my Philip ; and we two will lead 

The living waters of the Faith again 

Back thro' their widow'd channel here, and watch 

The parch'd banks rolling incense, as of old. 

To heaven, and kindled with the palms of Christ ! 

Enter Usher. 
Who waits, sir? 

USHER. 

Madam, the Lord Chancellor. 

MARY. 

Bid him come in. {Enter Gardiner.) Gkx>d 
morning, my good Lord. [Exit Usher. 

GARDINER. 

That every morning of your Majesty 

May be most good, is every morning's prayer 

Of your most loyal subject, Stephen Gardiner. 

MARY. 

Come you to tdl me this, my Lord ? 

GARDINER. 

And more. 
Your people have begun to \eaiTv '^q«« -wotCcv. 
12 D 



"X 



art of our garrison at Calais. ' 

MARY. 

Calais I 
>ur one point on the main, the gate of F 
am Queen of England ; take mine ei 
heart, 
)ut do not lose me Calais. 

GARDINER. 

Do not fear i 
)f that hereafter. I say youi Grace is 1< 
rhat I may keep you thus, who am youi 
Vnd ever faithful counsellor, might I sp< 

MARY. 

[ can forespeak your speaking. Would 
Prince Philip, if all England hate him ? 
Vour question, and I front it with anoth 
Is it England, or a party ? Now, your ; 



SCBNE V. QUEEN MARY. 35 

Guard my poor dreams for England. Men would 

murder me. 
Because they think me favourer of this marriage. 

MARY. 

And that were hard upon you, my Lord Chancellor. 

GARDINER. 

But our young Earl of Devon — 

MARY. 

Earl of Devon ? 
I freed him from the Tower, placed him at Court ; 
I made him Earl of Devon, and — the fool — 
He wrecks his health and wealth on courtesans, 
And rolls himself in carrion like a dog. 

GARDINER. 

More like a school-boy that hath broken bounds, 
Sickening himself with sweets. 

MARY. 

I will not hear of him. 
Good, then, they will revolt : but I am Tudor, 
And shall control them. 

GARDINER. 

I will help you, Madam, 
Even to the utmost. All the church is grateful. 
You have ousted the mock priest, repulpited 
The shepherd of St. Peter, raised the rood again. 
And brought us back the mass. I am all thanks 
To God and to your Grace : yet I know well^ 
Your people, and I go with them so far, 

D a 



GARDINER. 

Viadam, methinks a cold face and a hat 
A.nd when your Highness talks of Cour 
A.y, true — a goodly one. I would his 1 
Were half as goodly (aside), 

MARY. 

What is that y( 

GARDINER. 

Oh, Madam, take it bluntly ; marry F 
And be stepmother of a score of sons ! 
The prince is known in Spain, in Flan 
For Philip— 

MARY. 

You offend us ; you ma 
You see thro' warping glasses. 

GARDINER. 

If you 



SCENE V. QUEEN MARY. yj 

GARDINER. 

News to me ! 
It then remains for your poor Gardiner, 
So you still care to trust him somewhat less 
Than Simon Renard, to compose the event 
In some such form as least may harm your Grace. 

MARY. 

I'll have the scandal sounded to the mud. 
I know it a scandal. 

GARDINER. 

All my hope is now 
It may be found a scandal. 

MARY. 

You offend us. 

GARDINER {aside). 
These princes are like children, must be physick'd. 
The bitter in the sweet. I have lost mine office. 
It may be, thro* mine honesty, like a fool. [ExU, 

Enter Usher. 

MARY. 

Who waits ? 

USHER. 

The Ambassador from France, your Grace. 

MARY. 

Bid him come in. Good morning, Sir de Noaill es. 

\ExU Usher. 
NOAILLES {entering). 
A happy morning to your Majesty. 



38 Q UEEN MA R Y. act i. 

MARY. 
And I should some time have a happy morning ; 
I have had none yet What sa)rs the King your 
master ? 

NOAILLES. 

Madam, my master hears with much alarm, 
That you may marry Philip, Prince of Spain — 
Foreseeing, with whate'er unwillingness, 
That if this Philip be the titular king 
Of England, and at war with him, your Grace 
And kingdom will be suck'd into the war, 
Ay, tho' you long for peace ; wherefore, my master, 
If but to prove your Majesty's goodwill. 
Would fain have some fresh treaty drawn between 
you. 

MARY. 

Why some fresh treaty ? wherefore should I do it ? 

Sir, if we marry, we shall still maintain 

All former treaties with his Majesty. 

Our royal word for that ! and your good master, 

Pray God he do not be the first to break them, 

Must be content with that ; and so, farewell. 

NOAILLES {going f reiurm). 
I would your answer had been other. Madam, 
For I foresee dark days. 

MARY. 

And so do I, sir ; 
Your master works against me in the dark. 
I do believe he holp Northumberland 
Against me. 



k 



SCENE V. Q UEEN MA RY. J9 

NOAILLES. 
Nay, pure phantasy, your Gra^e. 
Why should he move against you ? 

MARY. 

Will you hear why 
Mary of Scotland, — for I have not own'd 
My sister, and I will not, — after me 
Is heir of England ; and my royal father. 
To make the crown of ScoUand one with ours, 
Had mark'd her for my brother Edward's bride ; 
Ay, but your king stole her a babe from Scotland 
In order to betroth her to your Dauphin. 
See then : 

Mary of Scotland, married to your Dauphin, 
Would make our England, France ; 
Mary of England, joining hands with Spain, 
Would be too strong for France. 
Yea, were there issue bom to her, Spain and we. 
One crown, might rule the world. There lies 

your fear. 
That is your drift. You play at hide and seek. 
Show me your faces I 

NOAILLES. 

Madam, I am amazed : 
French, I must needs wish all good things for 

France. 
That must be pardon'd me ; but I protest 
Your Grace's policy hath a farther flight 
Than mine into the ftiture. We but seek 
Some settled ground for peac^ Vo ^VasAvs^^xw. 



IMUAILLES. 

Only once. 

MARY. 

[s this like PhUip ? 

NOAILLES. 

Ay, but nobler look 

MARY. 

[iath he the large ability of the Emperor 

NOAILLES. 

>Jo, surely. 

MARY. 

I can make allowance for tl 
Thou speakest of the enemy of thy king. 

NOAILLES. 

lake no allowance for the naked truth, 
le is every way a lesser man than Charle 
Itone-hard, ice-cold — no dash of daring i: 

MARY, 
f iJ 1.:- Mr- i 



SCENE V. QUEEN MARY. 41 

You cannot 
Learn a man's nature from his natural foe. 

Enter Usher. 
Who waits ? 

USHER. 

The Ambassador of Spain, your Grace. 

[ExU, 
Enter Simon Renard. 

MARY. 

Thou art ever welcome, Simon Renard. Hast 
thou 

Brought me the letter which thine Emperor pro- 
mised 

Long since, a formal offer of the hand 

Of PhUip ? 

RENARD. 

Nay, your Grace, it hath not reachM me. 
I know not wherefore — some mischance of flood, 
And broken bridge, or spavin'd horse, or wave 
And wind at their old battle : he must have 
written. 

MARY. 

But Philip never writes me one poor word. 
Which in his absence had been all my wealth. 
Strange in a wooer ! 

RENARD. 

Yet I know the Prince,, 
So your king-parliament suffer him to land. 
Yearns to set foot upon your V^laxA ^ot^. 



42 Q UEEN MA R Y. act i. 

MARY. 
God change the pebble which his kingly foot 
First presses into some more costly stone 
Than ever blinded eye. 1*11 have one mark it, 
And bring it me. 1*11 have it burnished firelike ; 
I'll set it round with gold, with pearl, with dia- 
mond. 
Let the great angel of the church come with him ; 
Stand on the deck and spread his wings for sail ! 
God lay the waves and strow the storms at sea, 
And here at land among the people I O Renard, 
I am much beset, I am almost in despair. 
Paget is ours. Gardiner perchance is ours ; 
But for our heretic parliament — 

RENARD. 

O Madam, 
You fly your thoughts like kites. My master, 

Charles, 
Bad you go softly with your heretics here. 
Until your throne had ceased to tremble. Then 
Spit them like larks for aught I care. Besides, 
When Henry broke the carcase of your church 
To pieces, there were many wolves among you 
Who dragg'd the scatter'd limbs into their den. 
The Pope would have you make them render 

these ; 
So would your cousin, Cardinal Pole ; ill counsel ! 
These let them keep at present ; stir not yet 
This matter of the Church lands. At his coming 
Your star will rise. 



SCENE V. QUEEN MA R V. 43 

MARY. 

My star ! a baleful one. 
I see but the black night, and hear the wolf. 
What star ? 

RENARD. 

Your star will be your princely son. 
Heir of this England and the Netherlands ! 
And if your wolf the while should howl for more, 
We'll dust him from a bag of Spanish gold. 
I do believe I have dusted some already, 
That, soon or late, your parliament is ours. 

MARY. 

Why do they talk so foully of your Prince, 
Renard? 

RENARD. 

The lot of Princes. To sit high 
Is to be lied about. 

MARY. 

They call him cold, 
Haughty, ay, worse. 

RENARD. 

Why, doubtless, Philip shows 
Some of the bearing of your blue blood — still 
All within measure — nay, it well becomes him. 

MARY. 

Hath he the large ability of his father ? 

RENARD. 

Nay, some believe that he will go beyond him. 

MARY. 

Is this like him ? 



Tiosoerer 
im (here, 



[hen she 

I 



SCENE V. Q UEEN MA R Y. 45 

I have heard, the tongue yet quiver'd with the jest 
When the head leapt — so common ! I do think 
To save your crown that it must come to this. 

MARY. 

I love her not, but all the people love her, 
And would not have her even to the Tower, 

RENARD. 

Not yet ; but your old Traitors of the Tower — 
Why, when you put Northumberland to death, 
The sentence having past upon them all. 
Spared you the Duke of Suffolk, Guildford Dudley, 
Jlv*n that young girl who dared to wear your 
crown ? 

MARY. 

"Dared ? nay, not so ; the child obey*d her father. 
Spite of her tears her father forced it on her. 

RENARD. 

Good Madam, when the Roman wish*d to reign, 
He slew not him alone who wore the purple. 
But his assessor in the throne, perchance 
A child more innocent than Lady Jane. 

MARY. 

I am English Queen, not Roman Emperor. 

RENARD. 

Yet too much mercy is a want of mercy, 
And wastes more life. Stamp out the fire, or this 
Will smoulder and re-flame, and bum the throne 
Where you should sit with Philip: he will not come 
Till she be gone. 



46 Q UEEN MA R K. act i. 

MA'RY. 

Indeed, if that were true — 

But I must say farewell. I am somewhat fiunt 

With our long talk. Tho* Queen, I am not Queen 

Of mine own heart, which every now and then 

Beats me half dead : yet stay, this golden chain — 

My father on a birthday gave it me. 

And I have broken with my father — take 

And wear it as memorial of a morning 

Which found me full of foolish doubts, and leaves 

me 

As hopeful. 

RENARD {aside). 

Whew — the folly of all follies 

Is to be love-sick for a shadow, [aloud) Madam, 

This chains me to your service, not with gold. 

But dearest links of love. Farewell, and trust me ! 

Philip is yours. [Exit, 

MARY. 

Mine — but not yet all mine. 
Enter Usher. 

USHER. 

Your Council is in Session, please your Majesty. 

MARY. 

Sir, let them sit. I must have time to breathe. 
No, say I come. (Exit Usher.) I won by 

boldness once. 
The Emperor counsell'd me to fly to Flanders. 
I would not ; but a hundred miles I rode, 



\ 



SCENE V. Q UEEN MA R K. 47 

Sent out my letters, call'd my friends together, 

Struck home and won. 

And when the Council would not crown me — 

thought 
To bind me first by oaths I could not keep, 
And keep with Christ and conscience — was it 

boldness 
Or weakness that won there? when I, their 

Queen, 
Cast myself down upon my knees before them. 
And those hard men brake into woman tears, 
£v*n Gardiner, all amazed, and in that passion 
Gave me my Crown. 

Enter Alice. 

Girl ; hast thou ever heard 
Slanders against Prince Philip in our Court ? 

ALICE. 

What slanders ? I, your Grace ; no, never. 

MARY. 

Nothing ? 

ALICE. 

Never, your Grace. 

MARY. 

See that you neither hear them nor repeat ! 

ALICE {aside). 
Good lord I but I have heard a thousand such. 
Ay, and repeated them as often — mum ! 
Why comes that old fox-Fleming back agatin X 



4'-' 



IjiU I must say i 

With our long i.-' 

Of mine own Ik. 

Beats me half di-.. 

My father on a l)i- 

And 1 have brok^ 

And wear it as uk- 

Which found me I.. 

me 

As hopeful. 

Rr • 

Wh.-.- 

Is to be love-sick !"« 

This chains me to ). 

But dearest hnksof I 

Philip is yours. 

Mil. 

y-;;./. 



y\ 



Your Council is in S".- 



N 



Sir, let them sit. I ■. 
No, say I come. ' ■ 

bohlncss once. 
The Emperor counsel 
I would not ; but a luiii- 



SCENE V. Q UEEN MA R V. 49 

RENARD. 

Not prettily put ? I mean, my pretty maiden, 
A pretty man for such a pretty maiden. 

ALICE. 

My Lord of Devon is a pretty man. 

I hate him. Well, but if I have, what then ? 

RENARD. 

Then, pretty maiden, you should know that 

whether 
A wind be warm or cold, it serves to fan 
A kindled fire. 

ALICE. 

According to the song. 

His friends would praise him, I believed 'em, 
His foes would blame him, and I scom'd 'em, 
His friends — as Angels I received 'em. 
His foes— The Devil had suborn 'd 'em. 

RENARD. 

Peace, pretty maiden. 

I hear them stirring in the Council Chamber. 
Lord Paget*s ** Ay" is sure — who else ? and yet, 
They are all too much at odds to close at once 
In one full-throated No 1 Her Highness comes. 

Enfer Mary. 

ALICE. 

How deathly pale ! — a chair, your Highness. 

\,Brmgmg otte to the QUEEN. 
12 £ 



[Sinks 



IfllO tw*** » 



V " 




ACT II. 
SCENE I. — Alington Castle. 




SIR THOMAS WYATT. 

DO not hear from Carew or the Duke 
Of Suffolk, and till then I should not 

move. 
The Duke hath gone to Leicester; 
Carew stirs 
In Devon : that fine porcelain Courtenay, 
Save that he fears he might be crackM in using, 
(I have known a semi-madman in my time 
So fancy-ridd*n) should be in Devon too. 

Enter William. 

News abroad, William ? 

William. 
None so new, Sir Thomas, and none so old. 
Sir Thomas. No new news 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 at Maidstone. Doesrf t '^omx v«ar^\^V^'ML\ 



32 QUEEN MARY. act ii. 

WYATT. 

Ay, for the Saints are come to reign again. 
Most like it is a Saint'sd-ay. There's no call 
As yet for me ; so in this pause, before 
The mine be fired, it were a pious work 
To string my father's sonnets, left about 
Like loosely-scatter'd jewels, in fair order. 
And head them with a lamer rhjone of mine. 
To grace his memory. 

WILLIAM. 

Ay, why not, Sir Thomas? He was a fine 
courtier, he ; Queen Anne loved him. All the 
women loved him. I loved him, I was in Spain 
with him. I couldn't eat in Spain, I couldn't 
sleep in Spain. I hate Spain, Sir Thomas. 

WYATT. 

But thou could'st drink in Spain if I remember. 

WILLIAM. 

Sir Thomas, we may grant the wine. Old 
Sir Thomas always granted the wine. 

WYATT. 

Hand me the casket with my father's sonnets. 

WILLIAM. 

Ay — sonnets — a fine courtier of the old Court, 
old Sir Thomas. [Exit. 

WYATT. 

Courtier of many courts, he loved the more 

His own gray towers, plain life aad letter'd peace^ 

To read and rhyme in solitary fields, 



SCENE I. QUEEN MARY. 53 

The lark above, the nightingale below, 
And answer them in song. The sire begets 
Not half his likeness in the son. I fail 
Where he was fullest : yet — to write it down. 

\He writes. 
Re-enter William. 

WILLIAM. 

There is news, there is news, and no call for 
sonnet -sorting now, nor for sonnet-making either, 
but ten thousand men on Penenden Heath all 
calling after your worship, and your worship's 
name heard into Maidstone market, and your 
worship the first man in Kent and Christendom, 
for the Queen*s down, and the world's up, and 
your worship a-top of it. 

WYATT. 

Inverted iEsop — mountain out of mouse. 

Say for ten thousand ten — and pothouse knaves, 

Brain-dizzied with a draught of morning ale. 

Enter Antony Knyvett. 

WILLIAM. 

Here's Antony Knjrvett. 

KNYVETT. 

Look you. Master Wyatt, 
Tear up that woman's work there. 

WYATT. 

No ; not these, 
Dumb children of my father, iVvaX. m)\ ^^^ 



Wing'd for a moment. 

WYATT. 

Well, for mine own work, [fairift^ 
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 s 

WYATT. 

I fear you come to carry it off my shou! 
And sonnet-making's safer. 

KNYVETT. 

Why, go< 
Write you as many sonnets as you will. 
Ay, but not now ; what, have you eye8,e 
This Philip and the black-faced swarm 
The hardest, cruellest people in the wc 

rtnm** Inriifttinor iinnn iic. *»jit ne nn. 



SCENE I. QUEEN MARY. 55 

By God, you are as poor a poet, Wyatt, 
As a good soldier. 

WYATT. 

You as poor a critic 
As 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 move 
Until 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 

youth 
Suddenly thrust it on me, whispered, ** W3ratt," 
And whisking round a comer, shoVd his back 
Before I read his face. 

WYATT. 

Ah ! 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 no force for resistance. 
Move, if you move, at once." 
Is Peter Carew fled ? Is the Duke taken ? 
Down scabbard, and out sword ! and let rebellion 
Roar 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 ? 



WYATT. 

Open the window, ] 
The mine is fired, and I will speak to th 
Men of Kent ; England of England ; 
have kept your old customs upright, whi 
rest of England bow'd theirs to the Nor 
cause that hath brought us together is 
cause of a county or a shire, but of this ] 
in whose crown our Kent is the faire 
Philip shall not wed Mary ; and ye ha^ 
me to be your leader. I know Spain, 
been there with my father ; I have seen 
their own land ; have marked the haugh 
their nobles ; the cruelty of their priests, 
man marry our Queen, however the Cou 
the Commons may fence round his po^ 
restriction, he will be King, King of Engl 
masters ; and the Oueen. anH tVi*» lawc 



SCENE I. Q UEEN MARY. 57 

WILLIAM. 
No Spain in our beds- that were worse than 
all. I have been there with old Sir Thomas, and 
the beds I know. I hate Spain. 

A PEASANT. 

But, Sir Thomas, must we levy war against 
the Queen's Grace ? 

WYATl'. 

No, my friend ; ytzxfar the Queen's Grace — 
to save her from herself and Philip— war against 
Spain. And think not we shall be alone — thou- 
sands will flock to us. The Council, the Court 
itself, is on our side. The Lord Chancellor him- 
self is on our side. The King of France is with 
us ; the King of Denmark is with us ; the world 
is with us — war against Spain ! And if we move 
not now, yet it will be known that we have 
moved ; and if Philip come to be King, O, my 
God ! the rope, the rack, the thumbscrew, the 
stake, the fire. If we move not now, Spain 
moves, bribes our nobles with her gold, and 
creeps, creeps snake-like about our 1^ till we 
cannot move at all ; and ye know, my masters, 
that wherever Spain hath ruled she hath withered 
all beneath her. Look at the New World — a 
paradise made hell ; the red man, that good help- 
less creature, starved, maim'd, flogg'd, flay'd, 
bum*d, boil'd, buried alive, worried by dogs ; 
and here, nearer home, the 15e\.Yv«\a.tA^^^\^^> 



58 QUEEN MARY. act i 

Naples, Lombardy. I say no more — only this 
their lot is yours. Forward to London with me 
forward to London ! If ye love your liberties o 
your skins, forward to London ! 

CROWD. 

Forward to London ! A Wyatt ! a Wyatt ! 

WYAIT. 

But first to Rochester, to take the guns 

From 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 yfet, my friend, 
Is not half-waked ; but every parish tower 
Shall clang and clash alarum as we pass. 
And pour along the land, and swolPn and fed 
With indraughts and side-currents, in full force 
Roll 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. 



SCENE!. QUEEN MARV. 59 

Ah, gray old castle of Alington, green field 
Beside the brimming Medway, it may chance 
That I shall never look upon you more. 

KNYVETT. 

Come, now, you're sonneting 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 Ralph Bagen- 
hall, Alderman and Citizens. 

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 John 
Convicted by their conscience, arrant cowards. 
Or tamperers with that treason out of Kent. 
When will her Grace be here ? 



She will aaai< 
I have striven in vain to r\u^^ 
But help her in this exigency, m 
Your city loyal, and be the migl 
This day in England. 

WHITE. 

I amTh 
Few things have faiVd to which 
I do my most and best. 

HOWARD. 

Youk 
The Captain Brett, who we 

bands 
To fight with Wyatt, had go? 
>yith all his men, the Queen 
Sent Comwallis and Hastinf 
Feigning to treat with him 
•»ow too what Wyatt said 



tr 



SCENE 11. QUEEN MARY. 6i 

WHITE. 

I know it What do and say 
Yoor 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 not 
Which way to flow. All hangs on her address, 
And upon you, Lord Mayor. 

WHITE. 

How look'd the city 
When now you past it ? Quiet? 

HOWARD. 

Like our Council, 
Your city is divided. As we past. 
Some haiPd, some hiss'd us. There were citizens 
Stood each before his shut-up booth, and look'd 
As grim and grave as from a funeral. 
And here a knot of rufiians 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 held 
Mimicked and piped her ** Wyatt," as red as she 
In hair and cheek ; and almost elbowing her. 
So close they stood, another, mute as death. 
And white as her own milk ; her babe in arms 
Had felt the faltering of his mother's heart, 



The Dames of Wyatt, Elizabeth, Courtei 
Nay the Queen's right to reign — *fore 

rogues — 
Were freely buzz'd among them. So I i 
Your city is divided, and I fear 
One scruple, this or that way, of success 
Would turn it thither. Wherefore 

Queen 
In this low pulse and palsy of the state, 
Bad me to tell you that she counts on y< 
And on m3rself as her two hands ; on yc 
In your own city, as her right, my Lord 
For you are loyal. 

WHITE. 

Am I Thomas White 
One word before she comes. Elizabetl 
Her name is much abused among these 

Mn.>«». in mI^a "i CVtA 10 1/\mrA/1 \w all A^ 1 



SCENE n. QUEEN MARY. 63 

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. 

Enter Guards, Mary, and Gardiner. Sir 

Thomas White leads her to a raised seat on 

the dais, 

white. 

I, the Lord Mayor, and these our companies 

And guilds of London, gathered here, beseech 

Your Highness to accept our lowliest thanks 

For your most princely presence ; and we pray 

That we, your true and \0y2X citizens, 

From your own royal lips, at once may know 

The wherefore of this coming, and so learn 

Your royal will, and do it. — I, Lord Mayor 

Of 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 Kent 
Have 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 least 
Of all their quarrel. 



t'4 QUEKX MARV. act ii. 

Tliey have betrayed the treason of their hearts : 

Seek to possess our person, hold our Tower, 

Place and displace our councillors, and use 

Both us and them according as they will. 

Now what am I ye know right well — ^your Queen : 

To whom, when I was wedded to the realm 

And the realm's laws (the spousal ring whereof, 

Not ever to be laid aside, I wear 

Upon this finger), ye did promise full 

Allegiance and obedience to the death. 

Ye know my father was the rightful heir 

Of England, and his right came down to me, 

Corroborate 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 anyone 

Should seize our person, occupy our state. 

More specially a traitor so presumptuous 

As this same Wyatt, who hath tampered with 

A public ignorance, and, under colour 

Of such a cause as hath no colour, seeks 

To bend the laws to his own will, and yield 

Full 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 tell 

How mothers love their children ; yet, methinks, 

A prince as naturally may love his people 

As these their children ; and be sure your Queen 

So loves you, and so loving, needs must deem 



\ 



SCENE 11. Q UEEN MA R K. 65 

This love by you retum'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 understand 
We made thereto no treaty of ourselves, 
And set no foot theretoward unadvised 
Of all our Privy Coimcil ; furthermore, 
This marriage had the assent of those to whom 
The king, my father, did commit his tnuit ; 
Who not alone esteem'd it honcurable. 
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 choose 
But where I list, nor yet so amorous 
That I must needs be husbanded ; I thank God, 
I have lived a virgin, and I noway doubt 
But that with God's grace I can live so still. 
Yet if it might please God that I should leave 
Some 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 knew 
This marriage should bring loss or danger to you, 
My subjects, or impair in any way 
This royal state of England, I would never 
Consent 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, 
12 F 



Q U E E N I\I A R \ 



ACT U. 



We will refrain, and not alone from this, 
Likewise from any other, out of which 
Looms the least chance of peril to our realm. 
Wherefore be bold, and with your lawful Prince 
Stand 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 fix)m all 
The 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, m 

masters. 
And will not trust your voices. Understand : 
Your lawful Prince hath come to cast herself 
On loyal hearts and bosoms, hoped to fall 
Into 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 — 



SCENE II. QUEEN MARY. 67 

Your rights and charters hobnail'd into slush — 
Your houses fired — ^your gutters bubbling blood 

ACCLAMATION. 

No ! No I The Queen ! the Queen ! 

WHITE. 

Your Highness hears 
This burst and bass of loyal harmony, 
And how we each and all of us abhor 
The venomous, bestial, devilish revolt 
Of Thomas Wyatt. Hear us now make oath 
To raise your Highness thirty thousand men, 
And arm and strike as with one hand, and brush 
This Wyatt from our shoulders, like a flea 
That might have leapt upon us unawares. 
Swear with me, noble fellow-citizens, all. 
With all your trades, and guilds, and companies. 

CITIZENS. 

We swear I 

MARY. 

We thank your Lordship and your loyal city. 

\^Exit Mary attended, 

WHITE. 

I trust this day, thro' God, I have saved the crown. 

FIRST ALDERMAN. 

Ay, so my Lord of Pembroke in command 
Of all her force be safe ; but there are doubts. 

SECOND ALDERMAN. 

I hear that Gardiner, coming with the Queen, 
And meeting Pembroke, bent to Ms sa.d<i\ft.-Va(QW> 



(,S QUEEX MAKV. act ii. 

As if to win the man by flattering him. 
Is he 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 stem, 

Seem'd thro* that dim dilated world of hers, 

To read our faces ; I have never seen her 

So queenly or so goodly. 

WHITE. 

Courage, sir. 
Thai makes or man or woman look their goodliest. 
Die like the torn fox dumb, but never whine 
Like that poor heart, Northumberland, at the 
block. 

BAGENHALL. 

The man had children, and he whined for those. 
Methinks most men are but poor-hearted, else 
Should 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. 



SCENE II. QUEEN MAR V. 69 

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 jest 
In 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. 

[Exit White. 

BAGENHALL. 

One of much outdoor bluster. 

HOWARD. 

For all that, 
Most honest, brave, and skilful ; and his wealth 
A fountain of perennial alms — his fault 
So thoroughly to believe in his own self. 

BAGENHALL. 

Yet thoroughly to believe in ou€?s awa.^^\^ 



L 



70 



QUEEN MAR V. 



ACT I 



So one's own self be thorough, were to do 
Great things, my Lord. 

HOWARD. 

It may be. 

BAGENHALL. 

I have heai 
One of your Council fleer and jeer at him, 

HOWARD. 

The nursery-cocker*d child will jeer at aught 
That 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 man 
Behind 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 set 
The guard at Ludgate. Fare you well. Sir Ralp 

BAGENHALL. 

**Who knows?" I am for England. But w 

knows, 
That knows the Queen, the Spaniard, and thePo] 
Whether I be for Wyatt, or the Queen ? [Ejceu 




SCENE III. QUEEN MARY, 71 

SCENE III.— London Bridge. 
EnUr Sir Thomas Wyatt and Brett. 

WYATT. 

Brett, when the Duke of Norfolk moved against us 
Thou cried'st ** A Wyatt ! " and flying to our side 
Left 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 clirab*d into the gate-house, Brett, 
And scared tbe gray old porter and his wife. 
And then I crept along the gloom and saw 
They had hewn the drawbridge down into the river. 
It roll'd as black as death ; and that same tide 
Which, coming with our coming, seem'd to smile 
And 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 Howard 
By torchlight, and his guard ; four guns gaped at 

me. 
Black, silent mouths : had Howard spied me there 
And made them speak, as well he might have done. 
Their voice had left me none to tell you this. 
What shall we do ? 



On over London linage 
Ve cannot : stay we cannot : there is ordn 
)n the White Tower and on the Devil's T( 
Ind pointed full at Southwark ; we must r 
iy Kingston Bridge. 

BRETT. 

Ten miles about. 

WYATT. 

1 

But I have notice from our partisans 
Within the city that they will stand by us 
[f Ludgate can be reached by dawn to-moi 

Enter one of Wyatt's men, 

MAN. 

Sir Thomas, I've found this paper ; pr 
worship read it ; I know not my letters ; 
r»ri#.«f« tiinp-ht me nothing. 



SCENE III. QUEEN MARY. 73 

Half plain enough. Give me a piece of paper ! 

\Writa «* Thomas Wyatt'* large. 
There, any man can read that. [Sticks itin his cap, 

BRETT. 

But thaes foolhardy. 

WYATT. 

No ! boldness, which will give my followers bold- 
ness. 

Enter Man xvith a prisoner. 

MAN. 

We found him, your worship, a plundering o' 
Bishop Winchester's house ; he says he's a poor 
gentleman. 

WYATT. 

Gentleman! a thief! Go hang him. Shall we 

make 
Those 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 ^mVA.^ <^>a^ 



ic lias yaiiiuicu lui ma luc, tuiu lusi) iic 

'fo, no, my word's my word. Take 

gentleman ! 
Gamble thyself at once out of my sight, 
)r I will dig thee with my dagger. A^ 
A^omen and children ! 

Enter a Crowd ^/ Women and Chil 

FIRST WOMAN. 

O Sir Thomas, Sir Thomas, pray you 
Sir Thomas, or you*ll make the White 
)lack 'un for us this blessed day. He 
leath on us ; and you'll set the Divi 
i-spitting, and he'll smash all our bits 
ivorse than Philip o' Spain. 

SECOND WOMAN. 

Don't ye now go to think that we be 
d' Spain. 



SCENE III. QUEEN MARY. 75 

WYATT. 
My friends, I have not come to kill the Queen 
Or here or there : I come to save you all, 
And 1*11 go further off. 

CROWD. 

Thanks, Sir Thomas, we be beholden to you, 
and we'll . pray for you 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. 

ALICE. 

O madam, if Lord Pembroke should be false ? 

MARY. 
No, girl ; most brave and loyal, brave and loyal. 
His breaking with Northumberland broke North- 
umberland. 
At the park gate he hovers with our guards. 
These Kentish ploughmen cannot break the guards. 

Enter Messenger. 

MESSENGER. 

Wyatt, your Grace, hath broken thro* the guards 
And gone to Ludgate. 



•.«r^ treason I ^ 






Yalse to i>»° T>enard, ^'^^ . i 



SCENE IV. QUEEN MARY, 77 

Like rabbits to their holes. A gracious guard 
Truly ; shame on them ! they have shut the gates ! 

Enter Sir Robert^ Southwell. 

SOUTHWELL. 

The porter, please your Grace, hath shut the gates 
On friend and foe. Your gentlemen-at-arms. 
If this be not your Grace's order, cry 
To have the gates set wide again, and they 
With their good battleaxes will do you right 
Against all traitors. 

MARY. 

They are the flower of England ; set the gates 
wide. {Exit Southwell. 

Enter Courtenay. 

courtenay. 
All lost, all lost, all yielded I 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 might 
To save my royal cousin. 

MARY. 

Where is Pembroke ? 

COURTENAY. 

I left him somewhere in the thick of it. 



78 Q UEEN MA R Y. act ii. 

MARY. 
Left him and fled ; and thou that would'st be King, 
And hast nor heart nor honour. I m3rself 
Will down into the battle and there bide 
The upshot of my quarrel, or die with those 
That are no cowards and no Courtenays. 

COURTENAY. 

I do not love your Grace should call me coward. 
Enter another Messenger. 

MESSENGER. 

Over, your Grace, all crush'd ; the brave Lord 

William 
Thrust him from Ludgate, and the traitor flying 
To Temple Bar, there by Sir Maurice Berkeley 
Was taken prisoner. 

MARY. 

To the Tower with htm ! 

MESSENGER. 

'Tis said he told Sir Maurice there was one 
Cognisant of this, and party thereunto, 
My Lord of Devon. 

MARY. 

To the Tower with him ! 

COURTENAY. 

la, the Tower, the Tower, always the Tower, 

1 shall grow into it — I shall be the Tower. 

MARY. 

Your Lordship may not have so long to wait. 
RemoYt him ! 



SCENE IV. QUEEN MARY. t) 

COURTENAY. 

La, to whistle out my life, 
And carve my coat upon the walls again ! 

[Exit CouKTEHAY guartM. 

MESSENGER. 

Also this Wyatt did confess the Princess 
Cognisant thereof, and party thereunto. 

MARY. 

What ? whom — whom did you say ? 

MESSENGER. 

Elizabeth, 
Your Royal sister. 

MARY. 

To the Tower with A^r ! 
My foes are at my feet and I am Queen. 

[Gardiner and her Ladies kneel to her, 

GARDINER {rising). 
There let them lie, your footstool ! {Aside.) Can 

I strike 
Elizabeth ? — not now and save the life 
Of Devon : if I save him, he and his 
Are bound to me— may strike hereafter. {Alotid.) 

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. 



And Lady Jane had left us. 

MARY. 

They si 

RENARD. 

And your so loving sister ? 

MARY. 

She shi 
My foes are at my feet, and Philip ] 



^*^^ 



ACT III. 
SCENE I.— The Conduit in Gracechurch, 

Painted luith the Nine Worthies^ among them King 
Henry VIII, holding a book^ on it inscribed 
«« Verbum Dei." 



Enter SiR Ralph Bagenhall attd Sir Thomas 

Stafford. 




BAGENHALL. 

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 bread 
12 G 



BAGENHALL. 

I miss sor 
The tree that only bears dead fruit is gom 

STAFFORD. 

What tree, sir ? 

BAGENHALL. 

Well, the tree in ViigU 
That bears not its own apples. 

STAFFORD. 

What ! the g 

BAGENHALL. 

Sir, this dead fruit was ripening overmuc 
And had to be removed lest living Spain 
Should sicken at dead England. 

STAFFORD. 

Not sc 
But that a shock may rouse her. 

BAGENHALL. 



SCENE I. QUEEN MA R Y. 83 

STAFFORD. 

I think sa 
I came to feel the pulse of England, whether 
It beats hard at this marriage. Did you see it ? 

BAGENHALL. 

Stafford, I am a sad man and a serious. 

Far leifer had I in my country hall 

Been reading some old book, with mine old hound 

Couch'd at my hearth, and mine old flask of 

wine 
Beside 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 woman 
To 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. 

G 2 



84 QUEEN MARY, act hi. 

STAFFORD. 

Were your eyes 
So bashful that you looked 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 fathfer ceded Naples, that the son 
Being a king, might wed a Queen — O he 
Flamed in brocade — white satin his trunk hose. 
Inwrought with silver, — on his neck a collar. 
Gold, thick with diamonds ; hanging down from 

this 
The Golden Fleece — and round his knee, mis- 
placed. 
Our English Garter, studded with great emeralds, 
Rubies, I know not what. Have you had enough 
Of all this gear ? 

STAFFORD. 

Ay, since you hate the telling it. 
How looked the Queen ? 

BAGENHALL. 

No fairer for her jewels. 
And I could see that as the new-made couple 



SCENE I. QUEEN MARY. 85 

Came from the Minster, moving side by side 
Beneath one canopy, ever and anon 
She cast on him a vassal smile of love, 
Which Philip with a glance of some distaste, 
Or so methought, returned. 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 once had half of France, and hurPd our 

battles 
Into the heart of Spain ; but England now 
Is but a ball chuck'd between France and Spain, 
His in whose hand she drops ; Harry of Boling- 

broke 
Had holpen Richard's tottering throne to stand, 
Could Harry have foreseen that all our nobles 
Would perish on the civil slaughter-field, 
And leave the people naked to the crown. 
And the crown naked to the people ; the crown 
Female, too I Sir, no woman's regimen 
Can save us. We are fallen, and as I think. 
Never to rise again. 

STAFFORD. 

You are too black-bloode* 
I'd make a move myself to hinder that : 
I know some lusty fellows there \tv Yx?cM:fc, 



86 QUEEN MARY. act iii. 

BAGENHALL. 

You would but make us weaker, Thomas Stafford. 
Wyatt was a good soldier, yet he fail'd, 
And strengthened Philip. 

STAFFORD. 

Did not his last breath 
Clear Courtenay and the Princess from the charge 
Of being his co-rebels ? 

BAGENHALL. 

Ay, but then 
What such a one as Wyatt says is nothing : 
We have no men among us. The new Lords 
Are quieted with their sop of Abbeylands, 
And ev*vi before the Queen's face Gardiner buys 

them 
With Philip's gold. All greed, no faith, no 

courage ! 
Why, ev'n the haughty prince, Northumberland, 
The leader of our Reformation, knelt 
And blubbered like a lad, and on the scaffold 
Recanted, 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 out 
At Philip's beard : they pillage Spain already. 
The French king winks at it. An hour will come 
When they will sweep her from the seas. No men ? 
Did not Lord Suffolk die \\ke a Itue man ? 



CENE I. QUEEN MARY. 87 

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 {foming oti^, 
God save their Graces ! 

STAFFORD. 

Bagenhall, I see 
The 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 torn 
Down the strong wave of brawlers. 

CROWD. 

God save their Graces ! 

[Procession of Trumpeters^ Javelin-men, 
6f*c. ; then Spanish and Flemish Nobles 
intermingled, 

STAFFORD. 

Worth seeing, Bagenhalll The^^\iVaK.V^Qf|;X^^^^ 



XUC J^ 

Of Alva, an iron soldier. 

STAFFORD. 

And the Dutch 
Now laughing at some jest ? 

BAGENHALL. 

William of < 
William the Silent. 

STAFFORD. 

Why do they call h 

BAGENHALL. 

He keeps, they say, some secret that ma: 
Philip his life. 

STAFFORD. 

But then he looks so me 

BAGENHALL. 

I cannot tell you why they call him so. 

vn,^ ViMP, and OUEEN ^flW, (U 



SCENE I. QUEEN MARY, 89 

BAGENHALL. 

A smile abroad is oft a scowl at home. 

[King and QvEEif /ass on. Procession, 

FIRST CITIZEN. 

I thought this Philip had been one of those 
black devils 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's better than Spanish licorice ; but I thought 
he was a beast. 

THIRD CITIZEN. 

Certain I had heard that every Spaniard carries 
a tail like a devil under his trunk-hose. 

TAILOR. 

Ay, but see what trunk -hoses ! Lord I they 
be fine ; I never stitch'd none such. They make 
amends for the tails. 

FOURTH CITIZEN. 

Tut ! every Spanish priest will tell you that 
all English heretics have tails. 

FIFTH CITIZEN. 

Death and the Devil— if he find I have one — 

FOURTH CITIZEN. 

Lo ! thou hast caird them up I here they come 
— a pale horse for Death and Gardiner for the 
DevU. 



Knave, wilt thou wear thy cap before tl 

MAN. 

My Lord, I stand so squeezed among tl 
I cannot lift my hands mito my head. 

GARDINER. 

Knock off his cap there, some of you al 
See there be others that can use their h 
Thou art one of Wyatt's men ? 

MAN. 

No, my 

GARDINER. 

Thy name, thou knave ? 

MAN. 

I am nobody, 

GARDINER {shouHtt^, 



SCENK I. QUEEN MARY. 91 

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 I 
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 God 
In English ! over this the brainless loons 
That cannot spell Esa'ias from St. Paul, 
Make themselves drunk and mad, fly out and flare 
Into rebellions. I'll have their bibles burnt. 
The bible is the priest's. Ay ! fellow, what I 
Stand staring at me ! shout, yoM ^^m^xo^^V 



JM<m. . 



Long live Queen in 

GARDINER. 

Knave, there be two. There be both King 

Queen, 
Philip and Mary. Shout. 

MAN. 

Nay, but, my Lord, 
The Queen comes first, Mary and Philip. 

GARDINER. 

Shout, 
Mary and Philip ! 

MAN. 

Mary and Philip 1 

GARDINER. 

N 
Thou hast shouted for thy pleasure, shout fo 
T*hilip and Mary ! 

MAN. 



SCENE I. QUEEN MA R Y. 93 

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 Comhill. 

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 — 
Sharj) work and short. The knaves are easily 

cow'd. 
Follow their Majesties. 

[Exit, The crtnvd following, 

BAGENHALL. 

As proud as Becket. 



94 OCEEN MARY. act m. 

STAFFORD. 

You would not have him murder'd as Becket was ? 

BAGENHALL. 

No - murder fathers murder : but I say 

There is no man —there was one woman with us — 

It was a sin to love her married, dead 

I 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 enough 
Her dark dead blood is in my heart with mine. 
If ever I cry out against the Pope 
Her dark dead blood that ever moves with mine 
Will 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 music 
Peerless — her needle perfect, and her learning 
Beyond the churchmen ; yet so meek, so modest, 
So wife-like humble to the trivial boy 
Mismatch'd with her for policy ! I have heard 
She would not take a last farewell of him. 



SCENE I. QUEEN MARY, 95 

She fear'd it might unman him for his end. 

She could not be unmanned — no, nor outwoman*d — 

Seventeen — a rose of grace ! 

Girl never breathed to rival such a rose ; 

Rose never blew that equalled such a bud. 

STAFFORD. 

Pray you go on. 

BAGENHALU 

She came upon the scaffold, 
And said she was condemned to die for treason ; 
She had but followed the device of those 
Her 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 blood 
Of Jesus Christ alone. 

STAFFORD. 

Pray you go on, 

BAGENHALL. 

Then knelt and said the Miserere 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 off 
Before I lay me down ? " * * No, madam," he said, 
Gasping ; and when her innocent eyes were bound, 



If you have heart to ao u i 

CROWD {in the distance), 

God save the! 

STAFFORD. 

Their Graces, our disgraces ! God confot 
Why, she's grown bloodier ! when I last 
This was against her conscience - would I 

BAGENHALL. 

The "Thou shalt do no murder," wl 

hand 
Wrote on her conscience, Mary rubb*d 
She could not make it white — and ovei 
Traced in the blackest textof Hell— "Tl 
And sign'd it — Mary I 

STAFFORD. 

Philip and the 
Must have sign*d too. I hear this Legs 



SCENE I. QUEEN MARY 97 

STAFFORD. 

But, sir, if I — 
And oversea they say this state of yours 
Hath no more mortice than a tower of cards ; 
And that a puff would do it — then if I 
And 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 bright 
Loud 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. 

BAGENHALI,. 

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 hither 

To seize upon the forts and fleet, and make us 

A 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 one 
Who knows me. I must leave you. Fare you well, 
You'll hear of me again. 

BAGENHALL. 

Upon the scaffold. \ExeunU 

12 H 



ryji^Ct, 



Ave Maria, gratia plena, Benedicta ta in 

MARY. 

Loyal and royal cousin, humblest than' 
Had you a pleasant voyage up the rive 

POLE. 

We had your royal barge, and that sai 
Or rather throne of purple, on the dec) 
Our silver cross sparkled before the pr< 
The ripples twinkled at their diamond- 
The boats that followed, were as glowii 
As regal gardens ; and your flocks of s 
As fair and white as angels ; and your 
Wore in mine eyes the green of Paradi 
My foreign friends, who dream*d us bli 
In ever-closing fog, were much amazed 
To find as fair a sun as might have flas 

TTnr»n flipir Inlfp nf C\arf\ii. fire the Thfl 



SCENE II. QUEEN MARY, 99 

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 gian 
Had but to touch the ground, his force returned — 
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 Pope 
To absolve thee from thy guilt of heresy. 
Thou hast disgraced me and attainted me, 
And mark'd me ev'n as Cain, and I return 
As Peter, but to bless thee : make me well." 
Methinks the good land heard me, for to-day 
My heart beats twenty, when I see you, cousin. 
Ah, gentle cousin, since your Herod's death. 
How oft hath Peter knock'd at Mar3r*s gate ! 
And Mary would have risen and let him in. 
But, Mary, there were those within the house 
Who would not have it. 

MARY. 

True, good cousin Pole ; 
H a 



loo QUEEN MARY. act iii. 

And there were also those without the house 
"Who 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 happy 
Since I was crown'd. 

POLE. 

Sweet cousin, you forget 
That long low minster where you gave your hand 
To this great Catholic King. 

PHILIP. 

Well said, Lord Legate. 

MARY. 

Nay, not well said ; I thought of you, my li^[e, 
Ev*n as I spoke. 



SCENE n. QUEEN MAR y. loi 

PHILIP. 
Ay, Madam ; my Lord Paget 
Waits 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 here 
Between the two most high-set thrones on earth, 
TTie Emperor's highness happily symboU'd by 
The King your husband, the Pope's Holiness 
By mine own self. 

MARY. 

True, cousin, I am happy. 
When will you that we summon both our houses 
To take this absolution from your lips, 
And be regather'd to the Papal fold ? 

POLE. 

In Britain's calendar the brightest day 
Beheld our rough forefathers break their Gods, 
And clasp the faith in Christ ; but after that 
Might not St. Andrew's be her happiest day ? 

MARY. 

Then these shall meet upon St. Andrew's day. 

Enter Paget, who presents the Council, 
Dumb show, 

POLE. 

I am an old man wearied with my journey, 



In Lambeth. 

MARY. 

There or an)rwhere, or at all. 

PHILIP. 

We have had it swept and garnish'd after hi 

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 
I will go with you to the waterside, 

POLE. 



SCENE II. QUEEN MARY, 103 

Manet mary. 
He hath awaked ! he hath awaked ! 
He stirs within the darkness ! 
Oh, Philip, husband I now thy love to mine 
Will 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 pale 
Before my star ! 

The light of this new learning wanes and dies : 
The ghosts of Luther and Zuinglius fade 
Into the deathless hell which is their doom 
Before my star ! 

His sceptre shall go forth from Ind to Ind I 
His sword shall hew the heretic peoples down I 
His faith shall clothe the world that will be his, 
Like universal air and sunshine ! Open, 
Ye everlasting gates I The King is here ! — 
My star, my son I 

Enter Philip, Duke of Alva, ^c. 

Oh, Philip, come with me ; 
Good news have I to tell you, news to make 



They call him — he is free enough in talk, 
But tells me nothing. You will be, we tr 
Sometime the viceroy of those provinces — 
lie must deserve his surname better. 

ALVA. 

Ay, 

Inherit the Great Silence. 

PHILIP. 

True ; the pro 
Are hard to rule and must be hardly ruled 
Most fruitful, yet, indeed, an empty rind, 
All hollowed out with stinging heresies ; 
And for their heresies, Alva, they will figh 
You must break them or they break you. 

ALVA {prouc'ly). 

Tl 

PHILIP. 

Good ! 



SCENE II. QUEEN MAR V. 105 

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 



I 



io6 QUEEN MARY. act 

SCENE III.— Great Hall in Whitehai 

At the far end a dais. On this three chairs, t 
under one canopy for Mary and Phil 
another on the right of these for Pole. Um 
the dais on Pole's side, ranged along the wc 
sit all the Spiritual Peers, and along the w 
opposite, all the Temporal, The Commons 
cross benches in front, a line of approach to 
dais between them. In the foreground, S 
Ralph Bagenhall and other Members 
the Commons. 

FIRST member. 
St. Andrew's day; sit close, sit close, we are frien 
Is reconciled the word ? the Pope again ? 
It must be thus ; and yet, cocksbody ! how strai 
That Gardiner, once so one with all of us 
Against this foreign marriage, should have yielc 
So utterly ! — strange ! but stranger still that he 
So fierce against the headship of the Pope, 
Should play the second actor in this pageant 
That brings him in ; such a chameleon he I 

SECOND MEMBER. 

This Gardiner tum'd his coat in Henry's time ; 
The serpent that hath slough'd will slough aga 

third MEMBER. 

Tut, then we all are serpents. 

SECOND MEMBER. 

Speak for yours 




SCENE III. QUEE^r MARY. 107 

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 church- 
man 
How should he bear the headship of the Pope ? 
The Queen would have it! Statesmen that are wise 
Shape a necessity, as a sculptor clay, 
To their own model. 

SECOND MEMBER. 

Statesmen that are wise 
Take truth herself for model. What say you ? 

[To Sir 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 I 
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 rogue 
For infant treason. 

THIRD MEMBER. 

But they say that bees, 
If any creeping life invade their hive 
Too gross to be thrust out, will build him roimd. 
And bind him in from harming of their combs. 



But your wise bees baa stung nun nra 

THIRD MEMBER. 
Hush, hush ! 

You wrong the Chancellor : the claus 
To that same treaty which the emper< 
Were mainly Gardiner's : that no fon 
Hold office in the household, fleet, fo 
That if the Queen should die without 
The bond between the kingdoms be ( 
That Philip should not mix us any w> 
With his French wars — 

SECOND MEMBER. 

Ay, ay, but in 
Good sir, for this, if Philip— 

THIRD MEMBER. 

Peace- 
Philip, and Pole. [AU ris 



SCENE III. QUE EX M A R v. 109 

MARY. 

Should not this day be held in after years 
More solemn than of old ? 

PHILIP. 

Madam, my wish 
Echoes 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 well 
Without 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 fest by that which ye resolved ? 

VOICES. 

We do. 

GARDINER. 

And be you all one mind to supplicate 

The L^[ate here for pardon, and acknowledge 

The 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 and 

presents it to the King and Queen, who 



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SCENE in. QUEEN MARY. iii 

May from the apostolic see obtain, 

Thro' this most reverend Father, absolution, 

And full release from danger of all censures 

Of Holy Church that we be falVn into. 

So that we may, as children penitent. 

Be once again received into the bosom 

And unity of Universal Church ; 

And that this noble realm thro' after years 

May in this imity and obedience 

Unto the holy see and reigning Pope 

Serve God and both your Majesties. 

VOICES. 

Amen. [All sit, 

[He again presents the petition to the King and 

Queen, who hand it reverentially to Pole. 

POLE {sitting. 
This is the loveliest day that ever smiled 
On England. All her breath should, incenselike. 
Rise to the heavens in grateful praise of Him 
Who now recalls her to His ancient fold. 
Lo ! once again God to this realm hath given 
A token of His more especial Grace ; 
For as this people were the first of all 
The islands call'd into the dawning church 
Out of the dead, deep night of heathendom. 
So now are these the first whom God hath given 
Grace to repent and sorrow for their schism ; 
And if your penitence be not mockery. 
Oh how the blessed angels who rejoice 
Over one saved do triumph at this hour 



112 QUEEN MARY. act ill. 

In the reborn salvation of a land 

So noble. \A pause. 

For ourselves we do protest 
That 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 thrown 
Into the blind sea of forgetfulness. \A paiise. 

Ye have reversed the attainder laid on us 
By him who sacked the house of God ; and we, 
Amplier than any field on our poor earth 
Can 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 btU SiR RALPH Bagenhall, who 

rises and remains standing. 

The Lord who hath redeemed us 
With His own blood, and wash'd us from our sins, 
To purchase for Himself a stainless bride ; 
He, whom the Father hath appointed Head 
Of 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, 



SCENE III. Q UEEN MA R Y. 113 

God's Vicar and Vicegerent upon earth, 
Do here absolve you and deliver you 
And every one of you, and all the realm 
And 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 bosom 
And unity of Universal Church. 

\Turning to GARDINER. 
Our letters of commission will declare this plainlier. 
[Queen heard sobbing. Cries of Amen! 
Amen I Some of the Members embrace one 
another, -<^// ^/ Si R Ralph Bagenh ALL 
pass out into the neigfUnmring chapel^ 
•whence is heard the 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 not 
Believes 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 adore 
This Vicar of their Vicar. Would I had heaa 
12 I 



V^A . . 



Sir Ralph Bagenhall ! 

BAGENHALL. 

What oi 

OFFICER. 

You were the one sole man in either house 
Who stood upright when both the houses fe 

BAGENHALL. 

The houses fell ! 

OFFICER. 

I mean the houses knelt 
Before the Legate. 

BAGENHALL. 

Do not scrimp your j 
But stretch it wider ; say when England f 

OFFICER. 

I say you were the one sole man who sto 

BAGENHALL. 

-'- man in either house, 



SCENE III. Q U EE N MA R Y. 115 

OFFICER. 

If any man in any way would be 

The one man, he shall be so to his cost. 

BAGENHALL. 

What ! will she have my head ? • 

OFFICER. 

A round fine likelier. 
Your pardon. [Calling to Attendant, 

By the river to the Tower. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— Whitehall. A Room in the 

Palace. 

Mary, Gardiner, Pole, Paget, Bonner, 6r»r. 

MARY. 

The King and I, my Lords, now that all traitors 
Against our royal state have lost the heads 
Wherewith they plotted in their treasonous malice. 
Have talked together, and are well agreed 
That those old statutes touching Lollardism 
To bring the heretic to the stake, should be 
No longer a dead letter, but requicken'd. 

one of the council. 
Why, what hath fluster'd Gardiner ? how he rubs 
His forelock. 

PAGET. 

I have changed a word with him 
In- coming, and may change a word again. 



Ane laim uiai m:ciu u lu cixv^v^ *va<4 !%,>.« ^^ 
Lift head, and flourish ; yet not light alor 
There must be heat— there must be heat € 
To scorch and wither heresy to the root 
For what saith Christ ? * * Compel them to c 
And what saith Paul ? ** I would they wei 
That trouble you." Let the dead letter 1 
Trace it in fire, that all the louts to whon 
Their A B C is darkness, clowns and gro< 
May read it ! so you quash rebellion too, 
For heretic and traitor are all one : 
Two vipers of one breed — an amphisboen: 
Each end a sting : Let the dead letter bu 

PAGET. 

Yet there be some disloyal Catholics, 
And many heretics loyal ; heretic throats 
Cried no God-bless-her to the Lady Jane, 
But shouted in Queen Mary. So there b 



SCENE IV. QUEEN MA R\\ 117 

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 Lord, 
Watch*d children playing at thHr life 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 kilPd but for their pleasure and the power 
They felt in killing. 

GARDINER. 

A spice of Satan, lia I 
Why, good I 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 found 
One day, a wholesome scripture, ** Little children, 
Love one another." 



** I come not to bring p»-w. 

sword 
Is in her Grace's hand to smite wi 
You stand up here to fight for her 
You are more than guessM at as a 
And on the steep-up track of the 1 
Your lapses are far seen. 

PAGET. 

The fai 

MARY. 

You brawl beyond the questi' 
Legate ! 

POLE. 

Indeed, I cannot follow with ^ 
Rather would say — the sheph< 
The sheep that wander from ' 
''^'"^ r^areful dog to bring ther 



SCENE IV. QUEEN MARY'. 119 

Makes a faith hated, and is furthermore 

No perfect witness of a perfect faith 

In him who persecutes : when men are tost 

On tides of strange opinion, and not sure 

Of 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 trem- 
bling — 
But when did our Rome tremble ? 

PAGET. 

Did she not 
In Henry's time and Edward's ? 

POLE. 

What, my Lord I 
The Church on Peter's rock ? never ! I have seen 
A pine in Italy that cast its shadow 
Athwart a cataract ; firm stood the pin« — 
The cataract shook the shadow. To my mind, 
The cataract t)rped the headlong plunge and fall 
Of 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 {mtttterittg). 

Here be tropes. 



xao QUEEN MARY. act in. 

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 pass 
Into more settled hatred of the doctrines 
Of those who rule, which hatred by-and-by 
Involves the ruler (thus there springs to light 
That 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, begets 
An admiration and an indignation. 
And hot desire to imitate ; so the plague 
Of schism spreads ; were there but three or four 
Of these misleaders, yet I would not say 
Bum ! 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 regimen 



SCENE IV. 



QUEEN MA R V, 121 



We might go sDftlier than with crimson rowel 
And streaming lash. When Herod- Henry first 
Began to batter at your English Church, 
This was the cause, and hence the judgment on her. 
She seethed with such adulteries, and the lives 
Of many among your churchmen were so foul 
That heaven wept and earth blush'd. 1 would 

advise 
That we should thoroughly cleanse the Church 

within 
Before these bitter statutes be requicken*d. 
So after that when she once more is seen 
White as the light, the spotless bride of Christ, 
Like Christ himself on Tabor, possibly 
The 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, 
ould you not chop the bitten finger off, 
: 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 land 
Is bounden by his power and place to see 
His people be not poison'd. Tolerate them ! 
Why ? do they tolerate you ? Nay, many of them 
Would burn — have burnt each other ; call they not 
The one true faith, a loathsome idol-worship ? 
Beware, Lord Legate, of a heavier crime 
Than heresy is itself; beware, I sa^^ 




ttt2 QUEEN MARY. act in. 

Lest men accuse you of indifference 
To all faiths, all religion ; for you know 
Right well that you yourself have been supposed 
Tainted with Lutheranism in Italy. 

POLE (angered). 
But you, my Lord, beyond all supposition, 
In clear and open day were congruent 
With that vile Cranmer in the accursed lie 
Of good Queen Catherine's divorce— the spring 
Of 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 you 
In your five years of imprisonment, my Lord, 
Under young Edward. Whoso bolster'd up 
The gross King's headship of the Church, or more 
Denied 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'd 
Your learned leisure. As for what I did 
I suffer'd and repented. You, Lord Legate 
And Cardinal-Deacon, have not now to learn 
That ev'n St. Peter in his time of fear 
Denied his Master, ay, and thrice, my Lord. 



SCENE IV. QUEEyMARV. 123 

POLE. 

But not for five-and-twenty years, my Lord. 

GARDINER. 

Ha ! good ! it seems then I was summonM hither 
But 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 healed by stroking. The mad bite 
Must have the cautery — tell him — and at once. 
What would'st thou do had'st thou his power, thou 
That 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 seas 
Even when his brother's, nay, his noble mother's, 
Head fell— 

POLE. 
Peace, madman! 
Thou stirrest up a grief thou can'st not fathom. 
Thou Christian Bishop, thou Lord Chancellor 
Of England 1 no rtiore rein vli^oxv \.VvvRft ^\^^x 



124 QUEEN MA R V. act hi. 

Than any child ! Thou mak'st me much ashamed 
That 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 eVn 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 us 
In purging heresy, well we might, for this 
Your 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 privacy 
What power this cooler sun of England hath 
In breeding godless vermin. And pray Heaven 
That you may see according to our sight. 
Come, cousin. [Exeunt Queen and Pole, d^c. 

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. 

We]], a weak mouth, perchance. 



SCENE IV. QUEEN MARY. 125 

GARDINER. 

And not like thine 
To gorge a heretic whole, roasted or raw. 

BONNER. 

I*d do my best, my Lord ; but yet the Legate 
Is here as Pope and Master of the Church, 
And if he go not with you — 

GARDINER. 

Tut, Master Bishop, 
Our bashful L^[ate, saw*st not how he flush'd ? 
Touch him upon his old heretical talk, 
He*ll bum 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 plunge 
His foreign fist into our island Church 
To 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— 



uoa upon eann i wnai more ; wna 

have? 
Hence, let's be gone. 

£ft/er Usher. 

USHER. 

Well that yon 
My Lord. The Queen, most wroth 

you. 
Is now content to grant you full for^ 
So that you crave full pardon of the 
I am sent to fetch you. 

GARDINER. 

Doth Pole 
Did you hear 'em ? were you by? 

USHER. 

la 
His bearing is so courtly-delicate ; 



SCENE IV. QUEEN MARY. 127 

At three-score years ; then if we change at all 
We needs must do it quickly ; it is an age 
Of brief life, and brief purpose, and brief patience, 
As I have shown to-day. I am sorry for it 
If Pole be like to turn. Our old friend Cranmer, 
Your more especial love, hath tum*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 Ilia," which will test their sect. 
I feel it but a duty — you will find in it 
Pleasure as well as duty, worthy Bonner, — 
To test their sect. Sir, I attend the Queen 
To crave most humble pardon — of her most 
Royal, Infallible, Papal Legate-cousin. {Exeufit, 



SCENE v.— Woodstock. 
Elizabeth, Lady in Waiting. 

LADY. 

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 oat in masques. 



Breaks into feather'd menimenti, and flowers 
In silken p^eants. Why do they keep us her 
Why Jtill suspect your Grace ? 

ELIZABETH. 

Hard upon both. 
[ iVriia <m Ike windcno imth a diamoi 



A true rhyi 
Cut vrith a diamond ; so to last like truth. 



Ay, if tnith last. 

LADY, 

But truth, they say, « 
So it must last. It is not tike a word, 
That comes and goes in uttering. 




Truth, a w 
The -very Truth and very Word are one. 

ith of story, which I glanced at, girl, 
a word that comes from olden days, 
And passes thro' the peoples : every tongue 
Alters it passing, till it spelts and speaks 
" ' other than at iirst. 



SCENE V. QUEEN MARY. 129 

I.ADY. 

I do not follow. 

ELIZABETH. 

How many names in the long sweep of time 
That so foreshortens greatness, may but hang 
On the chance mention of some fool that once 
Brake bread with us, perhaps : and my poor 

chronicle 
Is but of glass. Sir Henry Bedingfield 
May 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 underfoot 
And in this very chamber, fuse the glass, 
And char us back again into the dust 
We spring from. Never peacock against rain 
Scream'd as you did for water. 

LADY. 

And I got it. 
I woke Sir Henry — and he*s true to you — 
I 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, 

12 K 



ELIZABETH. 

A chance— 
One of those wicked wilfuls that men n 
Nor shame to call it nature. Nay, I k 
They hunt my blood. Save for my dai 
Among the pleasant fields of Holy Wri 
I might despair. But there hath 

come; 
The house is all in movement. Heno 

MILKMAID (singing without 

Shame upon you, Robin, 

Shame upon you now ! 
Kiss me would you ? with my hands 

Milking the cow ? 

Daisies grow again. 

Kingcups blow again, 

- —«,• and kiss'd me milking 



SCENE V. QUEEN MAKW 131 

Come, Robin, Robin, 

Come and kiss roe how ; 
Help it can I ? with my hands 

Milking the cow? 

Ringdoves coo again. 

All things woo again. 
Come behind and kiss me milking the cow I 

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, chum, 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 divide 
The 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 pillow 
But 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 truth 
That it may fall to-day ! Those damp, black, dead 
Nights in the Tower; dead — with thefear of death — 
Too dead ev'n for a death-watch I Toll of a bell, 

K 1 



132 QUEEN MARY. act in 

Stroke of a clock, the scurrying of a rat 

Affrighted 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-by 
Both 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*d 
That I were caught, and kill'd away at once 
Out of the flutter. The gray rogue, Gardiner, 
Went on his knees, and pra/d me to confess 
In Wyatt's business, and to cast myself 
Upon the good Queen's mercy ; ay, when, my 

Lord? 
God save the Queen ! My jailor — 

Enter SiR Henry Bedingfikld. 

BEDINGFIELD. 

One, whose bolts, 
That jail you from free life, bar you from death. 
There haunt some Papist ruffians hereabout 
y^ou\dL murder you. 



SCENE V. QUEEN M A RV. 133 

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 Queen 
It shall be all my study for one hour 
To 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 made 
Since 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 cag^e 



i!4 QUEliX MARV. *ci 

That makes the captive testy ; with free wing 
The world were all one Amby, Leave ine an 
Will you, companion to myself, sir ? 



Will I ? 
With most exceeding willingness, I wilt ; 
You know I never come till I be call'd. {L 



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 th« worst at once. 

Hit. 

" It is the King's wish, that you should 

Prince Philibert of Savoy. You are to coim 

Court on the instant ; and think of this in ; 

coming. 

"Mary thb Queen, 

Think ! I have many thoughts ; 
I ihink there may be birdlime here for me ; 
I think they fain would have me from the rea! 
I think the Queen may never bear a child ; 
I think that I may be some time the Queen, 
Then, Queen indeed : rio foreign prince or p 
Should fill my throne, myself upon the steps. 
I think 1 will not marry anyone. 
Specially not this landless Philibert 
Of Savoy ; but, if Philip menace me, 
I think (hat I will play with Philibert,— 



SCENE V. QUEEN MA R V. 135 

As once the Holy Father did with mine, 
Before my father married my good mother,-^ 
For fear of Spain. 

Enter Lady. 

LADY. 

O Lord I your Grace, your Grace, 
I feel so happy : it seems that we shall fly 
These bald, blank fields, and dance into the sun 
That shines on princes. 

ELIZABETH. 

Yet, a moment since, 
I wished myself the milkmaid singing here. 
To kiss and cuff among the birds and flowers — 
A right rough life and healthful. 

LADY. 

But the wench 
Hath her own troubles ; she is weeping now ; 
For the wrong Robin took her at her word. 
Then the cow kickM, and all her milk was spilt. 
Your Highness such a milkmaid ? 

ELIZABETH. 

I had kept 
My Robins and my cows in sweeter order 

Had I been such. 

LADY (slyiy). 
And had your Grace a Robin ? 

ELIZABETH. 

Come, come, you are chill here ; you want the sun 



rt ; make ready for the journey. 

ape the sunstroke. Ready at 

{Examl. 



d LuHD William Howako. 
e Queen, Renard denied her. 



Their Flemish go-between 
came to thank her Maje:ity 

end B^enhall from the Tower; 

Mercy, Ihal herb-of-grace, 

ieldor! 



/ 




SCBNB VI. Q UEEN MA R K X37 

HOWARD. 
Why then the King ! for I would have him bring it 
Home to the leisure wisdom of his Queen, 
Before he go, that since these statutes past, 
Gardiner out-Gardiners Gardiner in his heat, 
Bonner cannot out-Bonner hb own self — 
Beast ! — but they play with fire as children do. 
And bum the house. I know that these are 

breeding 
A fierce resolve and fixt heart-hate in men 
Against the King, the Queen, the Holy Father, 
The faith itself. Can I not see him ? 

RENARD. 

Not now. 
And in all this, my Lord, her Majesty 
Is flint of flint; you may strike fire from her, 
Not hope to melt her. I will give your message. 

[ExeufU Petre and Howard. 

Enter Philip {musing), 

PHILIP. 

She will not have Prince Philibert of Savoy, 
I talk'd with her in vain — says she will live 
And die true maid— a goodly creature too. 
Would she had been the Queen! yet she must 

have him ; 
She troubles England : that she breathes in England 
Is life and lungs to every rebel birth 
That passes out of embryo. 

Simon Renard I — 



1 o deal with heresy gentlier. Gard 
And Bonner bums ; and it would see 
Care more for our brief life in their y 
Than yours in happier Spain. I tol 
He should not vex her Highness ; st 
These are the means God works w 

church 
May flourish. 

PHILIP. 

Ay, sir, but in states 
To strike too soon is oft to miss the 1 
Thou knowest I bad my chaplain, C; 
Against these buinings. 

RENARD. 

And the Es 
Approved you, and when last he wro 
His comfort in your Grace that you vi 
And affable to men of all estates. 



SCENE VI. QUEEN MARY, 139 

To go twelve months in bearing of a child? 
The nurses yawn*d, the cradle gaped, they led 
Processions, chanted litanies, clash'd their bells, 
Shot off their lying cannon, and her priests 
Have preach*d, the fools, of this fair prince to come. 
Till, by St. James, I find myself the fool. 
Why do you lift your eyebrow at me thus ? 

RENARD. 

I never saw your Highness moved till now. 

PHILIP. 

So weary am I of this wet land of theirs, 
And every soul of man that breathes therein . 

RENARD. 

My liege, we must not drop the mask before 
The masquerade is over — 

PHILIP. 

— Have I dropt it 
I have but shown a loathing face to you, 
Who knew it from the first. 

Enter Mary. 

MARY (aside). 

With Renard. Still 
Parleying with Renard, all the day with Renard, 
And scarce a greeting all the day for me — 
And goes to-morrow. \_Exit Mary. 

PHILIP {to renard, who advances to him). 

Well, sir, is there more ? 



RENARD. 

And be forgiven for it ? 

PHILIP. 

Simon Ren: 
Knows me too well to speak a single 
That could not be forgiven. 

RENARD. 

Well, n 
Your Grace hath a most chaste and lo 

PHILIP. 
Why not? The Queen of Philip shoul 

RENARD. 

Ay, but, my Lord, you know what V 
Woman is various and most mutable. 

PHILIP. 

She play the harlot ! never. 



SCENE VI. QUEEN MA R V. 141 

What should I say, I cannot pick my words — 
Be somewhat less — majestic to your Queen. 

PHILIP. 

Am I to change my manners, Simon Renard, 
Because these islanders are brutal beasts ? 
Or would you have me turn a sonneteer, 
And warble those brief-sighted eyes of hers ? 

REfik/(RD. 

Brief-sighted tho* they be, I have seen them, sire. 
When you perchance were trifling royally 
With some fair dame of court, suddenly fill 
With such fierce fire — had it been fire indeed 
It would have burnt both speakers. 

PHILIP. 

Ay, and then ? 

RENARD. 

Sire, might it not be policy in some matter 
Of small importance now and then to cede 
A point to her demand ? 

PHILIP. 

Well, I am going. 

RENARD. 

For should her love when you are gone, my liege, 
Witness these papers, there will not be wanting 
Those that will urge her injury — should her love — 
And I have known such women more than one — 
Veer to the counterpoint, and jealousy 
Hath in it an alchemic force to fuse 
Almost into one metal love and hate,-^. 



«r*** «V«*A9 Wlk 



As else we might be — here she com 

Enter Mary. 

MARY. 

Nay, must you go indeed ? 

PHILIP. 

Madam, 

MARY. 

The parting of a husband and a wife 
Is like the cleaving of a heart ; one 1 
Will flutter here, one there. 

PHILIP. 

You say t 

MARY. 

The Holy Virgin will not have me ye 
Lose the sweet hope that I may bear 
If such a prince wer^ Wvm o»»/^ •"*•- - 



SCENE vr. QUEEN MA RV. 143 

Will shift the yoke and weight of all the world 
From oflf his neck to mine. We meet at Brussels. 
But since mine absence will not be for long, 
Your Majesty shall go to Dover with me, 
And wait my coming back. 

MARY. 

To Dover ? no, 
I am too feeble. I will go to Greenwich, 
So you will have me with you ; and there watch 
All that is gracious in the breath of heaven 
Draw with your sails from our poor land, and pass 
And leave me, Philip, with my prayers for you. 

PHILIP. 

And doubtless I sliall profit by your prayers. 

MARY. 

Methinks that would you tarry one day more 
(The news was sudden) I could mould myself 
To bear your going belter ; will you do it ? 

PHILIP. 

Madam, a day may sink or save a realm. 

MARY. 

A day may save a heart from breaking too. 

PHILIP. 

Well, Simon Renard, shall we stop a day ? 

RENARD. 

Your Grace's business will not suffer, sire, 
For one day more, so far as I can leW, 

PHILIP. 

Then one day more to please "her Ma^esX^* 



144 



Q U E E N M AR\ '. act 



MARY. 

The sunshine sweeps across my life again. 

if I knew you felt this parting, Philip, 
As I do I 

PHILIP. 

By St. James I do protest, 
Upon the faith and honour of a Spaniard, 

1 am vastly grieved to leave your Majesty. 
Simon, is supper ready ? 

RENARD. 

Ay, my liege, 
I saw the covers laying. 

PHILIP. 

Let us have it. [£xa 




w 



.^"♦''^ 



ACT IV. 
SCENE I. — A Room in the Palace. 



Mary, Cardinal Pole. 



MARY. 




II HAT have you there ? 



pole. 

So please your Majesty, 
\. long petition from the foreign exiles 
To spare the life of Cranmer. Bishop Thirlby, 
\nd my Lord Paget and Lord William Howard, 
I^rave, in the same cause, hearing of your Grace. 
Hath he not written himself — infatuated — 
Fo sue you for his life ? 

MARY. 

His life ? Oh, no ; 
Not sued for that — he knows it were in vain. 
But so much of the anti-papal leaven 
Works in him yet, he hath pray'd me not to sully 
Mine own prerogative, and degrade the realm 
By seeking justice at a stranger's hand 
12 1^ 



True to this realm of England anc 
Together, says the heretic. 

POLE. 

An 
As he hath ever err*d thro' vanity 
A secular kingdom is but as the I 
Lacking a soul ; and in itself a hi 
The Holy Father in a secular kii 
Is as the soul descending out of I 
Into a body generate. 

MARY. 

Write to 

POLE. 

I wUl. 

MARY. 

And sharply, Pole. 

POLE. 



II. QUEE\N MARY 147 

ito private life within the realm, 
tveral bills and declarations, Madam, 
lath recanted all his heresies. 

PAGET. 

\y ; if Bonner have not foiled the bills. 

{Aside, 

MARY. 

not More die, and Fisher? he must bum. 

HOWARD. 

lath recanted. Madam. 

MARY. 

The better for him, 
)ums in Purgatory, not in Hell. 

HOWARD. 

ay, your Grace ; but it was never seen 
any one recanting thus at full, 
!ranmer hath, came to the fire on earth. 

MARY. 

ill be seen now, then. 

THIRLBY. 

O Madam, Madam I 
IS implore you, low upon my knees, 
each the hand of mercy to my friend, 
re err'd with him ; with him I have recanted, 
t human reason is there why my friend 
lid meet with lesser mercy than myself? 

MARY. 
Lord of Ely, this. After a*riot .^^'- -' 
iiang the leaders, let their following go. 

L a 



,48 QUEEN MARY, act iv. 

Cranmer is head and father of these heresies, 
New learning as they call it ; yea, may God 
Forget me at most need when I forget 
Her foul divorce — my sainted mother — No ! — 

HOWARD. 

Ay, ay, but mighty doctors doubted there. 
The Pope himself waver*d ; and more than one 
Row'd in that galley — Gardiner to wit. 
Whom truly I deny not to have been 
Your faithful friend and trusty councillor. 
Hath not your Highness ever read his book, 
His tractate upon True Obedience, 
Writ by himself and Bonner ? 

MARY. 

I will take 
Such order with all bad, heretical books 
That none shall hold them in his house and live. 
Henceforward. No, my Lord, 

HOWARD. 

Then never read it. 
The truth is here. Your father was a man 
Of such colossal kinghood, yet so courteous. 
Except when wroth, you scarce could meet his eye 
And hold your own ; and were he wroth indeed, 
You held it less, or not at all. I say. 
Your father had a will that beat men down ; 
your father had a biam XY^^X btal men down — 

iVot me, my Lord. 



KNK I. QUEEN MARY, 149 

HOWARD. 
No, for you were not here ; 
""ou sit upon this fallen Cranmer's throne ; 
ind it would more become you, my Lord Legate, 
o join a voice, so potent with her Highness, 
"o ours in plea for Cranmer than to stand 
)n nakedself-assertion. 

MARY. 

All your voices 
ure waves on flint. The heretic must bum. 

HOWARD. 

''et once he saved your Majesty's own life ; 
ttood out against the King in your behalf, 
Lt his own periL 

MARY. 

I know not if he did ; 
^nd if he did I care not, my Lord Howard, 
iy life is not so happy, no such boon, 
That I should spare to take a heretic priest's, 
Yho saved it or not saved. WTiy do you vex me ? 

PAGET. 

{ti to save Cranmer were to serve the Church, 
if our Majesty's I mean ; he is effaced, 
>elf-blotted out ; so wounded in his honour, 
rie can but creep down into some dark hole 
Like a hurt beast, and hide himself and die ; 
But if you bum him, — well, your Highness knows 
The saying, **Martyr'sblood— seedof the Church." 



And if he have to ii»w - 

It were more merciful to bum him now. 

THIRLBY. 

O yet relent. O, Madam, if you knew him 
As I do, ever gentle, and so gracious, 
With all his learning — 

MARY. 

Yet a heretic still. 
His learning makes his burning the more just. 

THIRLBY. 

So worshipt of all those that came across him 
The stranger at his hearth, and all his house- 

MARY. 

His children and his concubine, belike. 

THIRLBY. 

To do him any wrong was to beget 

j«-c«; from him, for his heart was rid 



SCENE I. QUEEN MAKV. 151 

HOWARD. 

Such weeds make dunghills gracious. 

MARY. 

Enough, my Lords. 
It is God's will, the Holy Father's will, 
And Philip's will, and mine, that he should bum. 
He is pronounced anathema. 

HOWARD. 

Farewell, Madam, 
God grant you ampler mercy at your call 
Than you have shown to Cranmer. 

[^Exeunt Lords. 

POLE. 

After this, 
Your Grace will hardly care to overlook 
This same petition of the foreign exiles 
For Cranmer*s life. 

MARY. 

Make out the writ to-night. 

\Exaint, 

SCENE IL— Oxford. Cranmer in Prison. 

CRANMER. 

Last night, I dream'd the faggots were alight. 

And that myself was fasten'd to the stake, 

And found it all a visionary flame, 

Cool as the light in old decaying wood ; 

And then King Harry look'd from out a cloud. 

And bad me have good courage ; and I heard 

An angel cry ** There is more joy in Heaven," — 



152 QUEEN MARY. act iv. 

And after that, the trumpet of the dead. 

[ Trumpets without. 
Why, there are trumpets blowing now : what is it? 

Enter Yktu^k Cole. 

COLE. 

Cranmer, I come to question you again ; 
Have you remained in the true Catholic faith 
I left you in ? 

CRANMER. 

In the true Catholic faith, 
By Heaven's grace, I am more and more confirm'd< 
Why are the trumpets blowing. Father Cole ? 

COLE. 

Cranmer, it is decided by the Council 
That you to-day should read your recantation 
Before the people in St. Mary's Church. 
And there be many heretics in the town, 
Who loathe you for your late return to Rome, 
And might assail you passing through the street, 
And tear you piecemeal : so you have a guard. 

CRANMER. 

Or seek to rescue me. I thank the Council 

COLE. 

Do you lack any money ? 

CRANMER. 

Nay, why should I ? 
The prison fare is good etvough for me. 

Ay, but to give the poor. 



SCENE II. QUEEN MARY. 153 

CRANMER. 

Hand it me, then 
I thank you. 

COLE. 

For a little space, farewell ; 
Until I see you in St. Mary's Church. [Exit CoLB. 

CRANMER. 

It is against all precedent to bum 

One who recants ; they mean to pardon me. 

To give the poor — they give the poor who die. 

Well, bum me or not bum me I am fixt ; 

It is but a communion, not a mass : 

A holy supper, not a sacrifice ; 

No man can make his Maker — Villa Garcia. 

Enter Villa Garcia. 

VILLA GARCIA. 

Pray you write out this paper for me, Cranmer. 

CRANMER. 

Have I not writ enough to satisfy you ? 

VILLA GARCIA. 

It is the last. 

CRANMER. 

Give it me, then. [Hie writes. 

VILLA GARCIA. 

Now sign. 

CRANMER. 

I have sign'd enough, and I will sign no more. 

VILLA GARCIA. 

It is no more than what you have sign*d already, 
The public form thereof. 



154 QUEEN MAR y, act iv. 

CRANMER. 

It may be so ; 
I sign it with my presence, if I read it. 

VILLA GARCIA. 

But this is idle of you. Well, sir, well, 
You are to beg the people to pray for you ; 
Exhort them to a pure and virtuous life ; 
Declare the Queen's right to the throne ; confess 
Your faith before all hearers ; and retract 
That Eucharistic doctrine in your book. 
Will you not sign it now ? 

CRANMER. 

No, Villa Garcia, 
I sign no more. Will they have mercy on me ? 

VILLA GARCIA. 

Have you good hopes of mercy ! So, farewell. 

[Exit. 

CRANMER. 

Good hopes, not theirs, have I that I am fixt, 
Fixt beyond fall ; however, in strange hours. 
After the long brain-dazing colloquies, 
And thousand -times recurring argument 
Of those two friars ever in my prison. 
When left alone in my despondency. 
Without a friend, a book, my faith would seem 
Dead or half-drown'd, or else swam heavily 
Against the huge corrvipWoivs oi vVv^ Church, 
Monsters of mistradition, o\^ etvoNi!^ 
To scare me into dreaming, «*yJ>aaX.«Kv\, 



SCENE II. QUEEN MARY, 15 

Cranmer, against whole ages ? " was it so. 
Or am I slandering my most inward friend, 
To veil the fault of my most outward foe — 
The soft and tremulous coward in the flesh ? 

higher, holier, earlier, purer church, 

1 have found thee and not leave thee any more. 
It is but a communion, not a mass — 

No sacrifice, but a life-giving feast I 
{Writes,) So, so ; this will I say — thus will I pray 

[Pu(s up the paper 

Enter Bonner. 

BONNER. 

Good day, old friend ; what, you look somewhat 

worn : 
And yet it is a day to test your health 
Ev'n at the best : I scarce have spoken with you 
Since when ? — your degradation. At your trial 
Never stood up a bolder man than you ; 
You would not cap the Pope's commissioner — 
Your learning, and your stoutness, and your heresy, 
Dumbfounded half of us. So, after that. 
We had to dis-archbishop and unlord, 
And make you simple Cranmer once again. 
The common barber dipt your hair, and I 
Scraped from your finger-points the holy oil ; 
And worse than all, you had to kneel to me: 
Which was not pleasant for you, Master Cranmer. 
Now you, that would not recognise the Pope, 
And you, that would not own the Real Presence, 



[ow are the mighty fallen, i»x^- 

CRANMER. 

'ou have been more fierce against the Pope thai 
lut why fling back the stone he strikes me wit 

[As 

^O Bonner, if I ever did you kindness — 

Power hath been given you to try faith by fire 
Pray you, remembering how yourself have chang 
Be somewhat pitiful, after I have gone, 
To the poor flock — to women and to children- 
That when I was archbishop held with me. 

BONNER. 

Ay — gentle as they call you — live or die I 
Pitiful to this pitiful heresy ? 
I must obey the Queen and Council, man. 
Win thro* this day with honour to yourself 
And I'll say something for you — so — good-by 

[ 



SCENE 11. QUEEN MARY. 157 

My heart is no such block as Bonner's is : 
Who would not weep ? 

CRANMER. 

Why do you so my-Iord me, 
Who am disgraced ? 

THIRLBY. 

On earth ; but saved in heaven 
By your recanting. 

CRANMER. 

Will they bum me, Thirlby ? 

THIRLBY. 

Alas, they will ; these burnings will not help 
The purpose of the faith ; but my poor voice 
Against them is a whisper to the roar 
Of a spring-tide. 

CRANMER. 

And they will surely burn me ? 

THIRLBY. 

Ay ; and besides, will have you in the church 
Repeat your recantation in the ears 
Of all men, to the saving of their souls, 
Before your execution. May Gkxi help you 
Thro* that hard hour ! 

CRANMER. 

And may God bless you, Thirlby ! 
Well, they shall hear my recantation there. 

\Exit Thirlby. 
Disgraced, dishonour'd ! — not by them, indeed. 
By mine own self— by mine own hand ! 
O thin-skinn'd hand and jutting veins, *twas you 



158 QUEEN MA R Y. act iv. 

That sign'd the bummg of poor Joan of Kent ; 
But then she was a witch. You have written much, 
But you were never raised to plead for Frith, 
Whose dogmas I have reached : he was delivered 
To the secular arm to bum ; and there was 

Lambert ; 
Who can foresee himself? truly these burnings, 
As Thirlby says, are profitless to the burners. 
And help the other side. You shall bum too, 
Bum first when I am burnt. 
Fire — inch by inch to die in agony ! Latimer 
Had a brief end — not Ridley. Hooper bum'd 
Three-quarters of an hour. Will my faggots 
Be wet as his were ? It is a day of rain. 
I will not muse upon it. 
My fancy takes the humerus part, and makes 
The fire seem even crueller than it is. 
No, I not doubt that God will give me strength, 
Albeit I have denied him. 

Enter Soto and Villa Garcia. 

VILLA GARCIA. 

We are ready 
To take you to St. Mary's, Master Cranmer. 

CRANMER. 

And I : lead on ; ye loose me from my bonds. 

\ExeunL 



SCENB III. Q UEEN MA R Y. 159 

SCENE III.— St. Mary's Church. 

Cole in the Pulpit^ Lord Williams of Thame 
presiding. Lord William Howard, Lord 
Paget, and others, Cranmer enters between 
Soto aftd Villa Garcia, and the whole 
Choir strike up *« Nunc Dimittis." Cranmer 
is set upon a Scaffold he/ore the people. 

cole. 
Behold him — [A pause ; people in the foreground, 

people. 
Oh, unhappy sight 1 

FIRST PROTESTANT. 

See how the tears run down his fatherly face. 

SECOND PROTESTANT. 

James, didst thou ever see a carrion crow 
Stand watching a sick beast before he dies ? 

FIRST PROTESTANT. 

Him perch'd up there ? I wish some thunderbolt 
Would make this Cole a cinder, pulpit and all. 

COLE. 

Behold him, brethren : he hath cause to weep I — 
So have we all : weep with him if ye will, 

Yet 

It is expedient for one man to die. 
Yea, for the people, lest the people die. 
Yet wherefore should he die that hath return'd 
To the one Catholic Universal Church, 
Repentant of his errors ? 



Those of the wrong side will despise the man 
Deeming him one that thro' the fear of death 
Gave up his cause, except he seal his faith 
In sight of all with flaming martyrdom. 

CRANMER. 

Ay. 

COLE. 

Ye hear him, and albfeit there may seem 
According to the canons pardon due 
To him that so repents, yet are there causes 
Wherefore our Queen and Council at this tin 
Adjudge him to the death. He hath been a tr 
A shaker and confounder of the realm ; 
And when the King's divorce was sued at R 
He here, this heretic metropolitan, 
As if he had been the Holy Father, sat 
And judged it. Did I call him heretic ? 
A huge heresiarch ! never was it known 



SCENE III. QUEEN MARY, i6i 

PROTESTANT murmurs. 

I warrant you. 

COLE. 

Take therefore, all, example by this man, 

For if our Holy Queen not pardon him. 

Much less shall others in like cause escape. 

That all of you, the highest as the lowest. 

May learn there is no power against the Lord. 

There stands a man, once of so high degree. 

Chief prelate of our Church, archbishop, first 

In Council, second person io the realm. 

Friend for so long time of a mighty King ; 

And now ye see downfallen and debased 

From councillor to caitiff— fallen so low. 

The leprous flutterings of the byway, scum 

And offal of the city would not change 

Estates with him ; in brief, so miserable, 

There is no hope of better left for him, 

No place for worse. 

Yet, Cranmer, be thou glau. 

This is the work of God. He is glorified 
In thy conversion : lo ! thou art reclaimM ; 
He brings thee home : nor fear but that to-day 
Thou shalt receive the penitent thief's award. 
And be with Christ the Lord in Paradise. 
Remember how God made the fierce fire seem 
To those three children like a pleasant dew. 
Remember, too, 

The triumph of St. Andrew on his cross. 
The patience of St. Lawrence in the fire. 

12 \K 



i62 Q UEEN MA R K. act iv. 

Thus, if thou call on God and all the saints, 
God will beat down the fury of the flame, 
Or give thee saintly strength to undergo. 
And for thy soul shall masses here be sung 
By every priest in Oxford. Pray for him. 

CRANMER. 

Ay, one and all, dear brothers, pray for me ; 
Pray with one breath, one heart, one soul for me. 

COLE. 
And now, lest anyone among you doubt 
The man's conversion and remorse of heart. 
Yourselves shall hear him speak. Speak, Master 

Cranmer, 
Fulfil your promise made me, and proclaim 
Your true undoubted faith, that all may hear. 

CRANMER. 

And that I will. O God, Father of Heaven I 
O Son of God, Redeemer of the world I 

Holy Ghost ! proceeding from them both. 
Three persons and one God, have mercy on me, 
Most miserable sinner, wretched man. 

1 have offended against heaven and earth 
More grievously than any tongue can tell. 
Then whither should I flee for any help ? 
I am ashamed to lift my eyes to heaven. 
And I can find no refuge upon earth. 

S/jn/i I despair then? -God forbid I O God, 
For (hou art merciful, leiusviv^ Tioiit 
That come to Thee fox succoui, NrnXoTawt^ 



SCENE III. QUEEN MARY. 163 

Therefore, I come ; humble myself to Thee ; 

Sa3riiig, O Lord God, although my sins be great. 

For thy great mercy have mercy I O God the Son 

Not for slight faults alone, when thou becamest 

Man in the Flesh, was the great mystery wrought ; 

O God the Father, not for little sins 

Didst thou yield up thy Son to human death ; 

But for the greatest sin that can be sinn*d. 

Yea, even such as mine, incalculable, 

Unpardonable, — sin against the light. 

The truth of God, which I had proven and known. 

Thy mercy must be greater than all sin. 

Forgive me. Father, for no merit of mine, 

But that Thy name by man be glorified. 

And Thy most blessed Son*s, who died for man. 

Good people, every man at time of death 
Would fain set forth some saying that may live 
After his death and better humankind ; 
For death gives life's last word a power to live. 
And, like the stone-cut epitaph, remain 
After the vanished voice, and speak to men. 
God grant me grace to glorify my God ! 
And first I say it is a grievous case. 
Many so dote upon this bubble world. 
Whose colours in a moment break and fly. 
They care for nothing else. What saith St. John : — 
** Love of this world is hatred against God." 
Again, I pray you all that, next to God, 
You do unmurmuringly and willingly 
Obey your King and Queen, and not for dread 



Hear to each other, seeming **%,. _ 
But mortal foes I But do you good to all 
As much as in you lieth. Hurt no man mo 
Than you would harm your loving natural h 
Of the same roof, same breast. If any do. 
Albeit he think himself at home with God, 
Of this be sure, he is whole worlds away. 

PROTESTANT murmurs. 
What sort of brothers then be those that la' 
To bum each other ? 

WILLIAMS. 

Peace among you, t' 

CRANMER. 

Fourthly, to those that own exceeding we 
Remember that sore saying spoken once 
By Him that was the truth, ** How hard 
■^— *he. rich man to enter into Heaven ; ' 

-^«» that liarri «m 



SCENE III. QUEEN MAR V. 165 

To the last end of life, and thereupon 
Hangs all my past, and all my life to be. 
Either to live with Christ in Heaven with joy, 
Or to be still in pain with devils in hell ; 
And, seeing in a moment, I shall find 

[Pointing upwards. 
Heaven or else hell ready to swallow me, 

[PoifUiftg downwards, 
I shall declare to you my very faith 
Without all colour. 

COLE. 
Hear him, my good brethren. 

CRANMER. 

I do believe in God, Father of all ; 
In every article of the Catholic faith. 
And every syllable taught us by our Lord, 
His prophets, and apostles, in the Testaments, 
Both Old and New. 

COLE. 

Be plainer. Master Qranmer. 

CRANMER. 

And now I come to the great cause that weighs 
Upon my conscience more than anything 
Or said or done in all my life by me ; 
For there be writings I have set abroad 
Against the truth I knew within my heart. 
Written for fear of death, to save my life. 
If that might be ; the papers by my hand 
Sign'd since my degradation — by this hand 

[Holding out his right hand. 



Qo 1 tnay come to ^ 

„KST PROTESTANT. 

SECOND P«^JJ^p^y,«„ehea 

THIRD PROTESTANT. 

God bless Wm» munnun- 

^° CATHOUC «« t apon 

Vou knowX"you te«m«d^; ^"^^ 
Vouv,Mea^«^«Vp,3inChnstum 



SCBNB III. QUEEN MARY. 167 

With all hb devil's doctrines ; and refuse, 
Reject him, and abhor him. I have said. 

[Cries on €Ul sides^ **Pull him down! 
Away with him I " 

COLE. 

Ay, stop the heretic's mouth ! Hale him away I 

WILLIAMS. 

Harm him not, harm him not ! have him to the fire ! 
[Cranmer goes out between Two Friars^ 
smiling; hands are reached to him from 
the crowd. Lord William Howard 
and Lord Paget are left alone in the 
church, 

PAGET. 

The nave and aisles all empty as a fooPs jest ! 
No, here's Lord William Howard. What, my 

Lord, 
You have not gone to see the burning? 

HOWARD. 

Fie! 
To stand at ease, and stare as at a show, 
And watch a good man bum. Never again. 
I saw the deaths of Latimer and Ridley. 
Moreover, tho* a Catholic, I would not. 
For the pure honour of our common nature. 
Hear what I might — another recantation 
Of Cranmer at the stake. 

PAGET. 

You'd not hear that. 



I>MW — 



[ath rated for some 

Charge one against a thousand, and the nuxu 

[urls his soil'd life against the pikes and dies. 

HOWARD. 

'et that he might not after all those papers 
I Of recantation 3rield again, who knows? 

PAGET. 
Papers of recantation I Think you then 
That Cranmer read all papers that he signed ? 
Or sign'd all those they tell us that he sign'd ? 
Nay, I trow not : and you shall see, my Lord, 
That howsoever hero-like the man 
Dies in the fire, this Bonner or another 
Will in some lying fashion misreport 
His ending to the glory of their church. 
And you saw Latimer and Ridley die ? 
Latimer was eighty, was he not ? his best 
- ••'■ ..roc over then. 



SCENE III. QUEEN MARY. 169 

Ridley was longer burning ; but he died 
As manfully and boldly, and, 'fore God, 
I know them heretics, but right English ones. 
If ever, as heaven grant, we clash with Spain, 
Our Ridley-soldiers and our Latimer-sailors 
Will teach her something. 

PAGET. 

Your mild Legate Pole 
Will tell you that the devil helpt them thro' it. 

[A murmur of the Crowd in the distance. 
Hark, how those Roman wolfdogs howl and bay 
him! 

HOWARD. 

Might it not be the other side rejoicing 
In his brave end ? 

PAGET. 

They are too crush'd, too broken, 
They can but weep in silence. 

HOWARD. 

Ay, ay, Paget, 
They have brought it in large measure on them- 
selves. 
Have I not heard them mock the blessed Host 
In songs so lewd, the beast might roar his claim 
To being in God's image, more than they ? 
Have I not seen the gamekeeper, the groom, 
Gardener, and huntsman, in the parson's place. 
The parson from his own spire swung out dead. 
And Ignorance crying in the streets, and all men 
Regarding her ? I say they have drawn the fire 



I70 QUEEN MARY. act iv. 

On their own heads : yet, Paget, I do hold 
The Catholic, if he have the greater right, 
Hath been the crueller. 

PAGET. 

Action and re-action. 
The miserable see-saw of our child-world. 
Make us despise it at odd hours, my Lord. 
Heaven help that this re-action not re-act. 
Yet fiercelier under Queen Elizabeth, 
So that she come to rule us. 

HOWARD. 

The world's mad. 

PAGET. 

My Lord, the world is like a drunken man, 
WTio cannot move straight to his end — but reels 
Now to the right, then as far to the left, 
Push*d by the crowd beside— and underfoot 
An earthquake ; for since Henry for a doubt — 
Which a young lust had clapt upon the back, 
Crjring, * * Forward I " — set our old church rocking, 

men 
Have hardly known what to believe, or whether 
They should believe in anything ; the currents 
So shift and change, they see not how they arc 

borne, 
Nor whither. I conclude the King a beast ; 
Verily a lion if you will — the world 
A most obedient beast and fool — m3rself 
Half beast and fool as appertaining to it ; 



SCBNB III. QUEEN MARY, i7> 

Altho' your Lordship hath as little of each 
Cleaving to your original Adam-clay, 
As may be consonant with mortality. 

HOWARD. 

We talk and Cranmer suflfers. 
The kindliest man I ever knew ; see, see, 
I speak of him in the past Unhappy land ! 
Hard-natured Queen, half Spanish in herself. 
And grafted on the hard-grain'd stock of Spain — 
Her life, since Philip left her, and she lost 
Her fierce desire of bearing him a child, 
Hath, like a brief and bitter winter's day. 
Gone narrowing down and darkening to a close. 
There will be more conspiracies, I fear. 

PAGET. 

Ay, ay, beware of France. 

HOWARD. 

O Paget, Paget ! 
I have seen heretics of the poorer sort, 
Expectant of the rack from day to day. 
To whom the fire were welcome, lying chainM 
In breathless dungeons over steaming sewers, 
Fed with rank bread that crawl'd upon the tongue. 
And putrid water, every drop a worm, 
Until they died of rotted limbs ; and then 
Cast on the dunghill naked, and become 
Hideously alive again from head to heel. 
Made even the carrion-nosing mongrel vomit 
With hate and horror. 



I siclten fW 
,f this Queen 

_^(,spellera. 
Ill heie i 
the burning- 



J ,»wrft »■»';'» 




SCENE III. QUEEN MARV. 173 

here avore, but Dumble wur blow'd wi' the wind, 
and Dumble's the best milcher in Islip. 

JOAN. 

Our Daisy's as good 'z her. 

TIB. 

Noa, Joan* 

JOAN. 

Our Daisy's butter's as good 'z hem. 

TIB. 

Noa, Joan. 

JOAN. 

Our Daisy's cheeses be better. 

TIB. 

Noa, Joan. 

JOAN. 

Eh, then ha' thy waay wi' me, Tib ; ez thou 
hast wi' thy owld man. 

TIB. 

Ay, Joan, and my owld man wur up and awaay 
betimes wi' dree hard eggs for a good pleace at 
the bumin' ; and barrin' the wet, Hodge *ud ha' 
been a-harrowin' o' white peasen i' the outfield — 
and barrin' the wind, Dumble wur blow'd wi' the 
wind, so 'z we was forced to stick her, but we 
fetched her round at last. Thank the Lord there- 
vore. Dumble's the best milcher in Islip. 

JOAN. 
Thou's thy way wi' man and beast, Tib. I 
wonder at tha', it beats me ! Eh, but I do "know 



ACTlV. 

teU 'ee now, 
mmuno'owld 

an owiv* 
.^Idacouldnt 

jtebowsomiver, 

a Bishop, says 
.aKidleybca- 

on tiU voui 

it vro' bere. and 
*i Now." says 

lo dinner , ^ 

lown like by &e 
UtnosseLanf* 

t as a rat. ^^^ 



/ 



\ 




8CBNB III. QUEEN MARY, 175 

TIB. 
A-bumin', and a bumin*, and a-makin' o' volk 
madder and madder ; but tek thou my word vor't, 
Joan, — and I bean't wrong not twice i* ten year 
— the bumin' o' the owld archbishop 'ill bum the 
Pwoap out o' this 'ere land vor iver and iver. 

HOWARD. 

Out of the church, you brace of cursed crones, 
Or I will have you duck'd I ( Women hurry out,) 

Said I not right ? 
For how should reverend prelate or throned prince 
Brook for an hour such brute malignity ? 
Ah, what an acrid wine has Luther brew'd ! 

PAGET. 

Pooh, pooh, my Lord! poor garrulous country- 
wives. 
Buy you their cheeses, and they'll side with you ; 
You cannot judge the liquor from the lees. 

HOWARD. 

I think that in some sort we may. But see, 

Enter PjiTERS. 

Peters, my gentleman, an honest Catholic, 
Who foUow'd with the crowd to Cranmer's fire. 
One that would neither misreport nor lie. 
Not to gain paradise : no, nor if the Pope 
[Charged him to do it— he is white as death. 
Peters, how pale you look ! you bring the smoke 
Df Cranmer's burning with you. 



176 QUEEN MARY, act iv. 

PETERS. 

Twice or thrice 

The smoke of Cranmer's burning wrapt me round. 

HOWARD. 
Peters, you know me Catholic, but English. 
Did he die bravely ? Tell me that, or leave 
All else untold. 

PETERS. 

My Lord, he died most bravely. 

HOWARD. 

Then tell me all. 

PAGET. 

Ay, Master Peters, tell us. 

PETERS. 

You saw him how he past among the crowd 

And ever as he walk'd the Spanish friars 

Still plied him with entreaty and reproach : 

But Cranmer, as the helmsman at the helm 

Steers, ever looking to the happy haven 

Where he shall rest at night, moved to his death \ 

And I could see that many silent hands 

Came from the crowd and met his own ; and thus. 

When we had come where Ridley burnt with 

Latimer, 
He, with a cheerful smile, as one whose mind 
Is all made up, in haste put off the rags 
They had mock'd his misery with, and all in white, 
His long white beard, >w\i\cYiYvfe\i'a.dw^ver shaven 
Since Henry's deat\i, doyiiv-sv*fee:^vcv?,V»^^^^\^> 
Wherewith they bound b\m to V\v^ ?X2^f^^,>afc ^\.^\ 



SCENE III. QUEEN MA R Y. 177 

More like an ancient father of the Church, 
Than heretic of these times ; and still the friars 
Plied him, but Cranmer only shook his head, 
Or answered them in smiling negatives ; 
Whereat Lord Williams gave a sudden cry : — 
* * Make short ! make short ! " and so they lit the wood. 
Then Cranmer lifted his left hand to heaven. 
And thrust his right into the bitter flame ; 
And crying, in his deep voice, more than once, 
** This hath offended — this unworthy hand ! " 
So held it till it all was bum'd, before 
The flame had reach'd his body ; I stood near — 
Mark'd him — he never uttered moan of pain : 
He never stirr*d or writhed, but, like a statue, 
Unmoving in the greatness of the flame. 
Gave up the ghost ; and so past martyr-like — 
Martyr I may not call him — past — but whither ? 

PAGET. 

To purgatory, man, to purgatory. 

PETERS. 

Nay, but, my Lord, he denied purgatory. 

PAGET. 

Why then to heaven, and God ha' mercy on him. 

HOWARD. 

Paget, despite his fearful heresies, 

I loved the man, and needs must moan for him ; 

O Cranmer ! 

PAGET. 
But your moan is useless now : 
Come out, my Lord, it is a world of fools* [Exc^iU. 




ACT V. 

SCENE I.— London. Hall in the Palace. 

Queen, Sir Nicholas Heath. 

HEATH. 

ADAM, 

I do assure you, that it must be lookM 

to: 
Calais is but ill-garrison'd, in Guisnes 
Are scarce two hundred men, and the French fleet 
Rule in the narrow seas. It must be look'd to, 
If war should fall between yourself and France ; 
Or you will lose your Calais. 

MARY. 

It shall be look'd to ; 
I wish you a good morning, good Sir Nicholas : 
Here is the King. [£xi/ Heath. 

Enter Philip. 

PHILIP. 
Sir "NicVvoVas \.e\\s -^om \pafc. 
And you must look to Calais viYict^\ ^q. 



SCENE I. Q UEEN M A R V. 179 

MARY. 

Go I must you go, indeed— again— so soon? 
Why, nature's licensed vagabond, the swallow. 
That might live always in the sun's warm heart. 
Stays longer here in our poor north than you : — 
Knows where he nested — ever comes again. 

PHILIP. 

And, Madam, so shall I. 

MARY. 

O, will you ? will you ? 
I am faint with fear that you will come no more. 

PHILIP. 

Ay, ay ; but many voices call me hence. 

MARY. 

Voices — I hear unhappy rumours— nay, 
I say not, I believe. What voices call you 
Dearer than mine that should be dearest to you ? 
Alas, my Lord I what voices and how many ? 

PHILIP. 

The voices of Castile and Aragon, 

Granada, Naples, Sicily, and Milan, — 

The voices of Franche-Comte, and the Nether 

lands. 
The voices of Peru and Mexico, 
Tunis, and Oran, and the Philippines, 
And all the fair spice-islands of the East. 

MARY {admiringly). 
You are the mightiest monarch upon earth, 



UE£tf MARY. «cr v_ 

en ; and so, indeed, 
ce ; and wherefore could jou n^v 
essel of youi state, ray liege, 
; of her who loves yon most ? 

I a candle in the sun I 

-a star beside the moon 1 

our people will not crown me— ! 
as cheerless as your clime ; 
e: witness the brawls, the gibbets. 
janiard — (here an Englishman ; 
unlike as their complexion ; 
ir swallow and return — 
.t bide. 



Not to help nu f 
■a for my love to you, 
these judgments on the land— 




SCENE I. QUEEN MA R K i8i 

MARY. 

Sir, there are many English in your ranks 
To help your battle. 

PHILIP. 

So far, good. I say 
I came to sue your Council and yourself 
To declare«war against the King of France. 

MARY. 

Not to see me ? 

PHILIP. 

Ay, Madam, to see you. 
Unalterably and pesteringly fond t [Aside^ 

But, soon or late you viust have war with France ; 
King Henry warms your traitors at his hearth. 
Carew is there, and Thomas Stafford there. 
Courtenay, belike — 

MARY. 

A fool and featherhead. 

PHILIP. 

Ay, but they use his name. In brief, this Henry 
Stirs up your land against you to the intent 
That you may lose your English heritage. 
And then, your Scottish namesake marrying 
The Dauphin, he would weld France, England, 

Scotland, 
Into one sword to hack at Spain and me. 

MARY. 

And yet the Pope is now colleagued with France •^ 



Content you, . 
You must abide my judgment, and my fa 
Who deems it a most just and holy war. 
The Pope would cast the Spaniard out of 
lie calls us worse than Jews, Moors, San 
The Pope has push'd his horns beyond hif 
Beyond his province. Now, 
Duke Alva will but touch him on the hoi 
And he withdraws ; and of his holy head 
For Alva is true son of the true church- 
No hair is harm'd. Will you not help m 

MARY. 

Alas ! the Council will not hear of war. 
They say your wars are not the wars of ] 
They will not lay more taxes on a land 
So hunger-nipt and wretched ; and you 1 
'^Uo rrown is pooi. We have given tt 



9CBNB L Q UEEN MA R Y, 

PHILIP. 
Madam, my thanks. 

MARY. 

And you will stay your goic 

PHILIP. 

And further to discourage and lay lame 
The plots of France, altho' you love her not, 
You must proclaim Elizabeth your heir. 
She stands between you and the Queen of Scot 

MARY. 

The Queen of Scots at least is Catholic. 

PHILIP. 

Ay, Madam, Catholic ; but I will not have 
The King of France the King of England too. 

MARY. 

But she's a heretic, and, when I am gone. 
Brings the new learning back. 

PHILIP. 

It must be done 

You must proclaim Elizabeth your heir. 

MARY. 
Then it is done ; but you will stay your going 
Somewhat beyond your settled purpose ? 

PHILIP. 

No 

MARY. 

What, not one day ? 

PHILIP. 

You beat upon the rock. 



Is this a place 

'o wail in, Madam ? what ! a public halL 

jO in, I pray you. 

MARY. 

Do not seem so changed 
Say go ; but only say it lovingly. 

PHILIP. 

You do mistake. I am not one to change. 
I never loved you more. 

MARY. 

Sire, I obey you. 

Come quickly. 

PHILIP. ' 

Ay. [£xit M 

£ttfer CovnT DE Feria. 
^-"»TA (aside) » 



SCBNB I. QUEEN MARY. 185 

PHILIP. 
Hast thou not likewise mark'd Elizabeth, 
How fair and royal — like a Queen, indeed ? 

FERIA. 

Allow me the same answer as before — 

That if your Grace hath markM her, so have I. 

PHILIP. 

Good, now ; methinks my Queen is like enough 
To leave me by and by. 

FERIA. 

To leave you, sire ? 

PHILIP. 

I mean not like to live. Elizabeth— 
To Philibert of Savoy, as you know. 
We meant to wed her ; but I am not sure 
She will not serve me better — so my Queen 
"Would leave me — as — my wife. 

FERIA. 

Sire, even so. 

PHILIP. 

She will not have Prince Philibert of Savoy. 

FERIA. 

No, sire. 

PHILIP. 
I have to pray you, some odd time. 
To sound the Princess carelessly on this ; 
Not as from me, but as you? phantasy ; 
And tell me how she takes it. 

FERIA. 



f- 



186 QUEEN lUARV. 

PHILIP. 
I am not certain bat that Philibert 
Shall be the man ; luid I shall u^ his Eui 
Upon the Queen, because 1 am not certaii 
You understand, Feria. 



And if you be not secret in this matter, 
You understand me there, too ? 

Sire, I d 

You must be sweet and supple, like a Fien 
She is none of those who loathe the honeyi 

EtUer Renard. 

My li^e, I bring you goodly tidings. 

W. 

KBNAKD. 

There mil be war with France, at last, mj 
Sir Titomas Stafford, a butl-headed ass. 
Sailing from France, with thirty Fjiglishmi 
Hath taken Scarboro' Castle, north of Yor 
Proclaims himself piotecloi, anAsSiTOia 
The Qacen has forfeited hei ligli^ Vo t«?3 
By marriage with an alien — o*liei ftiVtiff 



SCBNB I. QUEEN MARY, 187 

As idle ; a weak Wyatt t Little doubt 
This buzz will soon be silenced ; but the Council 
(I have talk'd with some already) are for war. 
This is the fifth conspiracy hatdi'd in France ; 
They show their teeth upon it ; and. your Grace, 
So you will take advice of mine, should stay 
Yet for awhile, to shape and guide the event. 

PHILIP. 

Good I Renard, I will stay then. 

RENARD. 

Also, sire, 
Might I not say — to please your wife, the Queen ? 

PHILIP. 

Ay, Renard, if you care to put it so. 

[Exeunt. 



SCENE II. — A Room in the Palace. 
Mary and Cardinal Pole. 

Lady Clarence and Alice in the background, 

MARY. 

Reginald Pole, what news hath plagued thy heart? 
What makes thy favour like the bloodless head 
Fall'n on the block, and held up by the hair ? 
Philip ?— 

POLE. 

No, Philip is as warm in life 
As ever. 



Cousin, there hath cnai 
A sharper harm to England and to Rome, 
Than Calais taken. Julius the Third 
Was ever just, and mild, and fatherlike ; 
But this new Pope Carafia, Paul the Foiu 
Not only reft me of that legateship 
Which Julius gave me, and the legateship 
AnnexM to Canterbury — nay, but worse— 
And yet I must obey the Holy Father, 
And so must you, good cousin ; — worse th 
A passing bell toU'd in a dying ear — 
He hath cited me to Rome, for heresy. 
Before his Inquisition. 

MARY. 

I knew it, cousin 
But held from you all papers sent by Ron 
"T^^nt you might rest among us, till the P 
' • •* T ,„rnte mvself to Roi 



SCENE II. QUEEN MARY. 189 

So brands me in the stare of Christendom 

A heretic I 

Now, even now, when bow'd before my time, 

The house half-ruin'd ere the lease be out ; 

When I should guide the Church in peace at home, 

After my twenty years of banishment. 

And all my life-long labour to uphold 

The primacy — a heretic. Long ago. 

When I was ruler in the patrimony, 

I was too lenient to the Lutheran, 

And I and learned friends among ourselves 

Would freely canvass certain Lutheranisms. 

What then, he knew I was no Lutheran. 

A heretic ! 

He drew this shaft against me to the head. 

When it was thought I might be chosen Pope, 

But then withdrew it. In full consistory, 

When I was made Archbishop, he approved me. 

And how should he have sent me Legate hither. 

Deeming me heretic ? and what heresy since ? 

But he was evermore mine enemy. 

And hates the Spaniard — fiery-choleric, 

A drinker of black, strong, volcanic wines. 

That ever make him fierier. I, a heretic I 

Your Highness knows that in pursuing heresy 

I have gone beyond your late Lord Chancellor, — 

He cried Enough 1 enough ! before his death. — 

Gone beyond him and mine own natural man 

(It was God's cause) ; so far they call me now, 

The scourge and butcher of their English church. 



They groan amen ; they &»». 

Like flies— for what? no dogma. THe 

nothing ; 
They bum for nothing. 

MARY. 

You have done yc 

POLE. 

Have done my best, and as a faithful son, 
That all day long hath wrought his father 
When back he comes at evening hath the 
Shut on him by the father whom he loved 
His early follies cast into his teeth. 
And the poor son tum'd out into the stree 
To sleep, to die — I shall die of it, cousin. 

MARY. 

I pray you be not so disconsolate ; 

T ctiil will do mine utmost with the Pope 



SCENE II. Q UE EN MA R V. 191 

With your huge father; he look'd the Great Harry, 
You but his cockboat ; prettily you did it, 
And innocently. No — we were not made 
One flesh in happiness, no happiness here ; 
But now we are made one flesh in misery ; 
Our bridemaids are not lovely— Disappointment, 
Ingratitude, Injustice, Evil-tongue, 
Labour-in-vain. 

MARY. 

Surely, not all in vain. 
Peace, cousin, peace I I am sad at heart myself. 

POLE. 

Our altar is a mound of dead men's clay. 
Dug from the grave that yawns for us beyond ; 
And there is one death stands behind the Groom, 
And there is one Death stands behind the Bride — 

MARY. 

Have you been looking at the ** Dance of Death?** 

POLE. 

No ; but these libellous papers which I found 
Strewn in your palace. Look you here — the Pope 
Pointing at me with ** Pole, the heretic. 
Thou hast burnt others, do thou bum thyself. 
Or I will bum thee ; " and this other ; see I — 
** We pray continually for the death 
Of our accursed Queen and Cardinal Pole." 
This last — I dare not read it her. [Aside, 

MARY. 

Away! 
Why do you bring me these ? 



scKNK II. QUEEN AfA K )'. 193 

LADY CLARENCE. 

Ay, Madam ; but Sir Nicholas Heath, the Chan- 
cellor, 
"Would see your Highness. 

MARY. 

Wherefore should I see him ? 

LADY CLARENCE. 

Well, Madam, he may bring you news from Philip. 

MARY. 

So, Clarence. 

LADY CLARENCE. 

Let me first put up your hair ; 
It tumbles all abroad. 

MARY. 

And the gray dawn 
Of an old age that never will be mine 
Is all the clearer seen. No, no ; what matters ? 
Forlorn I am, and let me look forlorn. 

Enter SiR Nicholas Heath. 

HEATH. 

I bring your Majesty such grievous news 

I grieve to bring it. Madam,. Calais is taken. 

MARY. 

What traitor spoke ? Here, let my cousin Pole 
Seize him and bum him for a Lutheran. 

HEATH. 

Her Highness is unwell. I will retire. 

J2 O 



Ob>.-. 



Sir Nicholas ! i am 

Methought some traitor smote me on lac mw 

What said you, my good Lord, that our bi 

English 
I Tad sallied out from Calais and driven back 
The Frenchmen from their trenches ? 

HEATH. 

Alas! I 
That gateway to the mainland over which 
Our flag hath floated for two hundred years 
Is France again. 

MARY. 

So ; but it is not lost — 
Not yet. Send out : let England as of old 
Rise lionlike, strike hard and deep into 
The prey they are rending from her — ay, anf 
The renders too. Send out, send out, and 
Musters in all the counties ; gather all 

— *»r<; to sixty ; collect the fie 



SCENE II. QUEEN MARY. 195 

I do much fear that England will not care. 
Methinks there is no manhood left among us. 

MARY. 

Send out ; I am too weak to stir abroad : 
Tell my mind to the Council— to the Parliament : 
Proclaim it to the winds. Thou art cold thyself 
To babble of their coldness. O would I were 
My father for an hour ! Away now — quick I 

{Exit Heath. 
I hoped I had served God with all my might ! 
It seems I have not. Ah ! much heresy 
Sheltered in Calais. Saints, I have rebuilt 
Your shrines, set up your broken images ; 
Be comfortable to me. Suffer not 
That my brief reign in England be defamed" 
Thro' all her angry chronicles hereafter 
By loss of Calais. Grant me Calais. Philip, 
We have made war upon the Holy Father 
All for your sake : what good could come of that ? 

LADY CLARENCE. 

No, Madam, not against the Holy Father ; 

You did but help King Philip's war with France ; 

Your troops were never down in Italy. 

MARY. 

I am a byword. Heretic and rebel 

Point at me and make merry. Philip gone I 

And Calais gone ! Time that I were gone too ! 

LADY CLARENCE. 

Nay, if the fetid gutter had a voice 



rtherofGod. 

deftth. 



I 



SCENE II. Q UEEN MARY. 157 

One of her pleasant songs ? Alice, my child, 
Bring us your lute (Alice goes). They say the 

gloom of Saul 
Was lightenM by young David's harp. 

MARY. 

Too young I 

And never knew a Philip {re-enter Alice). Give 

me the lute. 

He hates me ! 

(She sings.) 

Hapless doom of woman happy in betrothing ! 
Beauty passes like a breath and love b lost in loathing : 
Low, my lute ; speak low, my lute, but say the world is 
nothing — 

Low, lute, low I 
Love will hover round the flowers when they first awaken ; 
Love will fly the fallen leaf, and not be overtaken ; 
Low, my lute I oh, low, my lute I we fade and are forsaken— 

Low, dear lute, low ! 

Take it away ! not low enough for me \ 

ALICE. 

Your Grace hath a low voice. 

MARY. 

How dare you say it ? 
Even for that he hates me. A low voice 
Lost in a wilderness where none can hear ! 
A voice of shipwreck on a shoreless sea ! 
A low voice from the dust and from the grave 

(sitting on the ground). 
There, am I low enougJ\ xvcr« "l 



198 QUEEN MARY. act v. 

ALICE. 
Good Lord ! how grim and ghastly looks her 

Grace, 
With both her knees drawn upward to her chin. 
There was an old world tomb beside my father's, 
And this was open'd, and the dead were found 
Sitting, and in this fashion ; she looks a corpse. 

Enter Lady Magdalen Dacres. 

LADY MAGDALEN. 

Madam, the Count de Feria waits without. 
In hopes to see your Highness. 

LADY clarence (pointing to mary). 

Wait he must — 
Her trance again. She neither sees nor hears, 
And may not speak for hours. 

LADY MAGDALEN. 

Unhappiest 
Of Queens and wives and women ! 

ALICE {in the foreground with LADY magdalen). 

And all along 
Of Philip. 

lady MAGDALEN. 

Not so loud ! Our Clarence there 
Sees ever such an aureole round the Queen, 
It gilds the greatest wronger of her peace, 
Who stands the nearest to her. 

ALlCt. 

/ used to love the Queen wit^v a\\ m^ YieaxX.— 



SCENE II. QUEEN MARY. 199 

God help me, but methinks I love her less 

For such a dotage upon such a man. 

I would I were as tall and strong as you. 

LADY MAGDALEN. 

I seem half-ashamed at times to be so tall. 

ALICE. 

You are the stateliest deer in all the herd — 
Beyond his aim— but I am small and scandalous, 
And love to hear bad tales of Philip. 

LADY MAGDALEN. 



I never heard him utter worse of you 
Than that you were low-statured. 



Why? 



ALICE. 

Does he think 
Low stature is low nature, or all women's 
Low as his own ? 

LADY MAGDALEN, 

There you strike in the nail. 
This coarseness is a want of phantasy. 
It is the low man thinks the woman low ; 
Sin is too dull to see beyond himself. 

ALICE. 

Ah, Magdalen, sin is bold as well as dull. 
How dared he ? 

LADY MAGDALEN. 

Stupid soldiers oft are bold. 
Poor lads, they see not what the general sees, 



Tell, tell me ; save my credit with myseii 

LADY MAGDALEN. 

I never breathed it to a bird in the eaves, 
Would not for all the stars and maiden m 
Our drooping Queen should know I In K 

Court 
My window look'd upon the corridor ; 
And I was robing ; — this poor throat of nc 
Barer than I should wish a man to see it, 
When he we speak of drove the window 1 
And, like a thief, push'd in his royal hanc 
But by God*s providence a good stout sta 
Lay near me ; and you know me strong o 
I do believe I lamed his Majest/s 
For a day or two, tho', give the Devil his 
I never found he bore me any spite. 

ALICE. 



SCENE II. QUEEN MARY. aox 

ALICE. 
Probing an old state-secret — how it chanced 
That this young Earl was sent on foreign travel, 
Not lost his head. 

LADY CLARENCE. 

There was no proof against him. 

ALICE. 

Nay, Madam ; did not Gardiner intercept 
A letter which the Count de Noailles wrote 
To that dead traitor Wyatt, with full proof 
Of Courtenay*s treason ? What became of that ? 

LADY CLARENCE. 

Some say that Gardiner, out of love for him. 

Burnt it, and some relate that it was lost 

When Wyatt sack*d the Chancellor's house in 

Southwark. 
Let dead things rest. 

ALICE. 

Ay, and with him who died 
Alone in Italy. 

LADY CLARENCE. 

Much changed, I hear. 
Had put off levity and put graveness on. 
The foreign courts report him in his manner 
Noble as his young person and old shield. 
It might be so — but all is over now ; 
He caught a chill in the lagoons of Venice, 
And died in Padua. 



QUEEN MARY. 



Ay, Madam, happily. 

Happier he Iha 

LADV MAGDALEN. 

It seems her Highness halh awaken 'd. 
Thai I might daie to tell her that the C 



I will see no man hence Ibi 
Saving my confessor and my 

II is the Count de Feria, my deai lady. 
What Count ? 



Pol 



The Count d« Feria, Trom bis Majesty 
King Philip. 

Philip ! quick I loop up 
Throw cushions on that seat, and make 

like. 
Arrange my dress — the goi^eous Indian 
That Philip brought me in our happy d 
That covers alt. So— am I somewhat ( 
Bride of (he mightiest soveitt£ivi^n.« 

LA,D^ CLfL».B.SCt, 

Ay, so your Grace would fci4c a tooo 



SCENE II. QUEEN MARY, s 

MARY. 
No, no, he brings a letter. I may die 
Before I read it. Let me see him at once. 

Enter Count de Feria {kneels), 

FERIA. 

I trust 3rour Grace b well, (aside) How her hai 
bums ! 

MARY. 

I am not well, but it will better me. 

Sir Count, to read the letter which you bring. 

FERIA. 

Madam, I bring no letter. 

MARY. 

How I no letter ? 

FERIA. 

His Highness is so vexM with strange affairs — 

MARY. 

That his own wife is no affair of his. 

FERIA. 

Nay, Madam, nay ! he sends his veriest love, 
And says, he will come quickly. 

MARY. 

Doth he, indee 
You, sir, do you remember what you said 
When last you came to England? 

FERIA. 

Madam, I brou{ 
My King's congratulatious \ it was ho^ed 



204 QUEEN MARY. act v. 

Your Highness was once more in happy state 
To give him an heir male. 

MARY. 

Sir, you said more ; 
You said he would come quickly. I had horses 
On all the road from Dover, day and night ; 
On all the road from Harwich, night and day ; 
But the child came not, and the husband came 

not; 
And yet he will come quickly. . . Thou hast learnt 
Thy lesson, and I mine. There is no need 
For Philip so to shame himself again. 
Return, 

And tell him that I know he comes no more. 
Tell him at last I know his love is dead. 
And that I am in state to bring forth death — 
Thou art commissioned to Elizabeth, 
And not to me ! 

FERIA. 

Mere compliments and wishes. 
But shall I take some message from your Grace ? 

MARY. 

Tell her to come and close my djring eyes. 
And wear my crown, and dance upon my grave. 

FERIA. 

Then I may say your Grace will see your sister ? 
Vour Grace is too low-spmleA. K\i^TA^\«N^K«vfe» 
/ would we had you. Madam, m oxu ^«xvsv ^^ivxv, 
you droop in your dim liondoxv. 



SCENE II. QUEEN MARY, 205 

MARY. 

Have him away ! 

I sicken of his readiness. 

LADY CLARENCE. 

My J^ord Count, 
Her Highness is too ill for colloquy. 

FERIA {kneels^ and kisses her hand), 
I wish her Highness better. (Aside) How her hand 
bums ! [Exeunt, 

SCENE III. — A House near London. 

Elizabeth, Steward of the Household, 

Attendants. 

elizabeth. 
There's half an angel wrong*d in your account ; 
Methinks I am all angel, that I bear it 
Without more ruffling. Cast it o*er again. 

STEWARD. 

I were whole devil if I wrong*d you, Madam. 

[Exit Steward. 

ATTENDANT. 

The Count de Feria, from the King of Spain. 

ELIZABETH. 

Ah ! — let him enter. Nay, you need not go : 

[To her Ladie . 
Remain within the chamber, but apart. 
"We'll have, no private conference. Welcome to 
England I 



Fair island star ! 

ELIZABETH. 

I shine ! What else, Sir Coun 

FERIA. 

'As far as France, and into Philip's heart. 
My King would know if you be fairly served 
And lodged and treated. 

ELIZABETH. 

You see the lodging, si 
I am well-served, and am in everything 
Most loyal and most grateiiil to the Queen. 

FERIA. 

You should be grateful to my master, toa 
He spoke of this ; and unto him you owe 
That Mary hath acknowledged you her heir. 

ELIZABETH. 

-* ♦o her nor him ; but to the people. 



SCKNE III. QUEEN MA KV. 207 

Your royal sister cannot last ; your hand 
Will be much coveted ! What a delicate one I 
Our Spanish ladies have none such— and there, 
Were you in Spain, this fine fair gossamer gold — 
Like sun-gilt breathings on a frosty dawn — 
That hovers round your shoulder — 

ELIZABETH.. 

Is it so fine ? 
Troth, some have said so. 

FERIA. 

— would be deemed a miracle. 

ELIZABETH. 

Your Philip hath gold hair and golden beard ; 
There must be ladies many with hair like mine. 

FERIA. 

Some few of Gothic blood have golden hair, 
But none like yours. 

ELIZABETH. 

I am happy you approve it. 

FERIA. 

But as to Philip and your Grace — consider, — 
If such a one as you should match with Spain, 
What hinders but that Spain and England joinM, 
Should make the mightiest empire earth has known ? 
Spain would be England on her seas, and England 
Mistress of the Indies. 

ELIZABETH. 

It may chance, that England 



Except you put Spain down. 

Wide of the mark ev'n for a madman's drea 

ELIZABETH. 

Perhaps ; but we have seamen. Count de 
I take it that the King hath spoken to you ; 
But is Don Carlos such a goodly match ? 

FERIA. 
Don Carlos, Madam, is but twelve years ol( 

ELIZABETH. 

Ay, tell the King that I will muse upon it ; 
He is my good friend, and I would keep hii 
But — he would have me Catholic of Rome, 
And that I scarce can be ; and, sir, till no¥ 
My sister's marriage, and my father's marris 
Make me full fain to live and die a maid. 
But I am much beholden to your King, 
■u^-.a «rtii giiorht else to tell me ? 



SCKNB III. QUEEN MARY. log 

I am much beholden to the King, your master. 
Why did you keep me prating ? Horses, there \ 

[Exit Elizabeth, ^c, 

FERIA. 

So from a clear sky falls the thunderbolt ! 
Don Carlos ? Madam, if you marry Philip, 
Then I and he will snaffle your " God's death," 
And break your paces in, and make you tame ; 
God*s death, forsooth — you do not know King 
PhUip. [Exit. 

SCENE IV.— -London. Before the Palace. 
A light burning within. Voices of the night passing, 

FIRST. 

Is not yon light in the Queen's chamber ? 

second. 

Ay. 

They say she's dying. 

FIRST. 

So is Cardinal Pole. 
May the great angels join their wings, and make 
Down for their heads to heaven ! 

SECOND. 

Amen. Come on. 

[Exeunt, 
Two Others. 

FIRST. 

There's the Queen's light. I hear she cannot live. 



ireauy ; oui iv^ ^- ^ 

le hottest hold in all the devii a ^ 

^ere but a sort of winter ; sir, in Guernsey, 
watch' d a woman bum ; and in her agony 
'he mother came upon her — a child was boi 
[And, sir, they hurl'd it back into the fire, 
That, being but baptised in fire, the babe 
Might be in fire for ever. Ah, good neighbc 
There should be something fierier than fire 
To yield them their deserts. 

FIRST. 

Amen to all 
You wish, and further. 

A THIRD VOICE. 

Deserts ! Amen to what ? Whose des 

Yours ? You have a gold ring on your fingei 

=oft raiment about your body; and is no 

^— sleeping after all she has < 



1 



SCENE IV. QU E E \ M A A' ) '. 21 

THIRD. 

What am I ? One who cries continually wit] 
sweat and tears to the Lord God that it woul 
please Him out of His infinite love to break dow 
all kingship and queenship, all priesthood and pre 
lacy ; to cancel and abolish ail bonds of huma: 
allegiance, all the magistracy, all the nobles, an< 
all the wealthy ; and to send us again, accordinj 
to His promise, the one King, the Christ, and a) 
things in common, as in the day of the first church 
when Christ Jesus was King. 

FIRST. 

If ever I heard a madman, — let's away ! 

Why, you long-winded Sir, you go beyon* 

me. 
I pride myself on being moderate. 
Good night ! Go home. Besides, you curse s 

loud, 
The watch will hear you. Get you home at once 

[Ex^uni 



Room in t"^ 
cuaebncb, lw' 

ICE. QoEEM/fln"? 
iUinfroni. Q"»« 
■iUs and gM> "P^' 




SCENE V. Q UEEN MA R Y, ai3 

MARY. 
I whistle to the bird has broken cage, 
And all in vain. [Sitting down, 

Calais gone — Guisnes gone, too — and Philip gone ! 

LADY CLARENCE. 

Dear Madam, Philip is but at the wars ; 
I cannot doubt but that he comes again ; 
And he is with you in a measure still. 
[ never look'd upon so fair a likeness 
As your great King in armour there, his han 
Upon his helmet. 

[Pointing to the portrait of VHiLiv on the walh 

MARY. 

Doth he not look noble ? 
I had heard of him in battle over seas, 
And I would have my warrior all in arms. 
He said it was not courtly to stand helmeted 
Before the Queen. He had his gracious moment 
Altho' you'll not believe me. How he smiles 
As if he loved me yet ! 

LADY CLARENCE. 

And so he does. 

MARY. 

He never loved me — nay, he could not love me. 

It was his father's policy against France. 

I am eleven years older than he, 

Poor boy ! \Wee^, 



MARY. 

— And all in vs 
le Queen of Scots is married to the Dauphii 
[nd Charles, the Lord of this low world, is go 
[nd all his wars and wisdoms past away ; 
Lnd in a moment I shall follow him. 

LADY CLARENCE. 

[ay, dearest Lady, see your good physician. 

MARY. 
>rugs — but he knows they cannot help me — si 
[That rest is all — tells me I must not think — 
'That I must rest — I shall rest by-and-by. 
Catch the wild cat, cage him, and when he spri 
And maims himself against the bars, say '* rest 
Why, you must kill him if you would have 1 

rest — 
"^ --1 '>f alive YOU cannot make him happy. 



SCENE V. QU E E X M A R v. 215 

LADY CLARENCE. 

I will, if that 
May make your Grace forget yourself a little. 
There runs a shallow brook across our field 
For twenty miles, where the black crow flies five, 
And doth so bound and babble all the way 
As if itself were happy. It was May- time. 
And I was walking with the man I loved. 
I loved him, but I thought I was not loved. 
And both were silent, letting the wild brook 
Speak for us — till he stoop'd and gathered one 
From out a bed of thick forget-me-nots, 
LookM hard and sweet at me, and gave it me. 
I took it, tho' I did not know I took it. 
And put it in my bosom, and all at once 
I felt his arms about me, ai}d his lips— >« 

MARY. 

O God ! I have been too slack, too slack ; 
There are Hot Gospellers even among our guards — 
Nobles we dared not touch. We have but burnt 
The heretic priest, workmen, and women and 

children. 
Wet, famine, ague, fever, storm, wreck, wrath, — 
We have so play*d the coward ; but by God's grace, 
We'll follow Philip's leading, and set up 
The Holy Office here — garner the wheat. 
And bum the tares with unquenchable fire I 
Bum!- 

Fie, what a savour ! tell the cooks to close 
The doors of all the offices below. 



AA\, *%>« 



lou light a torcu umi 

'is out —mine flames. Women, the Holy F 
[as ta'en the legateship from our cousin Pol 
^^as that well done ? and poor Pole pines oi 
ls I do, to the death. I am but a woman, 
have no power. — Ah, weak and meek old 
>even-fold dishonoured even in the sight 
►f thine own sectaries — No, no. No pardc 
^Vhy that was false : there is the right hand 
Reckons me hence. 
ISir, you were burnt for heresy, not for treasc 
[Remember that ! 'twas I and Bonner did it, 
[And Pole ; we are three to one — Have you : 

mercy there, 
Grant it me here : and see, he smiles and gc 
Gentle as in life. 

ALICE. 

Madam, who goes ? King PI 



SCENE V. QUEEN MARY 217 

Adulterous to the very heart of Hell. 
Hast thou a knife ? 

ALICE. 

Ay, Madam, but o* God*s mercy— 

MARY. 

Fool, thmk'st thou I would peril mine own soul 
By slaughter of the body ? I could not, girl. 
Not this way — callous with a constant stripe, 
Unwoundable. Thy knife I 

ALICE. 

Take heed, take heed I 
The blade is keen as death. 

MARY 

' This Philip shall not 
Stare in upon me in my haggardness ; 
Old, miserable, diseased. 
Incapable of children. Come thou down. 

\^Cuts out the picture and throws it down. 
Lie there. [Wails.) O God, I have killed my 
Philip ! 

ALICE. 

No, 
Madam, you have but cut the canvas out ; 
"We can replace it. 

MARY. 

All is well then ; rest — 
I will to rest ; he said, I must have rest. 

\Cries of ** Elizabeth " in the street, 
A cry 1 What's that ? Elizabeth ? revolt ? 



Madam, your royal sister comes to see yuu. 

MARY. 

I will not see her. 

Who knows if Boleyn's daughter be my sisi 
I will see none except the priest. Your am 

[To Lady Clae: 
O Saint of Aragon, with that sweet worn si 
Among thy patient wrinkles — Help me hem 

[£. 

The Vvii^ST flosses, ErUer Elizabeth atii 
William Cecil. 

elizabeth. 
Good counsel yours — 

No one in waiting ? 
As if the chamberlain were Death himself ! 
The room she sleeps in — is not this the way 
"'^ ^u«* wav there are voices. Am I too Is 



SCENE V. Q L' £ E .V M A R i'. 219 

For him, or him — sunk rocks ; no passionate 

faith— 
But — if let be— balance and compromise ; 
Brave, wary, sane to the heart of her — a Tudor 
School'd by the shadow of death — a Boleyn, too, 
Glancing across the Tudor — not so well. 

£nUr Alice. 
How is the good Queen now ? 

ALICE. 

Away from Philip. 
Back in her childhood — prattling to her mother 
Of her betrothal to the Emperor Charles, 
And childlike-jealous of him again — and once 
She thank'd her father sweetly for his book 
Against that godless German. Ah, those days 
Were happy. It was never merry world 
In England, since the Bible came among us. 

CECIL. 

And who says that ? 

ALICE. 

It is a saying among the Catholics. 

CECIL. 

It never will be merry world in England, 
Till all men have their Bible, rich and poor. 

ALICE. 

The Queen is dying, or you dare not say it 



220 QUEEN MARY. act v. 

Enter Elizabeth. 

ELIZABETH. 

The Queen is dead. 

CECIL. 

Then here she stands I my homage. 

ELIZABETH. 

She knew me, and acknowledged me her heir, 
Pray*d me to pay her debts, and keep the faith ; 
Then claspt the cross, and pass'd away in peace. 
I left her lying still and beautiful. 
More beautiful than in life. Why would you vex 

yourself, 
Poor sister ? Sir, I swear I have no heart 
To be your Queen. To reign is restless fence, 
Tierce, quart, and trickery. Peace is with the 

dead. 
Her life was winter, for her spring was nipt : 
And she loved much : pray God she be forgiven. 

CECIL. 

Peace with the dead, who never were at peace I 
Yet she loved one so much — I needs must say — 
That never English monarch djring left 
England so little. 

ELIZABETH. 

But witYi CeciYs aid 
And others, if our person be secviied 
-From /raifor stabs— we will make "Et^xA «t«a^" 



sc EN K V. (? U E E X M A R v. 221 

Enter Taget, and other Lords of the Council, 
Sir Ralph Bagenhall, ^c, 

LORDS. 

God save Elizabeth, the Queen of England ! 

bagenhall. 
God save the Crown ! the Papacy is no more. 

PAGET {aside). 
Are we so sure of that ? 

ACCLAMATION. 

God save the Queen ! 




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CONTENTS. 

Vol. I. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
II. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 

III. PRINCESS, and other Poem 

IV. IN MEMORIAM, and MAUD 
V. IDYLLS of the KING.