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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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to
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*ost«°^,^csee
ftoto »'" ^^e *?°*
Krd:^^-cr^-^
^^^a-^,e:--*
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"^^'lls out *»<^ selves
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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MR. TENNYSON'S WORKS
CAN BE HAD
IN VARIOUS BINDINGS.
Henry S. King & Co., London.
IMPERIAL LIBRAKi i.^...
MR. TENNYSON'S WOE
COMPLBTB IN SEVEN VOLUMES.
Each price lOr. 6d. cloth ; 12s, 6d, Roxl
-•o«-
CONTENTS.
Vol. I. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
II. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS,
III. PRINCESS, and other Poem
IV. IN MEMORIAM, and MAUD
V. IDYLLS of the KING.
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