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And welcome ! witness, too, the silent cry, The prayer of many a race and creed,
and climeThunderless lightnings striking under sea
From sunset and sunrise of all thy realm, And that true North, whereof we lately
heard A strain to shame us keep you to your
selves; So loyal is too costly ! friends—your love Is but a burthen : loose the bond, and go.' Is this the tone of empire ? here the faith That made us rulers ? this, indeed, her
voice And meaning, whom the roar of Hougou
mont Left mightiest of all peoples under heaven? What shock has fool'd her since, that she
should speak So feebly? wealthier-wealthier-hour
by hour! The voice of Britain, or a sinking land, Some third-rate isle half-lost among her
seas ? There rang her voice, when the full city
peal'd Thee and thy Prince! The loyal to their
crown Are loyal to their own far sons, who love Our ocean-empire with her boundless
homes For ever-broadening England, and her
throne In our vast Orient, and one isle, one isle, That knows not her own greatness : if she
knows And dreads it we are fall'n. But thou,
my Queen, Not for itself, but thro' thy living love For one to whom I made it o'er his grave Sacred, accept this old imperfect tale, New-old, and shadowing Sense at war
with Soul Rather than that gray king, whose name,
a ghost, Streams like a cloud, man-shaped, from
And cleaves to cairn and cromlech still ;
or him Of Geoffrey's book, or him of Malleor's,
one Touch'd by the adulterous finger of a time That hover'd between war and wanton
ness, And crownings and dethronements : take
withal Thy poet's blessing, and his trust that
Heaven Will blow the tempest in the distance back From thine and ours : for some are scared,
who mark, Or wisely or unwisely, signs of storm, Waverings of every vane with every wind, And wordy trucklings to the transient
hour, And fierce or careless looseners of the
faith, And Softness breeding scorn of simple
life, Or Cowardice, the child of lust for gold, Or Labour, with a groan and not a voice, Or Art with poisonous honey stol'n from
France, And that which knows, but careful for itself And that which knows not, ruling that
which knows To its own harm : the goal of this great
world Lies beyond sight : yet-if our slowly
grown And crown'd Republic's crowning
common-sense, That saved her many times, not fail —
their fears Are morning shadows huger than the
shapes That cast them, not those gloomier which
forego The darkness of that battle in the West, Where all of high and holy dies away.
SIR ROBERT SOUTHWELL.
SIR WILLIAM CECIL.
} attending on Philip.
pr } Adherents of Wyatt.
WILLIAM, Servant to Wyatt.
Lords and other Attendants, Members of the Privy Council, Members of Parliament, Two Gentlemen, Aldermen
Citizens, Peasants, Ushers, Messengers, Guards, Pages, Gospellers, Marshalmen, &c.
CROWD. MARSHALMEN. Marshalman. Stand back, keep a clear lane! When will her Majesty pass, sayst 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! Shout, knaves !
Citizens. Long live Queen Mary !
First Citisen. That's a hard word, legitimate ; what does it mean?
Second Citisen. It means a bastard.
Third Citizen. Nay, it means trueborn.
First Citizen. Why, didn't the Parliament make her a bastard ?
Second Citizen. No; it was the Lady Elizabeth.
Third Citizen. That was after, man ; that was after.
First Citizen. Then which is the bastard ?
Second Citizen. Troth, they be both bastards by Act of Parliament and Council.
Third Citizen. Ay, the Parliament can make every true-born man of us a bastard. Old Nokes, can't it make thee a bastard ? thou shouldst know, for thou art as white as three Christmasses.
Old Nokes (dreamily). Who's a-passing? King Edward or King Richard ?
Third Citizen. No, old Nokes.
Old Nokes. The blessed Mary's apassing!
[Falls on his knees. Nokes. Let father alone, my masters ! he's past your questioning.
Third Citisen. Answer thou for him, then ! thou’rt no such cockerel thyself, for thou was born i’ the tail end of old Harry the Seventh.
Nokes. Eh ! that was afore bastardmaking began. I was born true 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 bastard, why, it follows all the more that they can make thee one, who art fray'd i' the knees, and out at elbow, and bald o' the back, and bursten at the toes, and down at heels.
Nokes. I was born of a true man and a ring’d wife, and I can't argue upon it; but I and my old woman 'ud burn upon it, that would we.
Marshalman. What are you cackling of bastardy under the Queen's own nose ? I'll have you flogg’d and burnt too, by the Rood I will.
First Citizen. Heswears by the Rood. Whew! Second Citizen. Hark! the trumpets. [The Procession passes, Mary and Eliza
beth riding side by side, and disap
pears under the gate. Citizens. Long live Queen Mary ! down with all traitors! God save her Grace ; and death to Northumberland !
[Exeunt. Manent Two GENTLEMEN. First Gentleman. By God's light a noble creature, right 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 Chancellor, and will pounce like a wild beast out of his cage to worry Cranmer.
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. Well, sir, I look for happy times.
Geneva, Basle-our Bishops from their
sees Or fled, they say, or flying--Poinet,
Barlow, Bale, Scory, Coverdale; besides the
Deans Of Christchurch, Durham, Exeter, and
WellsAilmer and Bullingham, and hundreds
more ; So they report : I shall be left alone. No: Hooper, Ridley, Latimer will not
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 offer'd 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 betroth'd in her babyhood to the Great Emperor himself ?
First Gentleman. Ay, but he's too old.
Second Gentleman. And again to her cousin Reginald Pole, now Cardinal ; but I hear that he too is full of aches and broken before his day.
First Gentleman. O, the Pope could dispense with his Cardinalate, and his achage, and his breakage, if that were all : but will you not follow the procession ?
Second Gentleman. No; I have seen enough for this day.
First Gentleman. Well, I shall follow ; if I can get near enough I shall judge with my own eyes whether her Grace incline to this splendid scion of Plantagenet.
Enter PETER MARTYR.
there nothing else, your name Stands first of those who sign'd the
Letters Patent That gave her royal crown to Lady Jane. Cranmer. Stand first it may, but it
was written last : Those that are now her Privy Council,
sign'd Before me : nay, the Judges had pro
nounced That our young Edward might bequeath
the crown Of England, putting by his father's will. Yet I stood out, till Edward sent for me. The wan boy-king, with his fast-fading eyes Fixt hard on mine, his frail transparent
hand, Damp with the sweat of death, and
griping mine, Whisper'd me, if I loved him, not to
yield His Church of England to the Papal wolf And Mary; then I could no more-I
sign'd. Nay, for bare shame of inconsistency, She cannot pass her traitor council by, To make me headless.
SCENE II. A ROOM IN LAMBETH PALACE. Cranmer. To Strasburg, Antwerp,
Frankfort, Zurich, Worms,