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Against these burnings.
And the Emperor Approved you, and when last he wrote,
declared His comfort in your Grace that you were
bland And affable to men of all estates, In hope to charm them from their hate of
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 overPhilip.
-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 meAnd goes to-morrow. [Exit Mary. Philip (to Renard, who advances to
him). Well, sir, is there more ? Renard (who has perceived the Queen).
May Simon Renard speak a single
Well, my liege, Your Grace hath a most chaste and loving
Philip should be chaste.
know what Virgil sings, Woman is various and most mutable.
Philip. She play the harlot ! never.
No, sire, no Not dream'd of by the rabidest gospeller. There was a paper thrown into the palace, · The King hath wearied of his barren
bride.' She came upon it, read it, and then rent it, With all the rage of one who hates a
truth He cannot but allow. Sire, I would
have you – What should I say, I cannot pick my
wordsBe somewhat less-majestic to your
And warble those brief-sighted eyes of
hers ? Renard. 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 loveAnd I have known such women more
than oneVeer to the counterpoint, and jealousy Hath in it an alchemic force to fuse Almost into one metal love and hate, And she impress her wrongs upon her
Council, And these again upon her Parliament We are not loved here, and would be
then perhaps Not so well holpen in our wars with
Is like the cleaving of a heart; one half Will flutter here, one there.
You say true, Madam. Mary. The Holy Virgin will not have
me yet Lose the sweet hope that I may bear a
prince. If such a prince were born and you not
here ! Philip. I should be here if such a
prince were born. Mary. But must you go?
Philip. Madam, you know my father, Retiring into cloistral solitude To yield the remnant of his years to
heaven, Will shift the yoke and weight of all the
world From off 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 shall 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 better ; will you do it? Philip. "Madam, a day may sink or
save a realm. Mary. A day may save a heart from
O Philip! Nay, must you go indeed ? Philip.
Madam, I must. Mary. The parting of a husband and
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 tell. Philip. Then one day more to please
her Majesty Mary. The sunshine sweeps across
my life again. O if I knew you felt this parting, Philip, As I do!
Philip. By St. James I do protest, Upon the faith and honour of a Spaniard, I 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. (Exeunt.
By seeking justice at a stranger's hand Against my natural subject. King and
Queen, To whom he owes his loyalty after God, Shall these accuse him to a foreign prince? Death would not grieve him more. I
cannot be True to this realm of England and the
And there errs ;
Write to him, then.
ACT IV. SCENE I.-A ROOM IN THE PALACE.
Enter THIRLBY, LORD Paget, LORD
MARY, CARDINAL POLE. Mary. What have you there?
Pole. So please your Majesty, A long petition from the foreign exiles To spare the life of Cranmer. Bishop
Thirlby, And my Lord Paget and Lord William
Howard, Crave, in the same cause, hearing of your
Grace. Hath he not written himself-infatuatedTo 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
Howard. Health to your Grace !
Good morrow, my Lord Cardinal; We make our humble prayer unto your
Grace That Cranmer may withdraw to foreign
parts, Or into private life within the realm. In several bills and declarations, Madam, He hath recanted all his heresies. Paget. Ay, ay; if Bonner have not forged the bills.
[Aside. Mary. Did not More die, and Fisher ?
he must burn. Howard. He hath recanted, Madam. Mary.
The better for him. He burns in Purgatory, not in Hell. Howard. Ay, ay, your Grace ; but it
was never seen That any one recanting thus at full,
As Cranmer hath, came to the fire on
Thirlby. O Madam, Madam ! I thus implore you, low upon my knees, To reach the hand of mercy to my friend. I have err'd with him ; with him I have
recanted. What human reason is there why my
friend Should meet with lesser mercy than my.
self? Mary. My Lord of Ely, this. After
a riot We hang the leaders, let their following
go. Cranmer is head and father of these here
sies, New learning as they call it ; yea, may
doubted there. The Pope himself waver'd ; and more
I will take
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 cour
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 brain that beat men
downPole. Not me, my Lord. Howard. No, for you were not here ; You sit upon this fallen Cranmer's throne; And it would more become you, my Lord
Legate, To join a voice, so potent with her High
ness, To ours in plea for Cranmer than to stand On naked self-assertion. Mary.
All your voices Are waves on flint. The heretic must
burn. Howard. Yet once he saved your
Majesty's own life ; Stood out against the King in your behalf, At his own peril. Mary.
I know not if he did; And if he did I care not, my Lord Howard. My life is not so happy, no such boon, That I should spare to take a heretic
priest's, Who saved it or not saved. Why do you
vex me? Paget. Yet to save Cranmer were to
serve the Church, Your Majesty's I mean; he is effaced, Self-blotted out; so wounded in his
honour, He can but creep down into some dark
hole Like a hurt beast, and hide himself and
die ; But if you burn him, -well, your High
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.
The saying, 'Martyr's blood-seed of
the Church.' Mary. Of the true Church ; but his is
none, nor will be.
if you knew him
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
houseMary. His children and his concubine,
belike. Thirlby. To do him any wrong was to
beget A kindness from him, for his heart was
rich, Of such fine mould, that if you sow'd
therein The seed of Hate, it blossom'd Charity. Pole. “After his kind it costs him
nothing,' there's An old world English adage to the point. These are but natural graces, my good
Bishop, Which in the Catholic garden are as
flowers, But on the heretic dunghill only weeds. Howard. Such weeds make dunghills
Enough, my Lords. It is God's will, the Holy Father's will, And Philip's will, and mine, that he should
burn. He is pronounced anathema. Howard.
SCENE II.-OXFORD. CRANMER IN
faggots were alight,
cloud, And bad me have good courage ; and I
heard An angel cry "There is more joy in
Heaven,'And after that, the trumpet of the dead.
[Trumpets without. Why, there are trumpets blowing now:
what is it?
Enter FATHER COLE.
you again; Have you remain’d 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