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Enter COUNT DE FERIA (kneels).
Feria. I trust your Grace is well.
(A side) How her hand burns ! Mary. I am not well, but it will better
me, Sir Count, to read the letter which you
How ! no letter?
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, indeed ? You, sir, do you remember what you said When last you came to England ? Feria.
Madam, I brought · My King's congratulations ; it was hoped 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
deathThou art commission'd to Elizabeth, And not to me!
Feria. Mere compliments and wishes. But shall I take some message from your
dying eyes, And wear my crown, and dance upon my
grave. Feria. Then I may say your Grace
will see your sister ? Your Grace is too low-spirited. Air and
sunshine. I would we had you, Madam, in our warm
Have him away! I sicken of his readiness.
Lady Clarence. My Lord Count, Her Highness is too ill for colloquy. Feria (kneels, and kisses her hand). I
wish her Highness better. (Aside) How her hand burns! [Exeunt.
SCENE III.-A HOUSE NEAR
ELIZABETH, STEWARD OF THE HOUSE
wrongd 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. Elisabeth. Ah !-let him enter. Nay, you need not go :
[To her Ladies. Remain within the chamber, but apart. We'll have no private conference. Wel.
come to England !
Feria. Fair island star!
served, And lodged, and treated.
Elizabeth. You see the lodging, sir, I am well-served, and am in everything Most loyal and most grateful to the
master, too. He spoke of this ; and unto him you owe That Mary hath acknowledged you her
heir. Elizabeth. No, not to her nor him ;
but to the people, Who know my right, and love me, as I
love The people ! whom God aid ! Feria.
You will be Queen, And, were I PhilipElizabeth. Wherefore pause you
what? Feria. Nay, but I speak from mine
own self, not him ; Your royal sister cannot last ; your hand Will be much coveted! What a delicate
one! Our Spanish ladies have none such—and
there, Were you in Spain, this fine fair gossamer
goldLike sun-gilt breathings on a frosty
dawnThat hovers round your shoulder
Is it so fine? Troth, some have said so.
Feria. —would be deemed a miracle.
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.
Spain, What hinders but that Spain and England
join'd, Should make the mightiest empire earth
has known. Spain would be England on her seas, and
dream. Elisabeth. Perhaps ; but we have
seamen. Count de Feria, 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 old. Elizabeth. Ay, tell the King that I
will muse upon it; He is my good friend, and I would keep
him so ; But--he would have me Catholic of Rome, And that I scarce can be ; and, sir, till
My sister's marriage, and my father's
marriages, Make me full fain to live and die a maid. But I am much beholden to your King. Have you aught else to tell me ? Feria.
Nothing, Madam, Save that methought I gather'd from the
Queen That she would see your Grace before she
-died. Elizabeth God's death ! and where.
fore spake you not before ? We dally with our lazy moments here, And hers are number'd. Horses there,
without ! 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 Philip.
Amen. Come on.
[Excunt. Two OTHERS. First. There's the Queen's light. I
hear she cannot live. Second. God curse her and her Legate!
Gardiner burns Already ; but to pay them full in kind, The hottest hold in all the devil's den Were but a sort of winter ; sir, in Guern
sey, I watch'd a woman burn ; and in her
agony The mother came upon her-a child was
bornAnd, 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
neighbour, There should be something fierier than
fire To yield them their deserts. First.
Amen to all Your wish, and further.
A Third Voice. Deserts ! Amen to what? Whose deserts? Yours? You have a gold ring on your finger, and soft raiment about your body; and is not the woman up yonder sleeping after all she has done, in peace and quietness, on a soft bed, in a closed room, with light, fire, physic, tendance ; and I have seen the true men of Christ lying famine-dead by scores, and under no ceiling but the cloud that wept on them, not for them. First. Friend, tho' so late, it is not
safe to preach. You had best go home. What are you?
Third. What am I? One who cries continually with sweat and tears to the Lord God that it would please Him out of His infinite love to break down all
SCENE IV.-LONDON. BEFORE THE
PALACE. A light burning within. Voices of the
night passing. First. Is not yon light in the Queen's
So is Cardinal Pole. May the great angels join their wings,
and make Down for their heads to heaven !
kingship and queenship, all priesthood and prelacy; to cancel and abolish all bonds of human allegiance, all the magistracy, all the nobles, and all the wealthy ; and to send us again, according to His promise, the one King, the Christ, and all 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
beyond me. I pride myself on being moderate. Good night! Go home. Besides, you
curse so loud, The watch will hear you. Get you home at once.
SCENE V.-LONDON. A ROOM IN
THE PALACE. A Gallery on one side. The moonlight
streaming through a range of windows on the wall opposite. Mary, LADY CLARENCE, LADY MAGDALEN DACRES, ALICE. QUEEN pacing the Gallery. A writing-table in front. QUEEN comes to the table and writes and goes again, pacing the Gallery, Lady Clarence. Mine eyes are dim :
what hath she written ? read. Alice. “I am dying, Philip ; come to
me.' Lady Magdalen. There—up and down,
poor lady, up and down. Alice. And how her shadow crosses
one by one The moonlight casements pattern'd on
the wall, Following her like her sorrow. She
turns again. [Queen sits and writes, and goes again.
Lady Clarence. What hath she written
now? Alice. Nothing ; but come, come,
come,' and all awry, And blotted by her tears. This cannot last.
(Queen returns. Mary. I whistle to the bird has broken
cage, And all in vain. [Sitting down. Calais gone—Guisnes gone, too—and
Philip gone !
is but at the wars ;
hand Upon his helmet.
[Pointing to the portrait of Philip on
the wall. 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!
[Weeps. Alice. That was a lusty boy of twentyseven ;
(Aside. Poor enough in God's grace ! Mary.
And all in vain ! The Queen of Scots is married to the
And Charles, the lord of this low world,
is gone; And all his wars and wisdoms past away; And in a moment I shall follow him. Lady Clarence. Nay, dearest Lady,
see your good physician. Mary. Drugs—but he knows they
cannot help me--says That rest is all-tells me I must not
thinkThat I must rest—I shall rest by-and-by. Catch the wild cat, cage him, and when
he springs And maims himself against the bars, say
rest': Why, you must kill him if you would have
him rest Dead or alive you cannot make him happy. Lady Clarence. Your Majesty has
lived so pure a life, And done such mighty things by Holy
Church, I trust that God will make you happy yet. Mary. What is the strange thing
happiness ? Sit down here : Tell me thine happiest hour.
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 gather'd
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, and his lipsMary. 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 burn the tares with unquenchable fire! Burn ! Fie, what a savour ! tell the cooks to close The doors of all the offices below. Latimer ! Sir, we are private with our women hereEver a rough, blunt, and uncourtly fel.
lowThou light a torch that never will go out ! Tis out-mine flames. Women, the
Holy Father Has ta'en the legateship from our cousin
PoleWas that well done? and poor Pole pines 1 of it, As I do, to the death. I am but a woman, I have no power.-—Ah, weak and meek
old man, Seven-fold dishonour'd even in the sight Of thine own sectaries—No, no. No
pardon ! Why that was false : there is the right
hand still Beckons me hence. Sir, you were burnt for heresy, not for
one From out a bed of thick forget-me-nots, Look'd hard and sweet at me, and gave