University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

Scene I.

An open space in the woods near Winchester.
Enter Philip, Egmont, &c. A storm.
PHILIP.
A sorry day for our solemnities!
I kiss this crucifix. Avert the omen!
Most holy James of Compostella!—Halt!
A cruel wind—a rain that chills my blood!
Egmont, observed you, how those surly lords
Scowled as they rose up from their stiff-bent knees,
As though, pardie! they had a mind to say,
“Why doff you not, Sir King, your barret cap?”

EGMONT.
They shall be taught, my liege, the courtesies
And homages of Spain ere long.

PHILIP.
Good Saints!
What must I suffer in this pestilent land?
If I put off this cloak I shall be drowned;
And smothered if I wear it! There's no force
In English prayer (for surely they have prayed)
If this be a fit greeting for a Prince,
Thus wending to their ancient gentlewoman.
Egmont! methinks I spied a pretty maid
At Hampton in the church of Holy-rood,
Where we made our thanksgiving—Many such
They say this England nurtures. That is well.

EGMONT.
I trust your Grace will shrewdly take to task
This admiral Howard, who laughed to see our sailors
Elbowed and hooted when we first touched land.

PHILIP.
Ha! when have I forgotten?

EGMONT.
And that insult,
When he bade strike our topsails, as his right
From all in the narrow seas.

PHILIP.
I shall remember
The admiral when it suits me.—Who comes hither
Unlaced and hot with posting? Step you forward,
With hand upon the hilt.

Enter Underhill.
UNDERHILL
[kneeling].
The Queen sends greeting
Unto your Highness with this ring.

PHILIP.
Its purport?

UNDERHILL.
I know not.

PHILIP
[retiring].
Nor I you. Come hither, Egmont.
You know their speech: examine him; 'tis strange.
Some token of danger it may be.

UNDERHILL.
The Queen
Hoped, lovingly, you rode not in this storm.

PHILIP.
No more than that? 'Tis well. Sir Englishman,
We knights of Spain make light of storms like these.
Nor man nor storm fear we.

UNDERHILL.
Dread not the first.
Lord King! we Britons strike in war alone.

PHILIP.
I am glad to know it. Sharp in retort I see.
Your English way I trow: but hark you, sir,
'Tis scarcely safe to bandy words with Kings;
Or hang too closely on their skirts, to catch
The careless thought just trickling into speech.
My Lady's servant, prithee look to this.
On, sir! what, Egmont, may we trust our guide?

EGMONT.
I'll warrant him a trusty.

PHILIP.
It were needful.
Choked with this sleet, half smothered in these bogs—
What a climate! what a country! what a people!
Yet doth my stomach yearn for sack and manchet.
Truly your hunger is a grievous thing,
Yea an unruly! If he delay, good Egmont,
Just hint what perils edge a prince's anger.
They say your Saxon churl loves generous viands—
Methinks they are scanty, or the mouths too many.
What crowds blackened the beach! each rock, each hill
Looked verminous with dusky multitudes—
If God take none to his glory, there shall be lack.

[Exeunt.

Scene II.

Cathedral interior, Winchester.
Enter to marriage ceremonial, Underhill, Sandys, &c. The storm continues.
SANDYS.
This is the consummation of our wrongs—
O wicked match! and none will have more cause
To rue it than this woman.

UNDERHILL.
God forbid it!

SANDYS.
Forbid this match; but not its consequence.
She doth contemn God's word—her father's laws—
And brands her brother as a heretick.
Yea, barters her broad kingdom for this tyrant.

UNDERHILL.
I mourn these things with you—all past amendment.

SANDYS.
Lo! how these Dons vaingloriously come prancing!
Castile and Arragon shall lord it well,
In London city. Have a care, my masters!
Of your fair dames, domains, and equipage,
Your shady forests, and well-stocked preserves—
The spoiler's furtive eye now gloats upon them!

UNDERHILL.
You'll be observed.

SANDYS.
I care not. See, base Gardiner
Rolls onward like a shark gaping for prey.
Shall nothing glut thy maw, foul beast—betrayer
Of thine own land—salesman of liberty?

Enter Bishops of London, Winchester, Durham, &c. After them Philip and suite: then Queen Mary, Elizabeth, Margaret Douglas, Gage, Nobles, &c.
GAGE
[to Sandys].
Keep silence, Doctor Sandys, or you shall rue it.

UNDERHILL.
Nay, hold thy peace: if careless of thyself,
Spare one who brought thee hither.

HERALD.
Silence, Sirs!

FIGUEROA.
I, Count of Figueroa, Regent of Naples,
Salute the Queen of England, in the name
Of the most potent Charles, the Emperor;
Who this day by my hand, resigns his kingdoms
Of Naples and Jerusalem to Philip,
His much loved son: and doth hereby declare
His pleasure in this bridal; mating thus
Royal to Royal. If impediment
Be known to any, let him speak.

[King and Queen approach the Altar. The storm encreases—thunder and lightning.
SANDYS
[speaking from the crowd].
A voice
From heaven replies in anger: and a voice
From man in warning: and a cry, O Queen!
From the universal Church—beware, beware!

PHILIP.
Saint Jago! wherefore seize ye not the traitor?
Ha! brave Castilian Knights!

GARDINER
[aside].
Heed him not, Sire.
Some solitary malcontent—I know him.
Dungeon and rack shall not be spared. [Aloud]
Who gives
The Queen away? [a pause]
Whose oversight is this?
Fools! not to have foreseen so plain a case.
[Aside.
Who gives her Grace away, I ask?
[Pembroke, Derby, and Bedford approach.
We give her,
In the name of the whole realm.

PEOPLE AROUND.
God save the Queen!
God save King Philip likewise!

[Philip offers a diamond ring.
QUEEN.
Nay, my Lord,—
I would be wed like any other maiden
With the plain hoop of gold.

PHILIP
[putting on a gold ring].
Then thus I wed thee.

[Proclamation of style—Jubilant music—the Procession retires from the Church. The storm continues.
SANDYS.
A heavier day for England and the Church
Never hath closed in tempest. Lo! the heavens
Do speak their malison! it is God's anger
That flashes round us! mark these omens well.

[Exeunt.

Scene III.

Hatfield.
Elizabeth alone.
ELIZABETH.
Man fears too much—too soon—too causelessly!
Again I live for hope—despond no more!
O Hope! whose wings fan heaven, I woo thee back
To earth, thy needful home; the tilth whereon
We shake thy goodly seed. To sow—to reap—
Are they not one? the effort is fruition!
Enter Egmont, Oxford, &c.
How now? I would be mistress of my time—
Why come ye, Sirs, unbid?

EGMONT.
With missives, Madam,
From my lord King. Methinks they'll please you well.

ELIZABETH.
Sincerity is Honour's nursing mother!
I tell thee, Spaniard, nought from him shall please.

EGMONT.
My lord of Oxford shall avouch—

ELIZABETH.
Say on.

EGMONT.
The King's grace, and the Queen, with hearty love
Commend them to your Highness; hailing you
Right heiress of the realm. The Council, too,
In such wise add their duty.

ELIZABETH.
With equal greeting
Elizabeth replies; thanking the People—
The People first, the People last, and only;
Who ever have upheld and will sustain her;
As her undoubted blood and taintless right—
(Ay taintless right in eyes ye cannot blind)
Demand. And, noble Spaniard, hear me further:
There lives within this heart a stirring pulse
Which shall make good its royal destinies.

EGMONT.
The People! weather-cocks your Grace may find them.
Be wary.

ELIZABETH.
Sir, contemn them not! who makes
A mirror of the sapphire or the diamond—
And not betakes him rather to plain glass,
Within whose broad reflexion we behold
Truth undistorted?

EGMONT.
Madam, I have done.
But do they murmur? are not the People quiet?

ELIZABETH.
Ay, sir, as slaves! the free proclaim their griefs,
Like beggars in the street. The slave who fears
In every hand a lash, is voiceless. He
Who under wrong is silent, hoards his vengeance.
Fear most who least complain. Judge, Sir, how far
I am beholden to King, Queen, or Council—
Or Nobles of the land. What friends stand by me?
Faithful in danger? Wooton, Mason, Cecil.
These are not Nobles—noble though they be.
Strong in the People's love, dare ye assail them?
Behold where lies my safety!

EGMONT.
Not less safe
Shall be the Court, to which we sue your presence.

ELIZABETH.
Sir, be content. I go not yet. My sister
Must, as a wife, be to her spouse compliant.
And thus that rule prevail which I abhor.

OXFORD.
Madam, not so. The Queen's known constancy,
Proved thoroughly when the need was exigent,
Shows she will nothing yield adverse to honour,
Through weakness. Wives may be submiss to husbands:
But a wise Queen shall seek wise counsellors,
Whereby ensue wise measures.

ELIZABETH.
She shall seek
And shall not find—my father never found them.
Wise counsellors shall for themselves be wise,
And lock their lips. The King shall name the Council.

OXFORD.
Madam, in England Parliament hath power
To chain up sycophants and bridle tyrants.

ELIZABETH.
You may so say. Pray God it prove so! but
There shall be much ado. Have you not travelled?
How rule the Spaniards (pardon, Count of Egmont!)
In Naples, Sicily, and Lombardy?
Are these oppressed not? Say, are bonds and buffets
To them unknown? look too for these in England.
Gently and fairly shall they speak at first:
But waxing strong, then shall they filch your ships,
Your forts—usurp your offices; ascending
The topmost tower of tyrannous acquest.

EGMONT.
Rule we in Flanders thus? Are Englishmen
Compliant beyond Flemings?

ELIZABETH.
Peradventure
If tempted sorely, we may not content you.

EGMONT.
There shall be no temptation.

ELIZABETH.
None? so be it!
My lords, ye have my answer. Fare ye well!

[Exeunt severally.

Scene IV.

Queen's Cabinet, Whitehall.
Queen, Philip, Gardiner, Lords and Council.
QUEEN.
I am far from well, my lords, as you may see.
God lays a heavy hand on me. His will
Be done! I take the privilege of sickness
To meet you here, not in full parliament.
Before the coming of his Eminence
The Legate, hourly looked for, I would explain
Our exigencies.

PEMBROKE.
Without doubt your Grace
Should have full satisfaction.

QUEEN.
I would urge you
(What less shall please, but to your souls hereafter
Be of true comfort) that you reconsider
The Church's claim for spoils that you have taken—

PEMBROKE.
Your father took—

QUEEN.
Well, Sir, he took for you.

PEMBROKE.
Our swords protect the Church: our lands surrendered,
Our swords are swords of glass.

QUEEN.
Greedy—too greedy—
Are ye, my lords, of pelf. I find you, truly,
Pliant, fair-spoken: but, your mammon touched,
The lands filched from the Church, ye tap your swords,
And cry, “We part not with our abbey spoils!”

PEMBROKE.
They were fair grants, the guerdon of fair service.
Your father's gift our swords are bound to guard.

QUEEN.
So be it! I must be content, I see,
With setting good example. I devote
What to the crown pertains to foster learning,
And feed the poor.

PEMBROKE.
How then support the crown,
With an impoverished purse?

QUEEN.
Sir, I prefer
My peace of conscience to all crowns of earth.

[A discharge of ordnance without.
Enter Sir John Gage.
GAGE.
The Cardinal Legate's boat hath touched the beach.

QUEEN.
The Cardinal arrived! my dear, dear Cousin!
Go, my lord Chamberlain,—go, Sir John Gage,
And bear our greetings to his Eminence.
Let his Legantine cross be borne before him;
And all appliances of holy state
Attend his blessed footsteps. This, our King,
And we, shall welcome him on Whitehall stairs.

[Exeunt Oxford and Cecil.
PHILIP.
You are right gracious to the Cardinal.
In Spain we condescend less.

QUEEN.
Ah! you'll love him,
As I do, when familiarly you know him.

PHILIP.
I somewhat doubt it. You were sick, you said;—
Too sick to issue forth and meet your Commons.

QUEEN.
'Tis but a score of paces. I would fain
Show fitting reverence to a holy man.

PHILIP.
As you will, Madam. Ho! the pageant waits.
Her Highness' self shall usher through the gates!

[Exeunt.

Scene V.

Council Chamber, Whitehall. Queen and King throned. Lords, &c. seated round.
Enter Cardinal Pole, attended by Prelates, &c.
GARDINER.
The parliament of England heartily
Speaks welcome to your Eminence. My lords
Of the upper house! my masters of the nether!
I here present to you the most reverend father,
Lord Cardinal de la Pole; Legate a latere
From the Apostolick See; ambassador
On the weightiest matters which can affect the realm.
My lords, lean to him with accordant ears.

CARDINAL.
Since it hath pleased the Almighty counsels, Madam,
To call you to this throne, and worthily
Wed to a Prince, the first in Christendom,
Your realm hath cause for high content. It stood
O'er an abyss, now pierced with hopeful light:
The day hath dawned so passionately longed for:
To the life of God's own children we are reborn!
Behold, with outstretched arms the ancient Faith
Comes to your gates, asking the crowns and palms
Wherewith your pious ancestors endowed her.
Once more knit up her trodden robe! once more,
O froward children, hear her maternal voice!
Return to her beneath whose sacred mantle
Salvation can alone be found. Be sure
The light devolving from great Gregory
Still shines from Peter's chair. Who turns from it
Renounces hope. Peace ripens in its beams!
Return O Shunamite! return fair Island!
Appease thy terrors—all shall be restored!
The morn hath come, the works of darkness perished!
Henceforth thou walkest in the light of God.

QUEEN.
O noble kinsman! virtuous Reginald!
We thank thy zeal and shall make fitting answer
To thy high mission. I have survived despair.
A helpless virgin hath our Ladie favoured;
And won her battle. Faith hath piloted
This shattered barque at length to a happy haven.
Here stand we, without question, King and Queen:
And, with our Parliament, implore the Pope
For reconciliation. Take this missive:
It is sincere. Kneeling we crave your blessing!

PHILIP.
Your Eminence shall pardon my stiff knees—
Stiff, Spanish manners. Ha! I cannot kneel.

CARDINAL.
With overflowing heart, I bless thee, daughter—
And bless, in thee, thy People—Help!—she faints!

QUEEN
[aside].
Make no alarm. This may perchance give joy
To loyal hearts. O bliss beyond expression,
If God vouchsafe to crown the desolate
With bloom of her own garden!

CARDINAL
[aside].
What means this?

FAKENHAM
[aside].
Vain dream of hope! more sorrows are to come.

Scene VI.

Palace, Whitehall.
Queen, Philip, Gardiner, Pole.
QUEEN.
You will not go so soon?

PHILIP.
Why should I stay?
My counsel goes for nought, backed though it be
By your wise Chancellor.

QUEEN.
Alas! I know not
In what I have denied you; save this only—
Recourse to death and torture: when my heart,
My judgement, yea my conscience, dictates rather
The force of free discussion.

GARDINER.
Pardon, Madam.
Reason no eye-salve brings to men whose will
Shuts out the truth—

QUEEN.
But have you fairly tried it?

PHILIP.
What call you fair? If to probe truth and find it
Even in men's vitals; dragging crime to light,
As doth our holy office in Castile,
Be just—and who so bold as to deny it?—
Then is it just to use all cogent means
Which shall extort confession. We rout foxes
With fagot from their holes: why not unkennel
With fire the vermin which infest the state?

CARDINAL.
Forbear, my Lord, by forced analogies
To blind plain reason. Even those Puritans
Are rational; and better may be won
By logick, than affrighted by brute strokes.

PHILIP.
Your Eminence hath powers of persuasion
Unknown to me. I have no time for talk.
(Preserve me from all babblers!)—I love listeners.
My maxim is, compel men to their good:
And if they thank you not—the fault is theirs.
What say you, Chancellor?

GARDINER.
Your Grace speaks wisely;
And shrewdly to the purpose.

QUEEN.
The laws of England
Provide sworn juries; fellows of the accused;
To hear the evidence, and give their verdict,
Leaning to mercy.

GARDINER.
Under correction, Madam,
Of judges versed in law.

PHILIP.
Ay, ay, my Aunt—
Your Mother—sometime Queen of this good land—
This land of equal laws—veracious juries—
Had what you call fair trial! let me see—
Bishop, your predecessor, Doctor Cranmer,
Was the assessor—judge—or advocate—
(Saint Jago! what know I of your law jargon?)
In that fair process: and for his fair demeanour
Therein, our Queen now tenderly entreats him!
It stirs my bile to hear such squeamish cries
As certain dames—no babes God wot—and gallants
Disguised in petticoats like dowagers,
Raise at the sight of blood.

QUEEN.
My lord, my lord!
Degrade me not; yourself, my lord, degrade not!
I am unworthy as a woman—none
Knows better—be not angry that I weep—
But ah! forget not thus I am thy wife—
Thy Queen.

PHILIP.
Ha! Ha!

QUEEN.
King Philip, dare you make
A jest of all things holy? can you wound
The heart that loves you?

PHILIP.
Madam, I am grave.
But I am not to be cajoled—with tears;
And whining posies; and dramatic rant.
This hand (nay, I will hold it while I please)
You gave in pledge of conjugal obedience.
I condescended to advise, when right
Entitled to command. The obstinate
I thought to shame with raillery: but, look you,
I have not sold my youthful liberty
By this ill-sorted spousal—

QUEEN.
Outraged! outraged!
Why sought you then this spousal?—

PHILIP.
Why? great kingdoms
May be compacted thus. My father willed it—
Sage counsellors advised. Were these not reasons?
But hear ye, Queen and wife, if here my will
Be not obeyed, I will not here abide;
But cast you from me—thus.

[Queen sinks down.
CARDINAL.
Now I must speak
Or die!—

GARDINER.
Hush, hush!

CARDINAL.
Thou traitor to the altar!
Bethink thee—marriage is a sacrament
Which to profane is deadly! Look on her
Who gave thee all her wealth, her crown, her people;
And, above all, her virgin heart and person;
And hoped thee her true helpmate through this world,
Nor in the world to come to be divided.
And now you shake her from you as an asp—
Or poisonous froth shot from a rabid lip!

PHILIP.
Were I a basilisk I'd look thee dead!
Out—vermin!

CARDINAL.
No! my lord. The church hath thunders:
Suspended hang they o'er thy head—beware!

GARDINER.
Pray you, retire.

CARDINAL.
Not so. My heart is strong:
And like some stalwart wrestler, who hath need
Of exercise, and doubts nor heart nor limb,
I shrink not from the combat. He who carries
His Cross, a daily burthen, well may stand
In front of any giant of the ring
Who boasts he can move spheres.

PHILIP.
My lord of Winton,
Let the poor player say on. We can afford,
Smiling, to look down on his petty stage—
And meditate—his guerdon.

CARDINAL.
Ay: you are great
Above us by your station, as the vulture
Upon his mountain pinnacle. What then?
The arrow makes a pathway on the air;
The peasant's hands can reach the feathered tyrant,
And from the vale quench his despotick eye.
Sir, you have heard the truth now I have spoken.

PHILIP.
Once and too much.

QUEEN.
Ah me.

[she swoons].
PHILIP.
Go, call her surgeon.
Remove her to her chamber—a good riddance!

CARDINAL.
Hard as the millstone, and as cold! King Philip!
There is a book in heaven wherein the deeds
Of men are graven.

PHILIP.
Sir, you may retire—
Surely you heard me not?—you may retire!
Begone!—it is my pleasure!

CARDINAL.
I depart.
My place is otherwhere. Never henceforth,
Transgressor, shall I meet thee, face to face,
Until thy sin by penitence be absolved!

[Exit.
GARDINER.
A pestilent hot headed fool!

PHILIP.
A sample
Of English talking on Italian thinking.
In Spain we think—and act—not speak. Is he
A heretick? the late Pope had misgivings:—
The man out-braved them. Next, at Rome they sought
To make him Pope: and that he may be yet.
It were not well— [pause]
we must consider this.
Pope? never! Lambeth? Ha! Gardiner—a word.
Think you one may be found—a witness—ha?—

GARDINER.
Trust me.

PHILIP
[whispers].
Like you not this Naboth's vineyard?
Tush man! should Pole be Primate? Are there none
Can testify of this man—so and so?—
Shall Pole, I say, be Primate?

GARDINER.
God forbid it!

PHILIP.
Be sure he'll not forbid, if man allows it.
See well to this. Gardiner, wert thou Archbishop,
This land were cleansed anon. Look to't, I say.

GARDINER.
Who to great Philip's will shall answer nay?

[Exeunt.

Scene VII.

The Queen's Closet, Whitehall.
Queen, Margaret Douglas, Fakenham.
QUEEN.
I am lighter, gentle cousin. What hath chanced,
That thus of strength and sense I lie bereft?

MARGARET.
Sleep on—you need refreshment: need all powers
Of your great intellect and noble courage.
Sleep and awake for action.

QUEEN.
I am ready.
Let me consider—dim, dim, dim, the vision—
And dark with heavy clouds—but they disperse—
Gradually, slowly—Ha! the blow comes back!
If stung and stunned—it stings again; but stuns not.
Hold—let me think—what's to be done? poor heart!
Thou wilt not break! insult unmitigated!
Witnessed—by him!—by Pole! O Reginald!
Avenged!

MARGARET.
What means she?

FAKENHAM.
Hear, but mark not.—Daughter!

QUEEN.
Ay, call me thus: thy spiritual child;
Humble and needing love,—albeit a sinner.

FAKENHAM.
A sinner surely! who hath not sinned? but now
Much sinned against.

QUEEN.
Feed not with idle comfort.
Sin earns its shame. Feeble and worthless am I.
Something here—in my burning heart and brain—
Tells me I yet shall be all good men's loathing.
O mercy, heaven! I shudder at myself.
At once to love and hate, caress—revenge!
Hide me, good angels!

FAKENHAM.
Daughter, what is this?
Think not so falsely of thyself.

QUEEN.
Ay, Fakenham!
Wouldst thou too pamper pride? O, Sir, beware!
To sap the sense of shame is to make pillage
Of the soul's chastity.

FAKENHAM.
Restrain, I pray you,
This vehemence of passion, that from the height
Of just resentment hurls you to despair.

QUEEN.
Pray for me, father.

FAKENHAM.
Join with me in prayer.
What should avail my prayers, if yours are dumb?

QUEEN.
I ask but prayer: I seek no miracle.
Though holy prayer availed to part the sea—
Though prayer brought manna from the fruitful cloud—
And water from the rock—and caused the sun
O'er Gibeon to stand still. Such miracles
I ask not; nor, entreated, would expect.
But pray for me, that, even as the thief
On the third cross, I may have peace in heaven.
I am sinking—sinking—sinking! Pray, or I perish!

Enter an Usher.
USHER.
The King, may it please your Grace.

QUEEN
[springing up].
The King! King Philip!
O speed him hither! stay: here's for thy news—
A jewel from my finger. Haste thee, friend!

Enter Philip moodily.
QUEEN.
O Philip, Philip! art thou come to me!
And shall there not be now an end of weeping?
I was thinking of thee—whom else think I of?
I talked of thee—of whom is all my talking?
But thou art here again: and my poor heart,
Like a caged bird, is beating at its bars,
To fly forth to the comfort of thy bosom.
Speak—speak—my soul! and give me peace.

PHILIP.
How's this?
Are we alone?

QUEEN.
No, surely: Margaret,
And my good confessor—

PHILIP.
I am not blind.
There stand they, with wide eyes, and open ears;
Eaves droppers—spies. You hear me, Sir and madam?

FAKENHAM.
We but await her Grace's pleasure.

QUEEN.
Go!
Go, quickly;—go! ah my dear lord, I saw not
Aught but my husband. Am I pardoned?

PHILIP.
Mary!

QUEEN.
Blessings upon thee for that little word!

PHILIP.
I have pondered much of late—I have weighed—I say—
These differences—working to estrangement—
You mark me?

QUEEN.
Breathlessly.

PHILIP.
Ay—where was I?
The estrangement—wrought by interloping priests—
And meddling confessors—and confidants—
Hark ye, your confidants, or man, or woman,
Are pestilent—eschew them—

QUEEN.
I would wish
To shape myself in all things to your wishes.

PHILIP.
Compliant helpmate! then we have not quarrelled?

QUEEN.
Ah, Philip, spare me!

PHILIP.
Saint Jago! hear her!
Spare? have I struck thee? bared my poniard to thee?
Poisoned thy cup?

QUEEN
[faintly smiling].
Thou art not dangerous.

PHILIP.
I know not that—I must be short with you.
I cannot abide your Cardinal.

QUEEN.
My Cardinal?—

PHILIP.
Well: the Pope's legate: Reginald de la Pole.
Despatch him.

QUEEN.
My good lord?

PHILIP.
Ah! you mistake.
Not in that sense—just now. Yet 'twere not ill.

QUEEN.
I trust we still talk riddles to each other.
What is your purpose?

PHILIP.
As to that—but no—
The time must ripen. What I would have—now—
Is simply the removal of this Legate.
(The Pope shall soon recall him—if all live)
You must reject him from your presence: spurn him,
As I this cushion.

QUEEN.
Wherefore do you hate him?

PHILIP.
Call it not hatred, but antipathy:
Such as the callow chicken feels for hawks,
Or wild horse for the wolf. Aversion call it:
That wraps me in a cold and clammy horror
When we approach. I know he cannot harm me;
And have small doubt, he would not if he could.
But still, my flesh creeps if I do but touch him,
As when one strokes a cat's hair 'gainst the grain.
If he looks grave, I straight grow cholerick;
If cheerful, I abhor him; when he laughs,
My vitals sicken. Odious is his garb
Of ostentatious purple; jewelled hands;
That beard down-streaming like the chissel'd locks
Of Moses from the hand of Angelo.—

QUEEN.
Why what is this but hate—brute, undiscerning:
The hate that grows in too self-loving hearts?

PHILIP.
I thank thee, loving mistress, for that taunt.
What more?

QUEEN.
Bear with me: my heart throbs to bursting.

PHILIP.
Well then—if full confession please thee better—
Think I do hate him—What say you now?

QUEEN.
Just heaven!
To hate God's image thus, without a cause,
Is to hate God; and wound him through his work.
This was the sin that hurled the Archangel down
From Heaven to Hell's abysses: this the sin
That drave forth Cain, a branded wanderer!
Let it be cleansed and shriven—or you shall go
To your account hereafter, linked with these.

PHILIP.
And if so, were not these the mighty Ones
Of Earth and Hades? you are much too flippant.
Blame you not God, blaming his instruments?
And such are Kings: such Attila, God's scourge:
Such he who the earlier Becket slew: such Mary,
Whom after times may call the bloody Queen.

QUEEN.
Indeed I have done much—may God forgive me!
Pray for me, Jane! linked with thy Dudley, pray!

PHILIP.
Arouse thee, woman! thou shall yet do deeds
To earn that name indeed.

QUEEN.
What stab comes next?

PHILIP.
Who told thee I could stab? speak, idiot, speak!

QUEEN.
Believe it, I meant nothing—you affright me.

PHILIP.
Then, meaning nought, speak less. Attend to me.
I have directed Gardiner to impart
My final, stern resolve touching these prelates;
Felons heretical. They must die: or thou
And I meet never more.

QUEEN.
I do but dream—
It cannot be—thou canst not be so cruel.
Unsay it!

PHILIP.
Thou canst dream; well know I that—
I never. Would that I could learn of thee!
I will not say it again; but see you do it:
Or—

QUEEN.
Oh be silent! let me think—go not.

PHILIP.
Farewell! till you have thought upon this matter.

QUEEN.
Go not!

PHILIP.
When you are tractable—

QUEEN.
Oh go not!

PHILIP.
I shall take thought on my return. Till then,
Take my farewell!

QUEEN.
I cannot lose thee thus—
I cannot lose thee now—my heart is breaking!

[Philip goes out. Queen sinks in a passion of grief. Scene closes.

SCENE VIII.

A Chamber, Whitehall Palace.
Philip, apart: Enter Gardiner and Bonner.
GARDINER.
He's in a moody temper. How he'll chafe,
Hearing my conference with her Grace!

BONNER.
And message.
Will he bear this? and not be dangerous?
His Spanish gentry tell strange tales.

GARDINER.
Hurt us?
Tut, man! Who strikes off hands for their offence—
Or plucks an eyeball out because it frets?

PHILIP.
Ha! ha! ha! ha!

[He rises and walks up and down.
BONNER.
Why does he laugh so grimly?
And rub his hands so fiercely, and pluck his beard?

GARDINER.
His way—his way. When any new conceit
Of pleasurable malice takes his fancy,
'Tis ever thus.

BONNER.
Well: God gives instruments.
We'll not complain.

GARDINER
[kneeling].
My liege!

PHILIP
[starting].
How now? how now?
Why come you on me suddenly? Ho! Egmont!

GARDINER.
Matters of privacy, my lord—we came
Duly announced. Your pardon.

PHILIP.
I was musing.
The feather of a pleasant phantasy
Tickled me, and I laughed—did I not laugh?

GARDINER.
Right joyfully methought.

PHILIP.
There you mistook.
I never laugh for joy. My lady Queen?
What said she to our message touching Pole?

GARDINER.
That she will not desert a faithful servant.

PHILIP.
Ha! ha! why see you now, I laugh again.
This was foreseen. A missive for the Pope.
A word aside with you. Bonner's a butcher
Whom, wanting, we employ; but not consult.
If the Pope prove refractory, like Queens—
Doth England hold no pet Campagna, teeming
With deadly fogs? the Legate should breathe such.
You comprehend.

GARDINER.
May heaven be merciful
To sinners! Justice must be executed:
Else were the throne a ball of emptiness
For every knave to kick.

PHILIP.
You are quick-witted.
I like you well. What of the heretick Bishops?

GARDINER.
Why there, my liege, my argument hath prospered.

PHILIP.
Her hand if once with blood incarnadined
She'll love it as the henna dye is loved
In Moorish harems. To your tasks, Sir Bishops!

[Exeunt.

Scene IX.

Palace Court, Whitehall.
Enter Underhill and Doctor Sandys.
UNDERHILL.
Where loitered you, my friend, when, yestereve,
We held our revels on the banks of Thame?

SANDYS.
The grave-yard's gloom, where slaughtered Christians sleep,
Was better for my purpose, and my mood,
Than timeless mirth, godless festivities.
O Underhill!

UNDERHILL.
Remember; to make sure,
We must prepare the way. Elizabeth,
If Mary die, is our true hope. To swell
Her triumph, was to smooth her upward path.

SANDYS.
Whence comes this favour long delayed?

UNDERHILL.
'Twas thus.
You prophesied aright. Philip controls,
Derides, the Queen: as this new persecution
Demonstrates. Fearful tales creep through the palace—
Of which hereafter.

SANDYS.
You beheld the pageant.
How looked the Princess—? say.

UNDERHILL.
Her royal barge
Was garlanded with flowers, festooned around
An awning of green satin, richly broidered
With eglantine and buds of gold. The bright one
Beneath this canopy reclined in state,
Fairer than Cleopatra with her Roman.
Her royal sister on the bowery shore
Of Richmond met her, kissing her 'tween whiles;
Her wan cheek flushing to a healthier glow.
With hospitable care, and love, she led
Elizabeth, to where, shrined in green leaves
And flowers, a tent, curtained with cloth of gold,
And purple samite, stood; whose folds were wrought
With silver fleur de lys, and gold pomegranates.
The music they so love breathed in their ears,
Like amorous blandishment: and when the morn
Rippled along the wave with soberer ray
The Princess stept once more into her barge,
And floated down the current, like a swan.

SANDYS.
God's blessing on her! hope of this poor land!

UNDERHILL.
King Philip's hateful eye loved not the scene.
I marked his sidelong glance, with half-shut lids
Averted, soon as marked. The Queen, at parting,
Whispered, I know not what, through tearful smiles:—
They seemed to say “Hail heiress of my Kingdom!”
And proud was she that day of her fair sister.

SANDYS.
When last I saw the princess she seemed worn,
With watchfulness.

UNDERHILL.
But she hath triumphed now
O'er slander. Philip too is most observant—
But that is dangerous. A noble creature
Is she, in faith! the fiery spirit sparkles
From her large eyes, whether in joy or anger.
Her carriage stately and regardant, firm
As a soldier, fearless in the midst of danger.
She stood like Pallas mid the fabled Gods!

SANDYS.
O man with boyhood's heart!

UNDERHILL.
Hear me. In her
Study hath wakened wisdom. She is bold
In counsel, as enlightened; clear, discerning,
Magnanimous, authoritative; yet ever
Most gracious in demeanour. She will be
The glory of her time. Soft—here comes Gardiner.
Fly, Sandys, fly—even I am perilled by him.

[Exeunt.

Scene X.

Chamber in the Cardinal's House.
Pole, solus.
CARDINAL.
I am sick to death of these perplexed intrigues—
Barbarous devices—lying plots. O God!
Self interest depraves all hearts—a mammon
Preaching a spurious gospel; whereunto
Millions bend down the knee. Their gods are gold.
They worship those who give them what they crave.
Their very piety is mercenary,
Besieging saints for their peculiar gain.
This measuring all things by one's proper greed
Is the heart's penury. Utility
To these is as the mother of the Gods!
Enter Gardiner and Fakenham.
Ay—here comes one!—I sent for you, my lord.
Daily these rash enormities augment.

GARDINER.
My lord, methinks that when the Queen approves—

CARDINAL.
Consents, Sir: she approves not. Caution Bonner.
He is excessive in severities.
These burnings must have end: I'll have it so.
He doubts my power, my inclination knowing:
But he shall find what power a Legate hath,
If he provoke me.

FAKENHAM.
This is seasonable.
These words shall save full two and twenty lives.

GARDINER.
And lose their souls, which earthly pangs might cleanse.

CARDINAL.
'Tis well to give men time for penitence.
The living, not the dead, most need our prayers.

GARDINER.
I scarcely think so. Dead, they sin no more.

CARDINAL.
I have not present leisure to discuss
Abstruse points with your lordship.

GARDINER.
Pardon me,
That I suggest, if other than a friend
Caught what your Eminence hinted at but now,
He might not deem it strictly orthodox.

CARDINAL.
If any dare accuse, I answer him.
Good day, my lord.

GARDINER.
One word—these Hereticks
Wax stout. They scoff our priests—nay call them knaves—
Hear that!

CARDINAL.
I doubt not there are many knaves.

GARDINER.
Well, well! in every house, and way side inn
They do revile the sacrament. Prayer, fasting,
Are not regarded: but, in lieu thereof,
Unseemly riot; boastfulness, as though
No honourable lords with full commission
Went softly through the land to mend its manners.

CARDINAL.
Leave the commissioners, my lord of Winton,
To patch their crazy vessels where they find them.
As for the knaves you blame, put them in the stocks.
Good day, my lord, again. [Exit Gardiner.]
Alas! my friend,
I faint beneath this burden, staggering blindly
From pitfall on to pitfall. The King hates me;
This Gardiner would supplant me: the Queen falters.
They fire her soul, and terrify at once,
Alternating, like double-weaponed Furies,
The torch and snake. Alas! alas! for her!

FAKENHAM.
I have observed, my lord, your failing strength;
And fancied it were time you left this court,
In search of health renewed. It dwells not here.
Elsewhere it may.

CARDINAL.
I seek not earthly blessings.
Frail are they as the hands that can dispense them.
Shall I ask health from one as sick as I?
Life from mere mortals? riches from the poor?
Amid a thousand evils that assail us
We may find some to pity, whom to help us?
Men get but windy words who crave advice:
And when fools call their several Joves to aid,
In place of logs he sends them hungry storks.

FAKENHAM.
Alas! you speak as one forespent with grief.
Be roused! How many watch your eye for cheer!

CARDINAL.
The halcyon's nest was built of thorns—so mine:
Floating on restless waters—such my fortunes!

FAKENHAM.
Nay, speak not thus. The conference approaches
With the protesting Prelates. Who but you
Shall justly deal by them—convince and save them?
Brace up your mind.

CARDINAL.
These failing limbs forbid!
But I will strive. What load thus weighs me down?
On me the stress of many a storm hath leaned,
And rested on my steadfastness, as wind
That beats in vain some granite ridge which severs
The north and south; nor shakes with any blast.
—I have heard of vampyre poisons, that can lull,
Even as—unworthy thought! I'll not suspect.

FAKENHAM.
For the Queen's sake, for England's, droop not now.

CARDINAL.
The clouds of night droop round our fated House!
Plantagenet and Tudor soon will be
Unheeded names. Earth passeth from our grasp:
May heaven be sure!—A sudden sunburst!—Lo!
God's Image in our heart is as yon orb
Unto the universe; the eye of nature,
Dispersing rays more eloquent than tongues;
Beams that give life, as well as light: whose absence
Wraps in cold shadow all that moves and breathes.
At times that Image walks through spheres remote;
Unobvious to the largely wandering eye—
Then night-mare darkness sits upon the soul:
Then, by its own shade mantled, waits the soul,
Like some dark mourner, lonely in his house.
But the harmonious hours fulfil themselves;
And sunrise comes unlooked for, peak to peak
Answering in spiritual radiance—This is indeed,
So palpably to meet Divinity,
That hence the Pagan erred, not knowing God.
—But, my good Fakenham, I called you hither
For conference, not sermons. Let us retire
To my more private closet; and prepare
Our thought for combat with the schismatick.

[Exeunt.