Mary Tudor A Tragedy. Part the Second |
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Scene III.
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 | Mary Tudor |  |
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Scene III.
Oxford, the Queen's Chamber.Enter, to her, Gardiner.
QUEEN.
Why stand'st thou gasping thus?
GARDINER.
Scarce can I speak.
I am well nigh choked with anger and amaze.
This smooth, fair-spoken, lying, cringing Cranmer
Hath turned upon us, like a boar at bay!
Ay, of a truth, he bared his tusks on us,
In such a sort, these gray hairs stood on end.
QUEEN.
Dares he to tempt us—peril his soul's safety—
Even in the doomster's grasp?
GARDINER.
Let me take breath!
Heart-sick and brain-sick am I—Miscreant! traitor!—
We led the arch heretick to Mary's church;
Trusting that there he would abjure his sin;
And so improve short respite to full pardon.
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The step beneath the pulpit; where he knelt,
And wept so piteously, that many, trust me,
Shed tears in sympathy; specially those
Who felt most hopeful in his late conversion.
But scarce had Doctor Cole his worthy sermon
Concluded, in the which he set forth stoutly
The heresies of this blind man; expounding
How men are tempted, not beyond endurance;
And that his hope, even like the penitent thief
Might mount to Paradise; with many more
Like comfortable charges—this, concluded,
Cranmer arose, with tearful eyes to heaven.
Our hopes stood tiptoe: but, this mumming ended,
Did he profess the truth? Not so!—Quoth he,
“The time hath passed that I should more dissemble.”
And then he swore his conscience pricked him most
For his feigned recantation, to save life:
And that the hand which signed should burn the first.
Then did he ban the Pope:—We stood aghast!
QUEEN.
Now, by the God that made me!—but, go on.
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We bade him be a Christian, and submit.
But momently he grew more contumacious:
Until, our patience gone, we packed him off
Unto the stocks.
QUEEN.
Inveigh against the Pope?
Revile our holy Church?—incite the People?—
GARDINER.
We wait your pleasure.
QUEEN.
Let him die the death!
GARDINER.
Suspense is torture. He must die! The state—
God's holy Church—your oath to both demand it.
QUEEN.
Spurned as a rabid dog—shunned as a leper—
Let his foul ashes scatter on the wind!
So be the violated Faith avenged:
Away! away! I pant for thy return!
[Exeunt severally.
| Mary Tudor | |