And crying, in his deep voice, more than once,
‘This hath offended—this unworthy
hand!’
So held it till it all was burn’d, before
The flame had reach’d his body; I stood near—
Mark’d him—he never uttered moan
of pain:
He never stirr’d or writhed, but, like a statue,
Unmoving in the greatness of the flame,
Gave up the ghost; and so past martyr-like—
Martyr I may not call him—past—but
whither?
PAGET. To purgatory, man, to purgatory.
PETERS. Nay, but, my Lord, he denied purgatory.
PAGET. Why then to heaven, and God ha’
mercy on him.
HOWARD. Paget, despite his fearful heresies,
I loved the man, and needs must moan for him;
O Cranmer!
PAGET. But your moan is useless now:
Come out, my Lord, it is a world of fools.
[Exeunt.
SCENE I.—LONDON. HALL IN THE PALACE.
QUEEN, SIR NICHOLAS HEATH.
HEATH. Madam,
I do assure you, that it must be look’d to:
Calais is but ill-garrison’d, in Guisnes
Are scarce two hundred men, and the French fleet
Rule in the narrow seas. It must be look’d
to,
If war should fall between yourself and France;
Or you will lose your Calais.
MARY. It shall be look’d
to;
I wish you a good morning, good Sir Nicholas:
Here is the King.
[Exit
HEATH.
Enter PHILIP.
PHILIP. Sir Nicholas tells you true,
And you must look to Calais when I go.
MARY. Go? must you go, indeed—again—so
soon?
Why, nature’s licensed vagabond, the swallow,
That might live always in the sun’s warm heart,
Stays longer here in our poor north than you:—
Knows where he nested—ever comes again.
PHILIP. And, Madam, so shall I.
MARY. O, will you?
will you?
I am faint with fear that you will come no more.
PHILIP. Ay, ay; but many voices call me hence.
MARY. Voices—I hear unhappy rumours—nay,
I say not, I believe. What voices call you
Dearer than mine that should be dearest to you?
Alas, my Lord! what voices and how many?
PHILIP. The voices of Castille and Aragon,
Granada, Naples, Sicily, and Milan,—
The voices of Franche-Comte, and the Netherlands,
The voices of Peru and Mexico,
Tunis, and Oran, and the Philippines,
And all the fair spice-islands of the East.
MARY (admiringly).
You are the mightiest monarch upon earth,
I but a little Queen: and, so indeed,
Need you the more.
PHILIP. A little Queen! but when
I came to wed your majesty, Lord Howard,
Sending an insolent shot that dash’d the seas
Upon us, made us lower our kingly flag
To yours of England.
MARY. Howard is all English!
There is no king, not were he ten times king,
Ten times our husband, but must lower his flag
To that of England in the seas of England.
