Queen Mary and Harold eBook

FERIA.  Sire, even so.

PHILIP.  She will not have Prince Philibert of Savoy.

FERIA.  No, sire.

PHILIP.  I have to pray you, some odd time,
To sound the Princess carelessly on this;
Not as from me, but as your phantasy;
And tell me how she takes it.

FERIA.  Sire, I will.

PHILIP.  I am not certain but that Philibert
Shall be the man; and I shall urge his suit
Upon the Queen, because I am not certain: 
You understand, Feria.

FERIA.  Sire, I do.

PHILIP.  And if you be not secret in this matter,
You understand me there, too?

FERIA.  Sire, I do.

PHILIP.  You must be sweet and supple, like a Frenchman. 
She is none of those who loathe the honeycomb.

[Exit FERIA.

Enter RENARD.

RENARD.  My liege, I bring you goodly tidings.

PHILIP.  Well?

RENARD.  There will be war with France, at last, my liege;
Sir Thomas Stafford, a bull-headed ass,
Sailing from France, with thirty Englishmen,
Hath taken Scarboro’ Castle, north of York;
Proclaims himself protector, and affirms
The Queen has forfeited her right to reign
By marriage with an alien—­other things
As idle; a weak Wyatt!  Little doubt
This buzz will soon be silenced; but the Council
(I have talk’d with some already) are for war. 
This the fifth conspiracy hatch’d in France;
They show their teeth upon it; and your Grace,
So you will take advice of mine, should stay
Yet for awhile, to shape and guide the event.

PHILIP.  Good!  Renard, I will stay then.

RENARD.  Also, sire,
Might I not say—­to please your wife, the Queen?

PHILIP.  Ay, Renard, if you care to put it so.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.—­A ROOM IN THE PALACE.

MARY, sitting:  a rose in her hand.  LADY CLARENCE.  ALICE in the background.

MARY.  Look!  I have play’d with this poor rose so long
I have broken off the head.

LADY CLARENCE.  Your Grace hath been
More merciful to many a rebel head
That should have fallen, and may rise again.

MARY.  There were not many hang’d for Wyatt’s rising.

LADY CLARENCE.  Nay, not two hundred.

MARY.  I could weep for them
And her, and mine own self and all the world.

LADY CLARENCE.  For her? for whom, your Grace?

    Enter USHER.

USHER.  The Cardinal.

    Enter CARDINAL POLE. (MARY rises.)

MARY.  Reginald Pole, what news hath plagued thy heart? 
What makes thy favour like the bloodless head
Fall’n on the block, and held up by the hair? 
Philip?—­