Queen Mary; and, Harold Part 8

RENARD. And would be altogether happy, Madam, So that your sister were but look'd to closer.

You have sent her from the court, but then she goes, I warrant, not to hear the nightingales, But hatch you some new treason in the woods.

MARY. We have our spies abroad to catch her tripping, And then if caught, to the Tower.

RENARD. The Tower! the block!

The word has turn'd your Highness pale; the thing Was no such scarecrow in your father's time.

I have heard, the tongue yet quiver'd with the jest When the head leapt--so common! I do think To save your crown that it must come to this.

MARY. No, Renard; it must never come to this.

RENARD. Not yet; but your old Traitors of the Tower-- Why, when you put Northumberland to death, The sentence having past upon them all, Spared you the Duke of Suffolk, Guildford Dudley, Ev'n that young girl who dared to wear your crown?

MARY. Dared? nay, not so; the child obey'd her father.

Spite of her tears her father forced it on her.

RENARD. Good Madam, when the Roman wish'd to reign, He slew not him alone who wore the purple, But his a.s.sessor in the throne, perchance A child more innocent than Lady Jane.

MARY. I am English Queen, not Roman Emperor.

RENARD. Yet too much mercy is a want of mercy, And wastes more life. Stamp out the fire, or this Will smoulder and re-flame, and burn the throne Where you should sit with Philip: he will not come Till she be gone.

MARY. Indeed, if that were true-- For Philip comes, one hand in mine, and one Steadying the tremulous pillars of the Church-- But no, no, no. Farewell. I am somewhat faint With our long talk. Tho' Queen, I am not Queen Of mine own heart, which every now and then Beats me half dead: yet stay, this golden chain-- My father on a birthday gave it me, And I have broken with my father--take And wear it as memorial of a morning Which found me full of foolish doubts, and leaves me As hopeful.

RENARD (_aside_). Whew--the folly of all follies Is to be love-sick for a shadow. (_Aloud_) Madam, This chains me to your service, not with gold, But dearest links of love. Farewell, and trust me, Philip is yours.

[_Exit_.

MARY. Mine--but not yet all mine.

_Enter_ USHER.

USHER. Your Council is in Session, please your Majesty.

MARY. Sir, let them sit. I must have time to breathe.

No, say I come. (_Exit_ USHER.) I won by boldness once.

The Emperor counsell'd me to fly to Flanders.

I would not; but a hundred miles I rode, Sent out my letters, call'd my friends together, Struck home and won.

And when the Council would not crown me--thought To bind me first by oaths I could not keep, And keep with Christ and conscience--was it boldness Or weakness that won there? when I, their Queen, Cast myself down upon my knees before them, And those hard men brake into woman tears, Ev'n Gardiner, all amazed, and in that pa.s.sion Gave me my Crown.

_Enter_ ALICE.

Girl; hast thou ever heard Slanders against Prince Philip in our Court?

ALICE. What slanders? I, your Grace; no, never.

MARY. Nothing?

ALICE. Never, your Grace.

MARY. See that you neither hear them nor repeat!

ALICE (_aside_).

Good Lord! but I have heard a thousand such.

Ay, and repeated them as often--mum!

Why comes that old fox-Fleming back again?

_Enter_ RENARD.

RENARD. Madam, I scarce had left your Grace's presence Before I chanced upon the messenger Who brings that letter which we waited for-- The formal offer of Prince Philip's hand.

It craves an instant answer, Ay or No.

MARY. An instant Ay or No! the Council sits.

Give it me quick.

ALICE (_stepping before her_).

Your Highness is all trembling.

MARY. Make way. [_Exit into the Council Chamber_.

ALICE. O, Master Renard, Master Renard, If you have falsely painted your fine Prince; Praised, where you should have blamed him, I pray G.o.d No woman ever love you, Master Renard.

It breaks my heart to hear her moan at night As tho' the nightmare never left her bed.

RENARD. My pretty maiden, tell me, did you ever Sigh for a beard?

ALICE. That's not a pretty question.

RENARD. Not prettily put? I mean, my pretty maiden, A pretty man for such a pretty maiden.

ALICE. My Lord of Devon is a pretty man.

I hate him. Well, but if I have, what then?

RENARD. Then, pretty maiden, you should know that whether A wind be warm or cold, it serves to fan A kindled fire.

ALICE. According to the song.

His friends would praise him, I believed 'em, His foes would blame him, and I scorn'd 'em, His friends--as Angels I received 'em, His foes--the Devil had suborn'd 'em.

RENARD. Peace, pretty maiden.

I hear them stirring in the Council Chamber.

Lord Paget's 'Ay' is sure--who else? and yet, They are all too much at odds to close at once In one full-throated No! Her Highness comes.

_Enter_ MARY.

ALICE. How deathly pale!--a chair, your Highness [_Bringing one to the_ QUEEN.

RENARD. Madam, The Council?

MARY. Ay! My Philip is all mine.