Queen Mary and Harold | Page 2

at elbow, and bald o' the back, and bursten at the
toes, and down at heels.
NOKES. I was born of a true man and a ring'd wife, and I can't argue
upon it; but I and my old woman 'ud burn upon it, that would we.
MARSHALMAN. What are you cackling of bastardy under the
Queen's own nose? I'll have you flogg'd and burnt too, by the Rood I
will.
FIRST CITIZEN. He swears by the Rood. Whew!
SECOND CITIZEN. Hark! the trumpets.
[_The Procession passes_, MARY and ELIZABETH _riding side by
side, and disappears under the gate_.
CITIZENS. Long live Queen Mary! down with all traitors! God save
her Grace; and death to Northumberland! [Exeunt.
Manent TWO GENTLEMEN.
FIRST GENTLEMAN. By God's light a noble creature, right royal!
SECOND GENTLEMAN. She looks comelier than ordinary to-day;
but to my mind the Lady Elizabeth is the more noble and royal.
FIRST GENTLEMAN. I mean the Lady Elizabeth. Did you hear (I
have a daughter in her service who reported it) that she met the Queen
at Wanstead with five hundred horse, and the Queen (tho' some say

they be much divided) took her hand, call'd her sweet sister, and kiss'd
not her alone, but all the ladies of her following.
SECOND GENTLEMAN. Ay, that was in her hour of joy; there will be
plenty to sunder and unsister them again: this Gardiner for one, who is
to be made Lord Chancellor, and will pounce like a wild beast out of
his cage to worry Cranmer.
FIRST GENTLEMAN. And furthermore, my daughter said that when
there rose a talk of the late rebellion, she spoke even of
Northumberland pitifully, and of the good Lady Jane as a poor innocent
child who had but obeyed her father; and furthermore, she said that no
one in her time should be burnt for heresy.
SECOND GENTLEMAN. Well, sir, I look for happy times.
FIRST GENTLEMAN. There is but one thing against them. I know not
if you know.
SECOND GENTLEMAN. I suppose you touch upon the rumour that
Charles, the master of the world, has offer'd her his son Philip, the Pope
and the Devil. I trust it is but a rumour.
FIRST GENTLEMAN. She is going now to the Tower to loose the
prisoners there, and among them Courtenay, to be made Earl of Devon,
of royal blood, of splendid feature, whom the council and all her people
wish her to marry. May it be so, for we are many of us Catholics, but
few Papists, and the Hot Gospellers will go mad upon it.
SECOND GENTLEMAN. Was she not betroth'd in her babyhood to
the Great Emperor himself?
FIRST GENTLEMAN. Ay, but he's too old.
SECOND GENTLEMAN. And again to her cousin Reginald Pole, now
Cardinal; but I hear that he too is full of aches and broken before his
day.

FIRST GENTLEMAN. O, the Pope could dispense with his
Cardinalate, and his achage, and his breakage, if that were all: will you
not follow the procession?
SECOND GENTLEMAN. No; I have seen enough for this day.
FIRST GENTLEMAN. Well, I shall follow; if I can get near enough I
shall judge with my own eyes whether her Grace incline to this
splendid scion of Plantagenet.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II.--A ROOM IN LAMBETH PALACE.
CRANMER. To Strasburg, Antwerp, Frankfort, Zurich, Worms,
Geneva, Basle--our Bishops from their sees Or fled, they say, or
flying--Poinet, Barlow, Bale, Scory, Coverdale; besides the Deans Of
Christchurch, Durham, Exeter, and Wells-- Ailmer and Bullingham,
and hundreds more; So they report: I shall be left alone. No: Hooper,
Ridley, Latimer will not fly.
Enter PETER MARTYR.
PETER MARTYR. Fly, Cranmer! were there nothing else, your name
Stands first of those who sign'd the Letters Patent That gave her royal
crown to Lady Jane.
CRANMER. Stand first it may, but it was written last: Those that are
now her Privy Council, sign'd Before me: nay, the Judges had
pronounced That our young Edward might bequeath the crown Of
England, putting by his father's will. Yet I stood out, till Edward sent
for me. The wan boy-king, with his fast-fading eyes Fixt hard on mine,
his frail transparent hand, Damp with the sweat of death, and griping
mine, Whisper'd me, if I loved him, not to yield His Church of England
to the Papal wolf And Mary; then I could no more--I sign'd. Nay, for
bare shame of inconsistency, She cannot pass her traitor council by, To
make me headless.
PETER MARTYR. That might be forgiven. I tell you, fly, my Lord.

You do not own The bodily presence in the Eucharist, Their wafer and
perpetual sacrifice: Your creed will be your death.
CRANMER. Step after step, Thro' many voices crying right and left,
Have I climb'd back into the primal church,