Queen Mary and Harold | Page 9

black night, and hear the
wolf. What star?
RENARD. Your star will be your princely son, Heir of this England
and the Netherlands! And if your wolf the while should howl for more,
We'll dust him from a bag of Spanish gold. I do believe, I have dusted
some already, That, soon or late, your Parliament is ours.
MARY. Why do they talk so foully of your Prince, Renard?
RENARD. The lot of Princes. To sit high Is to be lied about.
MARY. They call him cold, Haughty, ay, worse.
RENARD. Why, doubtless, Philip shows Some of the bearing of your
blue blood--still All within measure--nay, it well becomes him.
MARY. Hath he the large ability of his father?

RENARD. Nay, some believe that he will go beyond him.
MARY. Is this like him?
RENARD. Ay, somewhat; but your Philip Is the most princelike Prince
beneath the sun. This is a daub to Philip.
MARY. Of a pure life?
RENARD. As an angel among angels. Yea, by Heaven, The text--Your
Highness knows it, 'Whosoever Looketh after a woman,' would not
graze The Prince of Spain. You are happy in him there, Chaste as your
Grace!
MARY. I am happy in him there.
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 assessor 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 passion 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