I am sent to fetch you.
GARDINER. Doth Pole yield, sir, ha!
Did you hear 'em? were you by?
USHER. I cannot tell you, His bearing is so courtly-delicate; And yet methinks he falters: their two Graces Do so dear-cousin and royal-cousin him, So press on him the duty which as Legate He owes himself, and with such royal smiles--
GARDINER. Smiles that burn men. Bonner, it will be carried.
He falters, ha? 'fore God, we change and change; Men now are bow'd and old, the doctors tell you, At three-score years; then if we change at all We needs must do it quickly; it is an age Of brief life, and brief purpose, and brief patience, As I have shown to-day. I am sorry for it If Pole be like to turn. Our old friend Cranmer, Your more especial love, hath turn'd so often, He knows not where he stands, which, if this pass, We two shall have to teach him; let 'em look to it, Cranmer and Hooper, Ridley and Latimer, Rogers and Ferrar, for their time is come, Their hour is hard at hand, their 'dies Irae'
Their 'dies Illa,' which will test their sect.
I feel it but a duty--you will find in it Pleasure as well as duty, worthy Bonner,-- To test their sect. Sir, I attend the Queen To crave most humble pardon--of her most Royal, Infallible, Papal Legate-cousin.
[_Exeunt_.
SCENE V.--WOODSTOCK.
ELIZABETH, LADY IN WAITING.
ELIZABETH. So they have sent poor Courtenay over sea.
LADY. And banish'd us to Woodstock, and the fields.
The colours of our Queen are green and white, These fields are only green, they make me gape.
ELIZABETH. There's whitethorn, girl.
LADY. Ay, for an hour in May.
But court is always May, buds out in masques, Breaks into feather'd merriments, and flowers In silken pageants. Why do they keep us here?
Why still suspect your Grace?
ELIZABETH. Hard upon both.
[_Writes on the window with a diamond_.
Much suspected, of me Nothing proven can be.
Quoth Elizabeth, prisoner.
LADY. What hath your Highness written?
ELIZABETH. A true rhyme.
LADY. Cut with a diamond; so to last like truth.
ELIZABETH. Ay, if truth last.
LADY. But truth, they say, will out, So it must last. It is not like a word, That comes and goes in uttering.
ELIZABETH. Truth, a word!
The very Truth and very Word are one.
But truth of story, which I glanced at, girl, Is like a word that comes from olden days, And passes thro' the peoples: every tongue Alters it passing, till it spells and speaks Quite other than at first.
LADY. I do not follow.
ELIZABETH. How many names in the long sweep of time That so foreshortens greatness, may but hang On the chance mention of some fool that once Brake bread with us, perhaps: and my poor chronicle Is but of glass. Sir Henry Bedingfield May split it for a spite.
LADY. God grant it last, And witness to your Grace's innocence, Till doomsday melt it.
ELIZABETH. Or a second fire, Like that which lately crackled underfoot And in this very chamber, fuse the glass, And char us back again into the dust We spring from. Never peacock against rain Scream'd as you did for water.
LADY. And I got it.
I woke Sir Henry--and he's true to you I read his honest horror in his eyes.
ELIZABETH. Or true to you?
LADY. Sir Henry Bedingfield!
I will have no man true to me, your Grace, But one that pares his nails; to me? the clown!
ELIZABETH. Out, girl! you wrong a noble gentleman.
LADY. For, like his cloak, his manners want the nap And gloss of court; but of this fire he says.
Nay swears, it was no wicked wilfulness, Only a natural chance.
ELIZABETH. A chance--perchance One of those wicked wilfuls that men make, Nor shame to call it nature. Nay, I know They hunt my blood. Save for my daily range Among the pleasant fields of Holy Writ I might despair. But there hath some one come; The house is all in movement. Hence, and see.
[_Exit_ LADY.
MILKMAID (_singing without_).
Shame upon you, Robin, Shame upon you now!
Kiss me would you? with my hands Milking the cow?
Daisies grow again, Kingcups blow again, And you came and kiss'd me milking the cow.
Robin came behind me, Kiss'd me well I vow; Cuff him could I? with my hands Milking the cow?
Swallows fly again, Cuckoos cry again, And you came and kiss'd me milking the cow.
Come, Robin, Robin, Come and kiss me now; Help it can I? with my hands Milking the cow?
Ringdoves coo again, All things woo again.
Come behind and kiss me milking the cow!
ELIZABETH. Right honest and red-cheek'd; Robin was violent, And she was crafty--a sweet violence, And a sweet craft. I would I were a milkmaid, To sing, love, marry, churn, brew, bake, and die, Then have my simple headstone by the church, And all things lived and ended honestly.
I could not if I would. I am Harry's daughter: Gardiner would have my head. They are not sweet, The violence and the craft that do divide The world of nature; what is weak must lie; The lion needs but roar to guard his young; The lapwing lies, says 'here' when they are there.
Threaten the child; 'I'll scourge you if you did it:'
What weapon hath the child, save his soft tongue, To say 'I did not?' and my rod's the block.
I never lay my head upon the pillow But that I think, 'Wilt thou lie there to-morrow?'
How oft the falling axe, that never fell, Hath shock'd me back into the daylight truth That it may fall to-day! Those damp, black, dead Nights in the Tower; dead--with the fear of death Too dead ev'n for a death-watch! Toll of a bell, Stroke of a clock, the scurrying of a rat Affrighted me, and then delighted me, For there was life--And there was life in death-- The little murder'd princes, in a pale light, Rose hand in hand, and whisper'd, 'come away!
The civil wars are gone for evermore: Thou last of all the Tudors, come away!
With us is peace!' The last? It was a dream; I must not dream, not wink, but watch. She has gone, Maid Marian to her Robin--by and by Both happy! a fox may filch a hen by night, And make a morning outcry in the yard; But there's no Renard here to 'catch her tripping.'
Catch me who can; yet, sometime I have wish'd That I were caught, and kill'd away at once Out of the flutter. The gray rogue, Gardiner, Went on his knees, and pray'd me to confess In Wyatt's business, and to cast myself Upon the good Queen's mercy; ay, when, my Lord?
God save the Queen! My jailor--