_Enter_ SIR HENRY BEDINGFIELD.
BEDINGFIELD. One, whose bolts, That jail you from free life, bar you from death.
There haunt some Papist ruffians hereabout Would murder you.
ELIZABETH. I thank you heartily, sir, But I am royal, tho' your prisoner, And God hath blest or cursed me with a nose-- Your boots are from the horses.
BEDINGFIELD. Ay, my Lady.
When next there comes a missive from the Queen It shall be all my study for one hour To rose and lavender my horsiness, Before I dare to glance upon your Grace.
ELIZABETH. A missive from the Queen: last time she wrote, I had like to have lost my life: it takes my breath: O God, sir, do you look upon your boots, Are you so small a man? Help me: what think you, Is it life or death.
BEDINGFIELD. I thought not on my boots; The devil take all boots were ever made Since man went barefoot. See, I lay it here, For I will come no nearer to your Grace;
[_Laying down the letter_.
And, whether it bring you bitter news or sweet, And God hath given your Grace a nose, or not, I'll help you, if I may.
ELIZABETH. Your pardon, then; It is the heat and narrowness of the cage That makes the captive testy; with free wing The world were all one Araby. Leave me now, Will you, companion to myself, sir?
BEDINGFIELD. Will I?
With most exceeding willingness, I will; You know I never come till I be call'd.
[_Exit_.
ELIZABETH. It lies there folded: is there venom in it?
A snake--and if I touch it, it may sting.
Come, come, the worst!
Best wisdom is to know the worst at once. [_Reads:_
'It is the King's wish, that you should wed Prince Philibert of Savoy.
You are to come to Court on the instant; and think of this in your coming. 'MARY THE QUEEN.'
Think I have many thoughts; I think there may be birdlime here for me; I think they fain would have me from the realm; I think the Queen may never bear a child; I think that I may be some time the Queen, Then, Queen indeed: no foreign prince or priest Should fill my throne, myself upon the steps.
I think I will not marry anyone, Specially not this landless Philibert Of Savoy; but, if Philip menace me, I think that I will play with Philibert, As once the Holy Father did with mine, Before my father married my good mother,-- For fear of Spain.
_Enter_ LADY.
LADY. O Lord! your Grace, your Grace, I feel so happy: it seems that we shall fly These bald, blank fields, and dance into the sun That shines on princes.
ELIZABETH. Yet, a moment since, I wish'd myself the milkmaid singing here, To kiss and cuff among the birds and flowers-- A right rough life and healthful.
LADY. But the wench Hath her own troubles; she is weeping now; For the wrong Robin took her at her word.
Then the cow kick'd, and all her milk was spilt.
Your Highness such a milkmaid?
ELIZABETH. I had kept My Robins and my cows in sweeter order Had I been such.
LADY (_slyly_). And had your Grace a Robin?
ELIZABETH. Come, come, you are chill here; you want the sun That shines at court; make ready for the journey.
Pray God, we 'scape the sunstroke. Ready at once.
[_Exeunt_.
SCENE VI.--LONDON. A ROOM IN THE PALACE.
LORD PETRE _and_ LORD WILLIAM HOWARD.
PETRE. You cannot see the Queen. Renard denied her, Ev'n now to me.
HOWARD. Their Flemish go-between And all-in-all. I came to thank her Majesty For freeing my friend Bagenhall from the Tower; A grace to me! Mercy, that herb-of-grace, Flowers now but seldom.
PETRE. Only now perhaps.
Because the Queen hath been three days in tears For Philip's going--like the wild hedge-rose Of a soft winter, possible, not probable, However you have prov'n it.
HOWARD. I must see her.
_Enter_ RENARD.
RENARD. My Lords, you cannot see her Majesty.
HOWARD. Why then the King! for I would have him bring it Home to the leisure wisdom of his Queen, Before he go, that since these statutes past, Gardiner out-Gardiners Gardiner in his heat, Bonner cannot out-Bonner his own self-- Beast!--but they play with fire as children do, And burn the house. I know that these are breeding A fierce resolve and fixt heart-hate in men Against the King, the Queen, the Holy Father, The faith itself. Can I not see him?
RENARD. Not now.
And in all this, my Lord, her Majesty Is flint of flint, you may strike fire from her, Not hope to melt her. I will give your message.
[_Exeunt_ PETRE _and_ HOWARD.
_Enter_ PHILIP _(musing)_
PHILIP. She will not have Prince Philibert of Savoy, I talk'd with her in vain--says she will live And die true maid--a goodly creature too.
Would _she_ had been the Queen! yet she must have him; She troubles England: that she breathes in England Is life and lungs to every rebel birth That passes out of embryo.
Simon Renard!
This Howard, whom they fear, what was he saying?
RENARD. What your imperial father said, my liege, To deal with heresy gentlier. Gardiner burns, And Bonner burns; and it would seem this people Care more for our brief life in their wet land, Than yours in happier Spain. I told my Lord He should not vex her Highness; she would say These are the means God works with, that His church May flourish.
PHILIP. Ay, sir, but in statesmanship To strike too soon is oft to miss the blow.
Thou knowest I bad my chaplain, Castro, preach Against these burnings.
RENARD. And the Emperor Approved you, and when last he wrote, declared His comfort in your Grace that you were bland And affable to men of all estates, In hope to charm them from their hate of Spain.
PHILIP. In hope to crush all heresy under Spain.
But, Renard, I am sicker staying here Than any sea could make me passing hence, Tho' I be ever deadly sick at sea.
So sick am I with biding for this child.
Is it the fashion in this clime for women To go twelve months in bearing of a child?