No More Learning

SIR THOMAS WHITE, _Lord Mayor of London_.
THE DUKE OF ALVA |
THE COUNT DE FERIA | _attending on Philip_.
PETER MARTYR.
FATHER COLE.
FATHER BOURNE.
VILLA GARCIA.
SOTO.
CAPTAIN BRETT |
ANTHONY KNYVETT | _Adherents of Wyatt_.
PETERS, _Gentleman of Lord Howard_.
ROGER, _Servant to Noailles_.
WILLIAM, _Servant to Wyatt_.
STEWARD OF HOUSEHOLD _to the Princess Elizabeth_.
OLD NOKES _and_ NOKES.
MARCHIONESS OF EXETER, _Mother of Courtenay_.
LADY CLARENCE |
LADY MAGDALEN DACRES | _Ladies in Waiting to the Queen_.
ALICE | _to the Princess Elizabeth_.
MAID OF HONOUR |
JOAN |
TIB | _two Country Wives_.

Lords _and other_ Attendants, Members _of the_ Privy Council,
Members _of_ Parliament, Two Gentlemen, Aldermen,
Citizens, Peasants, Ushers, Messengers, Guards, Pages,
Gospellers, Marshalmen, _etc_.



QUEEN MARY.




ACT I.


SCENE I. --ALDGATE RICHLY DECORATED.

CROWD. MARSHALMEN.


MARSHALMAN. Stand back, keep a clear lane! When will her Majesty pass,
sayst thou? why now, even now; wherefore draw back your heads and your
horns before I break them, and make what noise you will with your
tongues, so it be not treason. Long live Queen Mary, the lawful and
legitimate daughter of Harry the Eighth! Shout, knaves!

CITIZENS. Long live Queen Mary!

FIRST CITIZEN. That's a hard word, legitimate; what does it mean?

SECOND CITIZEN. It means a bastard.

THIRD CITIZEN. Nay, it means true-born.

FIRST CITIZEN. Why, didn't the Parliament make her a bastard?

SECOND CITIZEN. No; it was the Lady Elizabeth.

THIRD CITIZEN. That was after, man; that was after.

FIRST CITIZEN. Then which is the bastard?

SECOND CITIZEN. Troth, they be both bastards by Act of Parliament and
Council.

THIRD CITIZEN. Ay, the Parliament can make every true-born man of us a
bastard. Old Nokes, can't it make thee a bastard? thou shouldst know,
for thou art as white as three Christmasses.

OLD NOKES (_dreamily_). Who's a-passing? King Edward or King Richard?

THIRD CITIZEN. No, old Nokes.

OLD NOKES. It's Harry!

THIRD CITIZEN. It's Queen Mary.

OLD NOKES. The blessed Mary's a-passing!
[_Falls on his knees_.

NOKES. Let father alone, my masters! he's past your questioning.

THIRD CITIZEN. Answer thou for him, then thou'rt no such cockerel
thyself, for thou was born i' the tail end of old Harry the Seventh.

NOKES. Eh! that was afore bastard-making began. I was born true man at
five in the forenoon i' the tail of old Harry, and so they can't make
me a bastard.

THIRD CITIZEN. But if Parliament can make the Queen a bastard, why, it
follows all the more that they can make thee one, who art fray'd i'
the knees, and out 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,
And stand within the porch, and Christ with me:
My flight were such a scandal to the faith,
The downfall of so many simple souls,
I dare not leave my post.

PETER MARTYR. But you divorced
Queen Catharine and her father; hence, her hate
Will burn till you are burn'd.

CRANMER. I cannot help it.
The Canonists and Schoolmen were with me.
'Thou shalt not wed thy brother's wife. '--'Tis written,
'They shall be childless. ' True, Mary was born,
But France would not accept her for a bride
As being born from incest; and this wrought
Upon the king; and child by child, you know,
Were momentary sparkles out as quick
Almost as kindled; and he brought his doubts
And fears to me. Peter, I'll swear for him
He _did_ believe the bond incestuous.
But wherefore am I trenching on the time
That should already have seen your steps a mile
From me and Lambeth? God be with you! Go.

PETER MARTYR. Ah, but how fierce a letter you wrote against
Their superstition when they slander'd you
For setting up a mass at Canterbury
To please the Queen.

CRANMER. It was a wheedling monk
Set up the mass.

PETER MARTYR. I know it, my good Lord.
But you so bubbled over with hot terms
Of Satan, liars, blasphemy, Antichrist,
She never will forgive you. Fly, my Lord, fly!

CRANMER. I wrote it, and God grant me power to burn!

PETER MARTYR. They have given me a safe conduct: for all that
I dare not stay. I fear, I fear, I see you,
Dear friend, for the last time; farewell, and fly.

CRANMER. Fly and farewell, and let me die the death.
[_Exit_ PETER MARTYR.

_Enter_ OLD SERVANT.

O, kind and gentle master, the Queen's Officers
Are here in force to take you to the Tower.

CRANMER. Ay, gentle friend, admit them. I will go.
I thank my God it is too late to fly.

[_Exeunt_.



SCENE III. --ST. PAUL'S CROSS.

FATHER BOURNE _in the pulpit_. A CROWD. MARCHIONESS OF EXETER,
COURTENAY. _The_ SIEUR DE NOAILLES _and his man_ ROGER _in front
of the stage. Hubbub_.


NOAILLES. Hast thou let fall those papers in the palace?

ROGER. Ay, sir.

NOAILLES. 'There will be no peace for Mary till
Elizabeth lose her head. '

ROGER. Ay, sir.

NOAILLES.
And the other, 'Long live Elizabeth the Queen! '

ROGER. Ay, sir; she needs must tread upon them.

NOAILLES. Well.
These beastly swine make such a grunting here,
I cannot catch what Father Bourne is saying.

ROGER. Quiet a moment, my masters; hear what the shaveling has to say
for himself.

CROWD. Hush--hear!

BOURNE. --and so this unhappy land, long divided in itself, and
sever'd from the faith, will return into the one true fold, seeing
that our gracious Virgin Queen hath----

CROWD. No pope! no pope!

ROGER (_to those about him, mimicking_ BOURNE). --hath sent for the
holy legate of the holy father the Pope, Cardinal Pole, to give us all
that holy absolution which----

FIRST CITIZEN. Old Bourne to the life!

SECOND CITIZEN. Holy absolution! holy Inquisition!

THIRD CITIZEN. Down with the Papist!
[_Hubbub_.

BOURNE. --and now that your good bishop,
Bonner, who hath lain so long under bonds for the
faith--
[_Hubbub_.

NOAILLES. Friend Roger, steal thou in among the crowd,
And get the swine to shout Elizabeth.
Yon gray old Gospeller, sour as midwinter,
Begin with him.

ROGER (_goes_). By the mass, old friend, we'll have no pope here while
the Lady Elizabeth lives.

GOSPELLER. Art thou of the true faith, fellow, that swearest by the
mass?

ROGER. Ay, that am I, new converted, but the old leaven sticks to my
tongue yet.

FIRST CITIZEN. He says right; by the mass we'll have no mass here.

VOICES OF THE CROWD. Peace! hear him; let his own words damn the
Papist. From thine own mouth I judge thee--tear him down!

BOURNE. --and since our Gracious Queen, let me call her our second
Virgin Mary, hath begun to re-edify the true temple----,

FIRST CITIZEN. Virgin Mary! we'll have no virgins here--we'll have the
Lady Elizabeth!

[_Swords are drawn, a knife is hurled and sticks in
the pulpit. The mob throng to the pulpit stairs_.

MARCHIONESS OF EXETER. Son Courtenay, wilt thou see the holy father
Murdered before thy face? up, son, and save him! They love thee, and
thou canst not come to harm.

COURTENAY (_in the pulpit_). Shame, shame, my masters! are you
English-born, And set yourselves by hundreds against one?

CROWD. A Courtenay! a Courtenay!

[_A train of Spanish servants crosses at the back of the stage_.

NOAILLES. These birds of passage come before their time:
Stave off the crowd upon the Spaniard there.

ROGER. My masters, yonder's fatter game for you
Than this old gaping gurgoyle: look you there--
The Prince of Spain coming to wed our Queen!
After him, boys! and pelt him from the city.

[_They seize stones and follow the Spaniards.
Exeunt on the other side_ MARCHIONESS OF
EXETER _and_ ATTENDANTS.

NOAILLES (_to_ ROGER).
Stand from me. If Elizabeth lose her head--
That makes for France.
And if her people, anger'd thereupon,
Arise against her and dethrone the Queen--
That makes for France.
And if I breed confusion anyway--
That makes for France.
Good-day, my Lord of Devon;
A bold heart yours to beard that raging mob!

COURTENAY. My mother said, Go up; and up I went.
I knew they would not do me any wrong,
For I am mighty popular with them, Noailles.

NOAILLES. You look'd a king.

COURTENAY. Why not? I am king's blood.

NOAILLES. And in the whirl of change may come to be one.

COURTENAY. Ah!

NOAILLES. But does your gracious Queen entreat you kinglike?

COURTENAY. 'Fore God, I think she entreats me like a child.

NOAILLES. You've but a dull life in this maiden court, I fear, my
Lord?

COURTENAY. A life of nods and yawns.

NOAILLES. So you would honour my poor house to-night,
We might enliven you. Divers honest fellows,
The Duke of Suffolk lately freed from prison,
Sir Peter Carew and Sir Thomas Wyatt,
Sir Thomas Stafford, and some more--we play.

COURTENAY. At what?

NOAILLES. The Game of Chess.

COURTENAY. The Game of Chess!
I can play well, and I shall beat you there.

NOAILLES. Ay, but we play with Henry, King of France,
And certain of his court.
His Highness makes his moves across the Channel,
We answer him with ours, and there are messengers
That go between us.

COURTENAY. Why, such a game, sir, were whole years a playing.

NOAILLES. Nay; not so long I trust. That all depends
Upon the skill and swiftness of the players.

COURTENAY. The King is skilful at it?

NOAILLES. Very, my Lord.

COURTENAY. And the stakes high?

NOAILLES. But not beyond your means.

COURTENAY. Well, I'm the first of players, I shall win.

NOAILLES. With our advice and in our company,
And so you well attend to the king's moves,
I think you may.

COURTENAY. When do you meet?

NOAILLES. To-night.

COURTENAY (_aside_).
I will be there; the fellow's at his tricks--
Deep--I shall fathom him. (_Aloud_) Good morning,
Noailles.
[_Exit_ COURTENAY.

NOAILLES. Good-day, my Lord. Strange game of chess! a King
That with her own pawns plays against a Queen,
Whose play is all to find herself a King.
Ay; but this fine blue-blooded Courtenay seems
Too princely for a pawn. Call him a Knight,
That, with an ass's, not a horse's head,
Skips every way, from levity or from fear.
Well, we shall use him somehow, so that Gardiner
And Simon Renard spy not out our game
Too early. Roger, thinkest thou that anyone
Suspected thee to be my man?

ROGER. Not one, sir.

NOAILLES. No! the disguise was perfect. Let's away.
[_Exeunt_.



SCENE IV. --LONDON. A ROOM IN THE PALACE.
ELIZABETH. _Enter_ COURTENAY.


COURTENAY. So yet am I,
Unless my friends and mirrors lie to me,
A goodlier-looking fellow than this Philip.
Pah!
The Queen is ill advised: shall I turn traitor?
They've almost talked me into it: yet the word
Affrights me somewhat: to be such a one
As Harry Bolingbroke hath a lure in it.
Good now, my Lady Queen, tho' by your age,
And by your looks you are not worth the having,
Yet by your crown you are. [_Seeing_ ELIZABETH.
The Princess there?
If I tried her and la--she's amorous.
Have we not heard of her in Edward's time,
Her freaks and frolics with the late Lord Admiral?
I do believe she'd yield. I should be still
A party in the state; and then, who knows--

ELIZABETH. What are you musing on, my Lord of Devon?

COURTENAY. Has not the Queen--

ELIZABETH. Done what, Sir?

COURTENAY. --made you follow
The Lady Suffolk and the Lady Lennox? --
You,
The heir presumptive.

ELIZABETH. Why do you ask? you know it.

COURTENAY. You needs must bear it hardly.

ELIZABETH. No, indeed!
I am utterly submissive to the Queen.

COURTENAY. Well, I was musing upon that; the Queen
Is both my foe and yours: we should be friends.

ELIZABETH. My Lord, the hatred of another to us
Is no true bond of friendship.

COURTENAY. Might it not
Be the rough preface of some closer bond?

ELIZABETH. My Lord, you late were loosed from out the Tower,
Where, like a butterfly in a chrysalis,
You spent your life; that broken, out you flutter
Thro' the new world, go zigzag, now would settle
Upon this flower, now that; but all things here
At court are known; you have solicited
The Queen, and been rejected.

COURTENAY. Flower, she!
Half faded! but you, cousin, are fresh and sweet
As the first flower no bee has ever tried.

ELIZABETH. Are you the bee to try me? why, but now
I called you butterfly.

COURTENAY. You did me wrong,
I love not to be called a butterfly:
Why do you call me butterfly?

ELIZABETH. Why do you go so gay then?

COURTENAY. Velvet and gold.
This dress was made me as the Earl of Devon
To take my seat in; looks it not right royal?

ELIZABETH. So royal that the Queen forbad you wearing it.

COURTENAY.