No More Learning

Send out: let England as of old
Rise lionlike, strike hard and deep into
The prey they are rending from her--ay, and rend
The renders too. Send out, send out, and make
Musters in all the counties; gather all
From sixteen years to sixty; collect the fleet;
Let every craft that carries sail and gun
Steer toward Calais. Guisnes is not taken yet?

HEATH. Guisnes is not taken yet.

MARY. There yet is hope.

HEATH. Ah, Madam, but your people are so cold;
I do much fear that England will not care.
Methinks there is no manhood left among us.

MARY. Send out; I am too weak to stir abroad:
Tell my mind to the Council--to the Parliament:
Proclaim it to the winds. Thou art cold thyself
To babble of their coldness. O would I were
My father for an hour! Away now--Quick!

[_Exit_ HEATH.

I hoped I had served God with all my might!
It seems I have not. Ah! much heresy
Shelter'd in Calais. Saints I have rebuilt
Your shrines, set up your broken images;
Be comfortable to me. Suffer not
That my brief reign in England be defamed
Thro' all her angry chronicles hereafter
By loss of Calais. Grant me Calais. Philip,
We have made war upon the Holy Father
All for your sake: what good could come of that?

LADY CLARENCE. No, Madam, not against the Holy Father;
You did but help King Philip's war with France,
Your troops were never down in Italy.

MARY. I am a byword. Heretic and rebel
Point at me and make merry. Philip gone!
And Calais gone! Time that I were gone too!

LADY CLARENCE. Nay, if the fetid gutter had a voice
And cried I was not clean, what should I care?
Or you, for heretic cries? And I believe,
Spite of your melancholy Sir Nicholas,
Your England is as loyal as myself.

MARY (_seeing the paper draft by_ POLE).
There! there! another paper! Said you not
Many of these were loyal? Shall I try
If this be one of such?

LADY CLARENCE. Let it be, let it be.
God pardon me! I have never yet found one. [_Aside_.

MARY (_reads_). 'Your people hate you as your husband hates you. '
Clarence, Clarence, what have I done? what sin
Beyond all grace, all pardon? Mother of God,
Thou knowest never woman meant so well,
And fared so ill in this disastrous world.
My people hate me and desire my death.

LADY CLARENCE. No, Madam, no.

MARY. My husband hates me, and desires my death.

LADY CLARENCE. No, Madam; these are libels.

MARY. I hate myself, and I desire my death.

LADY CLARENCE. Long live your Majesty! Shall Alice sing you
One of her pleasant songs? Alice, my child,
Bring us your lute (ALICE _goes_). They say the gloom of Saul
Was lighten'd by young David's harp.

MARY. Too young!
And never knew a Philip.

_Re-enter_ ALICE.

Give _me_ the lute.
He hates me!
(_She sings_. )

Hapless doom of woman happy in betrothing!
Beauty passes like a breath and love is lost in loathing:
Low, my lute; speak low, my lute, but say the world is nothing--
Low, lute, low!

Love will hover round the flowers when they first awaken;
Love will fly the fallen leaf, and not be overtaken;
Low, my lute! oh low, my lute! we fade and are forsaken--
Low, dear lute, low!

Take it away! not low enough for me!

ALICE. Your Grace hath a low voice.

MARY. How dare you say it?
Even for that he hates me. A low voice
Lost in a wilderness where none can hear!
A voice of shipwreck on a shoreless sea!
A low voice from the dust and from the grave
(_Sitting on the ground_).
There, am I low enough now?

ALICE. Good Lord! how grim and ghastly looks her Grace,
With both her knees drawn upward to her chin.
There was an old-world tomb beside my father's,
And this was open'd, and the dead were found
Sitting, and in this fashion; she looks a corpse.

_Enter_ LADY MAGDALEN DACRES.

LADY MAGDALEN. Madam, the Count de Feria waits without,
In hopes to see your Highness.

LADY CLARENCE (_pointing to_ MARY).
Wait he must--
Her trance again. She neither sees nor hears,
And may not speak for hours.

LADY MAGDALEN. Unhappiest
Of Queens and wives and women!

ALICE (_in the foreground with_ LADY MAGDALEN).
And all along
Of Philip.

LADY MAGDALEN. Not so loud! Our Clarence there
Sees ever such an aureole round the Queen,
It gilds the greatest wronger of her peace,
Who stands the nearest to her.

ALICE. Ay, this Philip;
I used to love the Queen with all my heart--
God help me, but methinks I love her less
For such a dotage upon such a man.
I would I were as tall and strong as you.

LADY MAGDALEN. I seem half-shamed at times to be so tall.

ALICE. You are the stateliest deer in all the herd--
Beyond his aim--but I am small and scandalous,
And love to hear bad tales of Philip.

LADY MAGDALEN. Why?
I never heard him utter worse of you
Than that you were low-statured.

ALICE. Does he think
Low stature is low nature, or all women's
Low as his own?

LADY MAGDALEN. There you strike in the nail.
This coarseness is a want of phantasy.
It is the low man thinks the woman low;
Sin is too dull to see beyond himself.

ALICE. Ah, Magdalen, sin is bold as well as dull.
How dared he?

LADY MAGDALEN. Stupid soldiers oft are bold.
Poor lads, they see not what the general sees,
A risk of utter ruin. I am _not_
Beyond his aim, or was not.

ALICE. Who? Not you?
Tell, tell me; save my credit with myself.

LADY MAGDALEN. I never breathed it to a bird in the eaves,
Would not for all the stars and maiden moon
Our drooping Queen should know! In Hampton Court
My window look'd upon the corridor;
And I was robing;--this poor throat of mine,
Barer than I should wish a man to see it,--
When he we speak of drove the window back,
And, like a thief, push'd in his royal hand;
But by God's providence a good stout staff
Lay near me; and you know me strong of arm;
I do believe I lamed his Majesty's
For a day or two, tho', give the Devil his due,
I never found he bore me any spite.

ALICE. I would she could have wedded that poor youth,
My Lord of Devon--light enough, God knows,
And mixt with Wyatt's rising--and the boy
Not out of him--but neither cold, coarse, cruel,
And more than all--no Spaniard.

LADY CLARENCE. Not so loud.
Lord Devon, girls! what are you whispering here?

ALICE. Probing an old state-secret--how it chanced
That this young Earl was sent on foreign travel,
Not lost his head.

LADY CLARENCE. There was no proof against him.

ALICE. Nay, Madam; did not Gardiner intercept
A letter which the Count de Noailles wrote
To that dead traitor Wyatt, with full proof
Of Courtenay's treason? What became of that?

LADY CLARENCE. Some say that Gardiner, out of love for him,
Burnt it, and some relate that it was lost
When Wyatt sack'd the Chancellor's house in Southwark.
Let dead things rest.

ALICE. Ay, and with him who died
Alone in Italy.

LADY CLARENCE. Much changed, I hear,
Had put off levity and put graveness on.
The foreign courts report him in his manner
Noble as his young person and old shield.
It might be so--but all is over now;
He caught a chill in the lagoons of Venice,
And died in Padua.

MARY (_looking up suddenly_).
Died in the true faith?

LADY CLARENCE. Ay, Madam, happily.

MARY. Happier he than I.

LADY MAGDALEN. It seems her Highness hath awaken'd. Think you
That I might dare to tell her that the Count--

MARY. I will see no man hence for evermore,
Saving my confessor and my cousin Pole.

LADY MAGDALEN. It is the Count de Feria, my dear lady.

MARY. What Count?

LADY MAGDALEN. The Count de Feria, from his Majesty
King Philip.

MARY. Philip! quick! loop up my hair!
Throw cushions on that seat, and make it throne-like.
Arrange my dress--the gorgeous Indian shawl
That Philip brought me in our happy days! --
That covers all. So--am I somewhat Queenlike,
Bride of the mightiest sovereign upon earth?

LADY CLARENCE. Ay, so your Grace would bide a moment yet.

MARY. No, no, he brings a letter. I may die
Before I read it. Let me see him at once.

_Enter_ COUNT DE FERIA (_kneels_).

FERIA. I trust your Grace is well. (_Aside_) How her hand burns!

MARY. I am not well, but it will better me,
Sir Count, to read the letter which you bring.

FERIA. Madam, I bring no letter.

MARY. How! no letter?

FERIA.
His Highness is so vex'd with strange affairs--

MARY. That his own wife is no affair of his.

FERIA. Nay, Madam, nay! he sends his veriest love,
And says, he will come quickly.

MARY. Doth he, indeed?
You, sir, do _you_ remember what _you_ said
When last you came to England?

FERIA. Madam, I brought
My King's congratulations; it was hoped
Your Highness was once more in happy state
To give him an heir male.

MARY. Sir, you said more;
You said he would come quickly. I had horses
On all the road from Dover, day and night;
On all the road from Harwich, night and day;
But the child came not, and the husband came not;
And yet he will come quickly. . . . Thou hast learnt
Thy lesson, and I mine. There is no need
For Philip so to shame himself again.
Return,
And tell him that I know he comes no more.
Tell him at last I know his love is dead,
And that I am in state to bring forth death--
Thou art commission'd to Elizabeth,
And not to me!

FERIA. Mere compliments and wishes.
But shall I take some message from your Grace?

MARY. Tell her to come and close my dying eyes,
And wear my crown, and dance upon my grave.

FERIA. Then I may say your Grace will see your sister?
Your Grace is too low-spirited. Air and sunshine.
I would we had you, Madam, in our warm Spain.
You droop in your dim London.

MARY. Have him away!
I sicken of his readiness.

LADY CLARENCE. My Lord Count,
Her Highness is too ill for colloquy.

FERIA (_kneels, and kisses her hand_).
I wish her Highness better. (_Aside_) How her hand burns!

[_Exeunt_.



SCENE III. --A HOUSE NEAR LONDON.

ELIZABETH, STEWARD OF THE HOUSEHOLD, ATTENDANTS.


ELIZABETH. There's half an angel wrong'd in your account;
Methinks I am all angel, that I bear it
Without more ruffling. Cast it o'er again.

STEWARD. I were whole devil if I wrong'd you, Madam.
[_Exit_ STEWARD.

ATTENDANT. The Count de Feria, from the King of Spain.

ELIZABETH. Ay! --let him enter. Nay, you need not go:
[_To her_ LADIES.
Remain within the chamber, but apart.
We'll have no private conference. Welcome to
England!

_Enter_ FERIA.

FERIA. Fair island star!

ELIZABETH. I shine! What else, Sir Count?

FERIA. As far as France, and into Philip's heart.
My King would know if you be fairly served,
And lodged, and treated.

ELIZABETH. You see the lodging, sir,
I am well-served, and am in everything
Most loyal and most grateful to the Queen.

FERIA. You should be grateful to my master, too.
He spoke of this; and unto him you owe
That Mary hath acknowledged you her heir.

ELIZABETH. No, not to her nor him; but to the people,
Who know my right, and love me, as I love
The people! whom God aid!

FERIA. You will be Queen,
And, were I Philip--

ELIZABETH. Wherefore pause you--what?

FERIA. Nay, but I speak from mine own self, not
him;
Your royal sister cannot last; your hand
Will be much coveted! What a delicate one!
Our Spanish ladies have none such--and there,
Were you in Spain, this fine fair gossamer gold--
Like sun-gilt breathings on a frosty dawn--
That hovers round your shoulder--

ELIZABETH. Is it so fine?
Troth, some have said so.

FERIA. --would be deemed a miracle.

ELIZABETH. Your Philip hath gold hair and golden beard;
There must be ladies many with hair like mine.

FERIA, Some few of Gothic blood have golden hair,
But none like yours.

ELIZABETH. I am happy you approve it.

FERIA. But as to Philip and your Grace--consider,
If such a one as you should match with Spain,
What hinders but that Spain and England join'd,
Should make the mightiest empire earth has known.
Spain would be England on her seas, and England
Mistress of the Indies.

ELIZABETH. It may chance, that England
Will be the Mistress of the Indies yet,
Without the help of Spain.

FERIA. Impossible;
Except you put Spain down.
Wide of the mark ev'n for a madman's dream.

ELIZABETH. Perhaps; but we have seamen.
Count de Feria,
I take it that the King hath spoken to you;
But is Don Carlos such a goodly match?

FERIA. Don Carlos, Madam, is but twelve years old.

ELIZABETH. Ay, tell the King that I will muse upon it;
He is my good friend, and I would keep him so;
But--he would have me Catholic of Rome,
And that I scarce can be; and, sir, till now
My sister's marriage, and my father's marriages,
Make me full fain to live and die a maid.
But I am much beholden to your King.
Have you aught else to tell me?

FERIA. Nothing, Madam,
Save that methought I gather'd from the Queen
That she would see your Grace before she--died.

ELIZABETH. God's death! and wherefore spake you not before?
We dally with our lazy moments here,
And hers are number'd. Horses there, without!
I am much beholden to the King, your master.
Why did you keep me prating? Horses, there!

[_Exit_ ELIZABETH, _etc_.

FERIA. So from a clear sky falls the thunderbolt!
Don Carlos? Madam, if you marry Philip,
Then I and he will snaffle your 'God's death,'
And break your paces in, and make you tame;
God's death, forsooth--you do not know King Philip.

[_Exit_.



SCENE IV. --LONDON. BEFORE THE PALACE.

_A light burning within_. VOICES _of the night passing_.


FIRST. Is not yon light in the Queen's chamber?

SECOND. Ay,
They say she's dying.

FIRST. So is Cardinal Pole.
May the great angels join their wings, and make
Down for their heads to heaven!

SECOND. Amen. Come on.
[_Exeunt_.

TWO OTHERS.

FIRST. There's the Queen's light. I hear she cannot live.

SECOND. God curse her and her Legate! Gardiner burns
Already; but to pay them full in kind,
The hottest hold in all the devil's den
Were but a sort of winter; sir, in Guernsey,
I watch'd a woman burn; and in her agony
The mother came upon her--a child was born--
And, sir, they hurl'd it back into the fire,
That, being but baptized in fire, the babe
Might be in fire for ever. Ah, good neighbour,
There should be something fierier than fire
To yield them their deserts.

FIRST. Amen to all
Your wish, and further.

A THIRD VOICE. Deserts! Amen to what? Whose deserts? Yours? You have a
gold ring on your finger, and soft raiment about your body; and is not
the woman up yonder sleeping after all she has done, in peace and
quietness, on a soft bed, in a closed room, with light, fire, physic,
tendance; and I have seen the true men of Christ lying famine-dead by
scores, and under no ceiling but the cloud that wept on them, not for
them.

FIRST. Friend, tho' so late, it is not safe to preach.
You had best go home. What are you?

THIRD. What am I? One who cries continually with sweat and tears to
the Lord God that it would please Him out of His infinite love to
break down all kingship and queenship, all priesthood and prelacy; to
cancel and abolish all bonds of human allegiance, all the magistracy,
all the nobles, and all the wealthy; and to send us again, according
to His promise, the one King, the Christ, and all things in common, as
in the day of the first church, when Christ Jesus was King.

FIRST. If ever I heard a madman,--let's away!
Why, you long-winded--Sir, you go beyond me.
I pride myself on being moderate.
Good night! Go home. Besides, you curse so loud,
The watch will hear you. Get you home at once.

[_Exeunt_.



SCENE V. --LONDON. A ROOM IN THE PALACE.

_A Gallery on one side. The moonlight streaming through a range of
windows on the wall opposite_. MARY, LADY CLARENCE, LADY MAGDALEN
DACRES, ALICE. QUEEN _pacing the Gallery. A writing table in front_.
QUEEN _comes to the table and writes and goes again, pacing the
Gallery_.


LADY CLARENCE. Mine eyes are dim: what hath she written? read.

ALICE. 'I am dying, Philip; come to me. '

LADY MAGDALEN. There--up and down, poor lady, up and down.

ALICE. And how her shadow crosses one by one
The moonlight casements pattern'd on the wall,
Following her like her sorrow. She turns again.

[QUEEN _sits and writes, and goes again_.

LADY CLARENCE. What hath she written now?

ALICE. Nothing; but 'come, come, come,' and all awry,
And blotted by her tears. This cannot last.

[QUEEN _returns_.

MARY. I whistle to the bird has broken cage,
And all in vain. [_Sitting down_.