And Charles, the lord of this low world,

is gone;

And all his wars and wisdoms past away;
And in a moment I shall follow him.

Lady Clarence. Nay, dearest Lady,
see your good physician.
Mary. Drugs-but he knows they
cannot help me--says

That rest is all-tells me I must not think

That I must rest-I shall rest by-and-by. Catch the wild cat, cage him, and when he springs

And maims himself against the bars, say ' rest':

Why, you must kill him if you would have him rest

Dead or alive you cannot make him happy. Lady Clarence. Your Majesty has lived so pure a life,

And done such mighty things by Holy Church,

I trust that God will make you happy yet. Mary. What is the strange thing happiness? Sit down here:

Tell me thine happiest hour.

Lady Clarence.

I will, if that

I took it, tho' I did not know I took it, And put it in my bosom, and all at once I felt his arms about me, and his lipsMary. O God! I have been too slack,

too slack;

There are Hot Gospellers even among our guards

Nobles we dared not touch. We have but burnt

The heretic priest, workmen, and women and children.

Wet, famine, ague, fever, storm, wreck, wrath,

We have so play'd the coward; but by God's grace,

We'll follow Philip's leading, and set up The Holy Office here-garner the wheat, And burn the tares with unquenchable fire! Burn!

Fie, what a savour! tell the cooks to close The doors of all the offices below. Latimer!

Sir, we are private with our women hereEver a rough, blunt, and uncourtly fellow

Thou light a torch that never will go out ! Tis out-mine flames. Women, the Holy Father

Has ta'en the legateship from our cousin

Pole

Was that well done? and poor Pole pines of it,

As I do, to the death. I am but a woman, I have no power.-Ah, weak and meek old man,

Seven-fold dishonour'd even in the sight Of thine own sectaries-No, no. No

pardon !

Why that was false: there is the right hand still

Beckons me hence.

Look'd hard and sweet at me, it me.

and gave

Sir, you were burnt for heresy, not for treason,

Madam, you have but cut the canvas out; We can replace it.

Mary.

All is well then; rest

I will to rest; he said, I must have rest.
[Cries of 'Elizabeth' in the street.
A cry! What's that? Elizabeth? revolt?
A new Northumberland, another Wyatt?
I'll fight it on the threshold of the grave.
Lady Clarence. Madam, your royal
sister comes to see you.
Mary. I will not see her.

Who knows if Boleyn's daughter be my sister?

I will see none except the priest. Your [To Lady Clarence.

arm.